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starry-bi-sky · 1 month

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i have been unmedicated for the entirety of spring break and thus have had little interest in writing this down, but i have been thinking about this for the entire week (as well as a dpdc clone danny au that resulted in it becoming its entirely separate batman au that includes a teenage vigilante bruce wayne, an ocarina, and me entirely incapable of making a batman au without making bruce dirt poor but we're not talking about that) and so i've finally went 'fuck it' and forcibly grabbed my laptop. I will get this done in one sitting even if it kills me.

BUT. This is about neither clone^2 danny nor about who i am calling Ocarina Batman. This is about my Danyal Al Ghul Au and more SPECIFICALLY it's me thinking about his relationship with Sam and Tucker specifically.

Tucker and Sam? Adore this asshole (affectionate) with every fiber of their being. And it is very much a reciprocated feeling, but Danny's thoughts will not be delved into much other than he would kill for them.

Tucker? The only person currently capable of getting a deep, loud, belly laugh out of Danny. Sam can get him to smile and to laugh, but it's the kind that's a chuckle-under-the-breath. The quiet, looks-down-while-huffing laughter. Snorts once with laughter and then grins stupidly.

But Tucker? Tucker can crack a slew of stupid jokes and Danny will be incapacitated for the next five minutes because he's laughing so hard that he can't breath. He lands one well-timed pun or quip and Danny will be close to tears. His laughter is their favorite sound in the whole world.

Sam is lowkey jealous of this ability, and she's gotten a belly laugh out of Danny a few times. But alas, it is Tucker who wields this power and has gotten it the most times out of the two of them.

They're also both physically affectionate with Danny as much as possible. It started roughly around when they were 12-ish, a year since they befriended Danny, and they noticed that he sought after touch but never seemed to initiate (and was in some ways repulsed by it). They started slowly being more touchy with him. Hooking a finger around his to lead him somewhere, tapping his wrist, looping arms. Little touches, grabs, etc, to get him used to it, and once he started doing it back they started increasing it.

It's gotten to a point where he will now just. Lay on them. Like a lizard sunbathing on a rock. Leaning on their backs when they're sitting in class before the bell rings, his chin on their heads. He'll talk about anything with his arms looped around their shoulders.

If they're sitting on a couch at either of their houses, he'll lay his legs on theirs. Him and Tucker will press their feet against the other's and try and push against them (newsflash: Danny always wins, Tucker claims its the ghost strength but Danny's been winning since before his accident)

Naturally, both Sam and Tucker know where Danny keeps his weapons on his person, and are allowed to grab them off of him if they need it. His only requirement is that they don't lose his weapons if they take it and forget to return it immediately.

They both understand how big of a thing this is from Danny, and so they do their best to treat his weapons with a lot of respect and care because they know its his way of saying he trusts them.

Sam and Tucker are so fond of Danny it's insane. Like fr. That's their goddamn best friend, and they are so protective of him. Emotionally, physically, you name it. They will tear the head off a grown man if they need to, Danny's had scars since he arrived in Amity Park and Sam and Tucker both are going to find the person who put them there and make them pay for it.

One time, Tucker overheard a bunch of upperclass girls speaking nastily about Danny and about the rumors surrounding him, calling him names like 'freak', 'monster', etc. Danny was with him and heard it, and seemingly appeared unbothered by it, even telling Tucker that he was used to such rumors.

Tucker was so furious that hacked into the school system later that night and tanked those girls grades. They were kicked out of their clubs and had to go to mandatory tutoring for the rest of the year. He made sure to leave some way of letting them know it was him who did it.

And Sam doesn't like using her money for things, doesn't like abusing that wealth. So instead, whenever her parents talk bad about Danny, she causes a media incident that has her parents scrambling to deal with. She does something wild, outrageous by her parents' standards.

She heard some boys on the basketball team making fun of Danny once, similar to those girls had. She kicks up a fuss about something eco-unfriendly at school and forcibly holds a protest on the same day of the big home basketball game, forcing them to cancel the event and reschedule to a visiting school.

She anonymously donates money so that there's new uniforms for the team but oops! Looks like she "forgot" to donate enough money for them to get uniforms for all the team members, and strangely enough those boys in particular didn't get them! Looks like they'll have to wait until more money gets donated for the basketball team to get their new, nice uniforms. The old ones look so ratty in comparison, right?

And since the football team gets most of the sport money, that might just take awhile. And if (and when) they kick up a fuss? oops! Off the basketball team you go, :) such unsportsman-like behavior is unfit for the team.

(The only good thing about how corrupt the school system is is that she can use it to her advantage too.)

The both of them know that Danny suspects them for the sudden misfortune falling on these people, but he doesn't call them out on it. He's kinder than he used to be, but not kind enough to vouch for people who speak badly of him. Sometimes, he might just congratulate them on not getting caught.

Because Danny is their wonderful, hurt friend with a "slightly" Blue and Orange Moral code, and enough scars that people have been calling him a criminal (and worse) since he arrived in Amity Park when he was ten. And they'll be damned if he gets hurt anymore.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul #its kinda hard to get my thoughts in order bc i am ✨unmedicated✨ rn BUT #this is the gist of it #i could wax poetic about how much sam and tucker adore danny as their friend but alas. the wax is not waxing. it is stuck to the paper #and i am chipping it off with my nail and its getting stuck under it.#ocarina batman has been in my head since friday someone come sedate me. him and pit fighter batman too. who is ALSO a piss poor teenage #bruce wayne who instead of a vigilante and villains is a PIT FIGHTER. he fights blindfolded thats why he's called the bat #ocarina batman's Look is if you combined punk + assassins creed aesthetic together and then gave it an ocarina #the ocarina is because i thought it'd be cool if its how he and robin communicated across long distances bc they didnt have comms #because they are ✨poor✨ and live in a one room apartment in crime alley.#and also the mental image of him sitting on. rooftop ledge in the rain playing 'song of storms' from LoZ was too fantastic to ignore #like bro imagine hearing that as a criminal. you're off doing shady shit with your gang and in the distance you hear the faint and #haunting melody of an ocarina. two of them in a call and response duet. and its getting closer. and you cannot find where #siren type shit fr fr #look he has the assassins creed hood and a long ass coat that has spikes on the end that when flared out looks like the silhouette of a bat #on fucking GOD i am this 👌 close to finding an artist doing commissions to make this for me. i am frothing at the mouth #he is 17-19 years old with his little brother-son Robin. Logically Robin is Dick but in my heart of hearts the first Robin is Jason #and he has perfected the art of getting his older brother to play songs on the pan flute for him. long pitchy whine on his own ocarina #the familiar childlike 'pleeeaaaaaaase?' and he knows he's won when there is a 10s silence on the other end before his brother plays #a lullaby.#look up 'sailor moon - pan flute (relaxing) on youtube' and when there's the thumbnail of two green skinned aliens with long blue and pink #hair. click on it. THAT is the song Bruce plays.#hhhhhhhhhhh frothing at the mouth over this au sooo fucking badly

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avian-writes · 3 months

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"Used Tombstone for Sale. One Only."

Putting classified ads in the newspaper was both easier and more difficult than I expected. Easy to walk into the office, fill out the paper given to me, and hand over the appropriate amount of money. Difficult to ignore the looks the clerk woman gave me as I hobbled in on my own and at what I requested.

But I suppose they had a rule against asking too many questions, lest they insult the people who essentially pay their wages. So she took my ad request and money and told me it’d run for the following week. Hopefully one week was all I’d need. Short as the ad was, it took what coins I had left.

Outside the bystander office, my pink and white bike was thankfully still where I left it tied with frayed rope to a lamp post. One of the training wheels was stuck on a crack in the curb and I struggled to yank it loose.

The sun was still rising as I peddled and peddled down Main St, taking the long way to avoid Mulkey Road. It’d already been 5 weeks since, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere near the road sign, much less take a stroll down. Even if it added 10 extra minutes to my pumping legs commute.

The back road past Main St was still in a somber mood. Doors stay closed and windows locked. Gates were chained and flower boxes sat empty to collect rainwater. Not a hint or hue of color to be seen as I biked past the houses. Somehow even the painted wood dulled in the time passed.

My silent home sat near the end of the road. The smallest, but with the most land. Enough for my father’s workshop in clear view of the neighborhood. A workshop that was bigger than the actual house: a simple one bedroom home with a small kitchen and living room combo. My father always insisted the bedroom belonged to me, even if I usually ended up sleeping on the pull out couch with him.

A pull out couch that was still out and messed up. I hadn’t found any reason to make it up or put it away. And despite the fact that all I’d done that morning was go downtown, I was exhausted. The residual heat inside was already dwindling, chill rubbing into my bones.

Creaky springs from years too long of a life under faded cushions. Wrapping myself up in the red knit blanket, scratching at my chipped blue nail polish, and shutting my eyes.

It was a few days before I got a bite. A few days of nothing but sleeping and heating up cans of soup on the stove, not going anywhere else except shuffling back and forth between the couch and kitchen. A trail of scattered dust wove from the couch cushions to the front of the stove.

Somehow the phone hadn’t been cut off yet, and the loud ring jostled me from a nightmare of red stained concrete. “Hello?”

“I’m calling about the ad in the paper? For the- the t-tombstone?”

I bolted up, getting tangled in my blankets in the process. “Yes! Yes. That’s me. I mean- you’re interested?”

“I am. How- how much is the asking price?”

“Oh, um.” Damn it. I hadn’t even thought about that. No amount of money would keep me in the house indefinitely, and I had just enough food left until the end of the month when the late payments would finally collapse on me. “Eight hundred?”

“E-even though it’s used?”

“Well, it is a very nice tombstone. Black granite and doves engraved in the corners. No chips, scratches, or anything like that.” I took very good care of it.

The buyer was a young person, which I was grateful for. Young burying the old was the best way to go and I don’t think I could’ve choked down taking eight hundred dollars from some poor parent or grandparent who lost their child. No matter how much I needed it.

Around 30 years old and shaking feverishly as soon as she stepped out of the car. The buyer drove an old red Camaro with a dented bumper and one missing rearview mirror. A long riding trailer was hooked to its hitch.

Average height with plain clothes. Long blonde hair pulled into a twisted braid that I thankfully saw through the living room window. I briefly braided my own crinkling hair and stared at myself in the mirror.

It would do well enough.

The buyer saw the tombstone waiting in the front yard and stumbled on the walkway. I sucked in a breath and waited, but she quickly collected herself. I had given simple but important instructions that I watched her follow from the safety of my home.

The money was placed in an envelope that she took from a crossbody bag and dropped delicately on the front stoop. The tombstone was already on a pad of felt that she took hold of and easily dragged it across the unruly grass and onto the trailer.

She was sweating by the time it was safely on, but I could see hints of muscle working away under her shirt sleeves. She latched up the small gate on the back of the trailer, hopped in the car, and with one last fleeting glance at my home, sped away with the tombstone.

I waited until she was just down the road before exiting. My bike was ready, the rusty wire basket’s contents hidden under a dish towel. The chain squealed when I initially pushed it out of the grass and onto the road, but once I got it turning it cracked enough to not fall apart.

The funeral parlor, the only one within 50 miles, wasn’t too far into town. Thanks to the minimal speed limits, I was able to catch up to the buyer fairly quickly. Even with my ankle getting knocked by the revolving petal every other wheel spin, the tombstone on the trailer slowed down her Camaro enough.

The buyer stopped outside the funeral parlor and walked inside. I waited across the road, hidden by large, ornamental bushes. I watched as the undertaker and his assistant came out with the buyer withering away behind them. The assistant took the buyer’s car and the undertaker and buyer got into the waiting hearse around the side.

They all left in a shortened processional and I dutifully joined. I peddled and peddled, my knees growing weary the farther the hearse went. Canned beans and salsa on stale bread was proving to be a poor diet to do so much exercise on. I had been too cowardly to confront the buyer in person and ask the location of the funeral and this was my punishment.

Finally, a reprieve. The hearse turned off the main road onto a gravel path leading towards. It slowed to a crawl, the tires crunching over the small rocks as it headed through a large iron gate.

I hopped off my bike, my bones cracking from the soreness built up, but kept pushing on after it with my bike in tow. It was a cemetery, not a graveyard thankfully, dug into the side of a hill downspout from the forest surrounding town. The gravel path curved down and to the left to the bottom of the hill where a small group of people had already gathered.

The hearse stopped and so did I. Hidden in the shadows of the forest, I watched the buyer get out of the car and solemnly walk to the group of mourners who accepted her with open, teary arms. They climbed the hill to a marked plot while the undertaker began to extract the casket from the hearse.

The mourners were a small handful of people. A few women had hand fans that cracked as they were thrust open. A man in a bowler hat stood over the casket with a reserved face, save the clear discontent upon seeing the tombstone.

Only the buyer showed any real emotion. Remorse for the small affair. Sorrow for her loss. Gratitude for the warm bodies, however reclused they were, surrounding her. Somber for the distasteful weather the funeral had to be held in. Disdain at the mismatched tombstone to the body that now was being nudged into the soil.

I listened to the typical words: short prayers and generic stories, some that weren’t even true but who was going to fact check? Compliments and farewell wishes. Nothing bad was said. Nothing a true testament to his true character, whatever it was. No one ever spoke ill about the dead until the grave was out of sight and alcohol was in their system.

No flowers were thrown on the casket before it was covered up. No further tears were shed. All attendants shuffled away and down the hill, thankfully not in my direction. Back towards the gate.

The undertaker and his assistant shook the buyer’s hand before taking the hearse away. She turned her head to the sky, staring into the bleak overcast. It was almost melancholy, the picturesque scene before me on the hill.

The buyer carefully stepped down the hill, the freshly cut grass still attacking her legs.

I took her place

I could see it. The tombstone was at the head of the freshly filled grave. Beautiful flowers already adorned the soil and I knelt to brush some aside to read the inscription.

Edward Dalca

Beloved father

I thought about what the undertaker had told the buyer. It would be a few days before he could change the words. It was eerie and a bit haunting to think that the people who had just grieved a complete stranger had done so to my father’s name.

I took my little trowel from my bike’s basket and started to dig.

Somewhere nearby, I could hear a scream that was cut off by a gasp for breath. I guess the buyer either hadn’t gotten far or was coming back to say another goodbye farewell see you later.

Hurried footsteps behind me, sharp nails digging into my shoulders and she yanked back. Screaming in my face, obscenities that would make the paperboy blush. None of which I think I heard. I was too focused on the grave behind her.

He’d been buried shallow, the buyer’s great uncle. That and with even my sad excuse for a shovel, I had gotten to the body before the buyer found me.

I leapt forward and shoved her; she was too busy yelling at the corpse to notice my sudden movement.

My trowel cut into everything. Dirt, rocks, bones, flesh. Mixing fresh and old blood into the deathly soil, fertilizing it like a macabre gardening project. On the edge of the cemetery while the screams of the buyer were quickly snuffed out by chokes and desperate pleas for relief.

My necklace came free during all this. My name, Nyssa Dalca, was spelled out in shiny white beads amongst polished smooth stones. Granite and limestone. The same many of the tombstones surrounding us were made from.

Finally, the sounds died down and the buyer stayed put in the shallow grave. I wiped off my trowel against the exposed casket and the buyer’s shirt and swept the upheaved dirt on top. Patting down the grave flat like burying a box containing your first deceased childhood pet. That, as a child you don’t realize, doesn’t like its claws being painted blue.

Standing up, I pulled my blonde hair into a twisted braid; picking up a stick from the forest floor to stab right through the unfamiliar strands, keeping it in place. I was still a bit hungry from my meager breakfast, and according to the undertaker’s assistant, there was a dinner being held at the diner nearby.

Selling my father’s tombstone hurt initially, but his journal and final letter to me was clear it needed to be done. I write this, my first account, to compare to his. He made a living for a good 76 years and, in his letter, assured me I could do the same.

Leaving me so young wasn’t part of the plan, and I have no idea what I’m going to do next, but at least with these muscles I can get started in his workshop. Another tombstone will need to be made.

#writeblr #short story #gothic horror #horror #original writing #fiction #avian writes

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years

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opening scene, six am, scrambled eggs stuck to your economy class seat

the first thing i bought in america was a stick of deodorant. i'd left mine in singapore though i could've sworn i'd stuck it in my suitcase before i got on the plane, in the turquoise pouch with the chipped zipper beside the advil that would sit there, forgotten, for the next thirteen weeks and a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer that smelled like well-fermented ass. it turns out your memory fails you when you're getting ready to leave everything you've ever known behind, even if the place you're headed for has looked like a hammered michelangelo's impression of salvation for most of your life. it was that kind of time. i was out of my mind and found the space beneath my feet where one expects floor to be empty for most, if not all, of my waking moments. of course i forgot about the deodorant. the real surprise was that i thought i'd remember at all.

the first thing i bought when i got on campus was a bottle of mineral water. it took me two days to realize that the star trek-esque metal fitting built into the wall on the first floor of my dorm building was meant to dispense drinking water and not tiny silver men that would kill me in my sleep, and three to realize that none of the water coolers in this place were functional. jamming my thumb into the button while no longer expecting anything to happen, i was reminded, suddenly and abruptly, that we were in the middle of a pandemic. i resisted the urge to rub my eye with the back of my hand and went back up to my room, where already a small army of plastic bottles had begun to accumulate on an empty shelf.

the first person i spoke to here is not a good person, but not a particularly bad one either. he is selfish and has half-eaten dinner plates for eyes and thinks the world is the size of his fist, which is how most people are when they're eighteen, especially the boys, especially the ones who've never had to answer to the horrible, searching x-ray question, what are you? i only hope he grows out of it. i will not be the one to make him. perhaps he should make an appointment with god.

the first time i cried in america was when i was born (austin, texas, april 25th, 2001). it hasn't happened since.

today i cross the street from the campus bookstore to the bank, thumbing my passport in the pocket of my hoodie to make sure it hasn't fallen out, to make sure they'll be able to identify my body if i'm ever found somewhere wet and starless (behind a beat-up denny's would be good, though i'm not against the idea of waffle house). i spend five minutes standing awkwardly in front of the empty counter, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, before i notice the print-out saying something about online check-ins and virtual consultations. i ignore it. when i finally work up the courage to speak to someone the teller makes me scan the QR code with my phone anyway. eight hours later, long after i've opened my first bank account in america and gotten a bona fide american debit card, bright orange like they're afraid i'm going to drop it on the street if it's the color of slate (i will anyway, because god made me full of homosexuality and hubris and i intend to live up to his expectations), and discovered that i am, in fact, capable of holding a conversation with two strangers a decade my senior who both have wedding rings and big adult smiles and soft adult voices, i get a text back. good news, it says. we're ready to serve you now.

the spring semester ends today. when i was typing up my powerpoint on why i should be allowed to go to america for college at four a.m. last december i remember looking up the duration of the spring semester on the school website. look, i told my mom, while frantically clicking through fifteen pointless, but very cool animations on google slides with my other hand. it's only until may twenty-first. it's not that long. but it's long enough.

it isn't long enough. three months is barely enough time to get someone to trust you enough to tell you what they think about when they're lying awake in bed at three o'clock in the morning and they have to pee but they're starting to drift off and if they get up now they'll never fall asleep ever again in their life. and this is a country we're talking about. the worst one there is. the loudest, the proudest, the weirdest; the closest to the proverbial heart of man. the one that's the happiest to fuck the world up, over and over again. this is not your standard courtship ritual. this is a lifelong investmnet.

one time someone told me he'd always thought he was straight. but then i met you, he said, his brows scrunched together in a way that was both unattractive and made me want to pinch his cheeks together until there was nothing left in between. so what does that make me? imagine i'm standing in that room again but a little removed from the scene. i stare into the camera like i'm in the office. i don't have a fucking clue, i say blankly. why the fuck are you asking me?

there is something about people who have never been forced to consider the question of what constitutes their fundamental identity as a human being. they're so happy, but in the way that toddlers are before they realize that melted ice cream doesn't taste as good as the frozen stuff and things that die, like, actually don't come back to you even if you hold a funeral for the ant you accidentally squished and stop drinking soda for a week and make sure not to step on all the white tiles in the hallway outside your apartment. i imagine all of the happy cishets in the world poised on the edge of a very tall building. what's at the bottom of the drop? i dunno. you'll have to ask them.

recently i acquired seven bottles of nail polish from a friend who was trying to clear out her collection before leaving for the summer. i keep forgetting people are leaving for the summer, and now they've all left. reality hits you like a horse's ass across the cheek. it's warm. it's soft. it smells unpleasant but in a way that makes you want to keep smelling it even though at the back of your mind you know that this isn't going to improve your mental, physical, or spiritual health, and yet in the moment, in the moment that is the now that is the blood coursing through your veins all red and shimmery like glass, in this funny little moment all you can do is stand there, eyes squeezed shut, and inhale.

i convinced my mom to send me my favorite bomber jacket. the postage cost seventeen dollars and fifty cents in singapore dollars but true to form it only took thirteen days to get from one side of the globe to the other. it is not so appalling after all that we are connected by distances. geographically speaking, i am always beside you.

there is at least one working water cooler on this campus. in the basement of this whoozy, boozy freshman dorm, beside the laundry room with its clear glass door and clean, powdery lavender-lemon-jasmine smell, you will find a metal fixture with a thick rectangular button hidden under the lip of the bowl. if you jam your thumb into it, water will erupt from the fountain-head like god pouring life into the mouths of tiny clay-children or goldfish, depending on which version of history you're a fan of, depending on which natgeo subscription you have. and the water will be very sweet, very cold, nourishing the skin on your bones and furnishing the ground beneath your feet. but don't drink from it. we're in a pandemic, after all.

instead go back up, past the lounge with the flatscreen tv and the ratty green sofas, past the elevator that sounds like a soap opera crossed with a minecraft let's play, past the cubbyhole of a kitchen with the moldy sponges and the half-empty bottle of dish soap that smells like van gogh's impression of misery until you get to the room that, for the last three brilliant, battered months, has been yours. and let yourself in.

05.21.21

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 3 years

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It’s The Avengers (03x14)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 14: It’s Not What It Looks Like

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: ehehehehehe

Word Count: my anxiety was through the roof this time. and that too on the thing that I know was not achievable. But noooo my boss just wants results. Well, fuck you and your boss who gave me anxiety. You will know the pain of these tears soon.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The familiar sports car shining in its red shade came to a halt right outside the door for Tony to get out and greet the lone camera covering him. "How's it going fellas?" He seemed comparatively chirpier than the last few days as he whistled his way to the boot of the trunk to take out five boxes of large pizzas along with a whole bag filled with soda and side dishes. "It's pizza party today, my lovely unicorn," he announced to the camera person; mostly because there was no one else in his vicinity.

Tony: *standing next to his car* I have come realise that I have been a bit hard on my team because of the anxiety I've been feeling ever since Y/N disappeared from right in front of me. Like last Monday. *camera switches to the video recording of Last Monday* Tony is seen in the kitchenette making detox juice for himself after a workout. Sam comes and grabs the coffee pot, looking around for a mug to pour himself some. The only mug hanging on the stand is your Brooklyn Nine-Nine themed one. "Well," he mutters to himself, "no one's using this for a while." Just as he finishes the sentence, Tony's hand slips on the juicer switch and the green spill out everywhere in the space, making Sam yell for help. "You are excluded from my will," Tony announces while looking dead into Sam's eyes before pouring the coffee from his pot into the sink and walking away. *back to present* Tony: Pepper says I went overboard but Sam didn't have to say that now did he. *makes a cringe face* Anyways. This is my way of showing them that I have made peace with the situation for now and that I trust our alien friends to get my daughter back to me asap.

Tony walked into the facility to be greeted by dead silence. "Did I miss something?" he wondered out loud for the camera while looking around the lobby and the waiting area. "I am pretty sure we were not supposed to go out anywhere thanks to that stubborn virus." He walked up the elevator to be greeted by Clint coming back from the security room with his self-regulated watch, carrying two glasses of iced Americanos- one of which he offered Tony. "Pizza-" he seemed happy to see the boxes, taking the bag from Tony- "what's the occasion? Are you firing one of us? Is there a budget cut because of the 'Rona? In that case, just know that I spot a person without a mask from miles. And I can end them right there." Tony pressed the button for the lounge and waited for the camera to record his wink and smile till the doors closed to let the other handy camera in the elevator- following Clint- take over. Clint did a survey of the bag and was quite content with the contents. Tony, still with his glasses on, walked his usual walk that displayed well that he owned the place. "No one's getting fired unless they are eating my choco-chip ice cream." "You have set the bar pretty low." "It's pretty much up to the expectations I have from you all."

Clint shrugged and went on to agree with him, walking behind the Iron Man as the elevator dinged. The camera followed Clint and Tony out to film the scene unfolding in the Lounge. Manoeuvring away from their shoulders, the camera caught that deadpan silence in the room filled with nearly every Avenger staring at the screen with the seriousness of defusing a bomb that may go off any time. Peter was hiding under Scott's arm, peeping at the screen through his hands while Scott was biting his nails, nervousness dripping from his forehead. Wanda held Vision's hand while she muttered something under her breath- most probably a chant. Sam seemed to have forgotten he was watering the plants for the water-can was already empty and yet he still went on to pour the contents while his eyes were glued to the screen. Bucky's hands were busy brushing Zuko's fur- while the pupper took this opportunity to lay in his lap and snooze- monotonously, his gaze too stuck on the screen. "Come on, come on. Do it," Steve muttered while on the edge of his seat on the sofa. The camera swivelled back to Clint and Tony- both of whom had confused looks on their faces by now. Both of them turned to the screen in sync to witness what exactly was it that had all of them in such a grim state. And it was something like this.

On the screen was a barely lit space that seemed like it could have been a small closet under somebody's staircase. In that barely lit space, you could be seen from your abdomen up. There you were, panting, sweating, your hair a literal mess, your bra strap dangling out of your tank top's straps. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the camera was seemingly recording you from. And in that same dim light, a movement was discovered behind you. That movement was of the exposed muscles and skin that the viewers had never seen in their daily life. Well, neither had they seen that very person pant and sweat like this before as well. Green eyes shined in that bare light, as the familiar face came out from the shadows to apparently hover just above your shoulder. One pale hand was used to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go."

The iced Americanos created a crackle and bang louder than expected- thanks to the already looming silence- when they hit the floor. The pizza box and other snacks? Not so much. Every other person jumped where they were to turn and watch the colours from Tony and Clint's faces drain away by the second, their jaws unhinged, their hearts at a pause and their lungs just no longer working. Steve- the only one in the room to have deciphered what had just gone down in those Dad brains- got up and raised his arms till his chest as of sign of caution. "It's not what you think. Tony, Clint it's not-" The elevator dinged and out came Natasha and Bruce with four feet long bags of Cheetos and popcorn, the former quite excited to rush out into the Lounge. "We found the snacks from the pantry! Did we miss something? Did they put it in yet?" Steve winced just as Bruce blurted out those words. Tony was already heaving audibly, no air going into his lungs as he nearly collapsed on the floor if not for Natasha holding him up like she was used to it. Clint, on the other hand, had 'disgusted' written all over his face, judging every single person in the room before storming out. "OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GAAAAA~" the screams could be heard from outside while the camera zoomed in on Natasha's face- already bored and tired.

Natasha: If they had more than one working brain cell they wouldn't have fought like twelve-year-olds in the middle of an airport and then stopped talking for a whole year. *camera pans in on her face* *faces the camera* And to think they can procreate. .

One Hour Ago Eight Hours Earlier In A Galaxy Far Away One of the camera drones stepped over a stone wall and passed over a dozen guards, buzzing its best to enter the first window it could find. Passing over ogres guarding the small galleries, another drone accompanied the first one down the maze of hallways, parting at the stairway leading down to the dungeons and up to the meeting room. The way to the dungeons was one dark path that only lit up at the very end of the hallway- few lamps burning with constant flickers. The space was divided into walls and covered with iron bars. A few of these cells were empty while others housed creatures who are only spoken about with the name of their shadows. In the last cell was a shadow that seemed similar to that of a human sleeping under the lone ragged excuse of a blanket. If one tried to focus, they could hear light snores coming out of that creature too. The drone came to rest upon one of the iron bars, sending in the live feed to the cameraman behind this whole shebang. The other fly had already found the 'throne room'. The throne- as one could make out with the setting of the hall- was made out of a tree trunk burned till all that was left was an ash-covered dead piece looking up at the sky. The seat was carved right through the middle with one of the ashened branches housing a black adder with red eyes. And in the throne sat the one person no one wanted to see. "Aellae," you mumbled in the most derogatory sense, your eyes wanting to hurt her there and then through the screen in Javier's hand. And lo! Right then the God stepped in the frame, standing in front of the witch with his usual demeanour. Well, that's what it looked like. "Why do you have to bow to her?" You whispered at him a bit viciously. White entered the frame that was recording your end. Looking at the screen he furrowed his brows and wondered how you could tell that. "He stands straight," you stressed, already sensing the question from White, "and right now he is not. And he does not not stand straight for anyone." "I see you have found yourself a fine pair of pets on your galactic travels, my love," you and White hear Aellae from the screen, bringing your attention back to her. "Just a bunch of humans and a kitten to entertain me on my way," he chuckled and shrugged a little, that Asgardian charm resurfacing in his smile. Aellae smirked at him. "On your way to where?" The question had a hint of anger even when she added a wave of curiosity, something that was easy to catch of the one who was listening to layers in her voice. Loki waved his hands in the air. "You know how it is for me. Here and there, always on the move. A nomad exploring the universe." "No more," she announced, her head high, her stare stern, "now you stay with me. You will be my advisor in the day, guiding my army to every corner of this world, with nothing to spare." She got up from her throne to walk an inhumanly seductive gait to reach the God and place her finger under his chin. "And in the night, you shall be my pacifier," she whispered, making your whole face cringe for the camera to zoom into it. "You shall satiate all my bedly desires till I the very. last. drop." Something cracked on the other side, making Javier and White turn in every direction to look at the source of the sound. Lulu too was a bit confused. You were the only person not taking your eyes away from the screen.

You: I swear to God if she was not such a bitch, I would have asked her out. Would have even gone to lengths of being her *makes air quotes* bedfellow if she was not such a fucking bitch?? Javier: *turns the camera to himself with the dazed look on his face* *signs for the camera* I am supportive and all in for this but is now really a good time for her to be questioning her sexuality? When we can literally die for just breathing wrong???

"Now," Aellae snapped everyone back to the screen, "as for those pets of yours, I'll send someone to take care of them. They are just hindrance if nothing more." "Aellae," Loki's honey laden voice was now implying a sternness. "What." "They are not to be given enough importance to be-" Loki sighed and closed his eyes- "taken care of." "All the more fun to watch them die in misery." Her eyes widened with excitement at the thought of murder. "Especially that Midgardian who is living in the illusion of being your friend." Loki's jaw tightened. "If you decide to harm h-them, I will not aid you in your irrational quests, Aellae. Going after those weaklings proves that you are still the reckless stubborn creature that I left you." There wasn't an exclamation of surprise on her face but rather that particular smirk of the devil who has walked its prey right into its trap. "So, she does mean something to you." Loki kept mum. "Guards!" she yelled for the two orcs standing outside, "bring me the head of the woman!" "Aellae, stop," he begged casually. "Enough humour." "And do whatever with the rest of her!" she ordered with her eyes piercing through Loki's soul.

The next thing you know, the last fly drone that got lost on the middle floor somewhere was recording two orcs throwing Loki into a room before shutting the door behind him. His grunts echoed through the room with no windows. All around him were walls coloured in a dusty cream shade, lamps lining up the four walls with one dressing table sitting with one of the four walls, housing heavy chains, the purpose of which Loki did not want to know. He huffed as he stood up, looking at the door before letting his gaze land on those shackles on his wrist that now seemed permanent. The tension on his jaw did not go unnoticed by the tiny roommate before he slammed those bracelets- along with his wrist- into the wall in pure animalistic rage.

Witch's Den- Down the Hall Two orcs stood guard to the entrance coming to the floor via the stairs. One of them seemed to be snoozing with all the pressure sitting on his nose and brows while the other one was trying to drive away this one stubborn fly that kept buzzing around its head. Eventually reaching the threshold of irritation, he followed the fly out towards the stairs, his curved sword being swung into the air to strike the buzzing creature; only to be taken by surprise with a bright source of light. The next thing the fly was recording was the other orc waking up to the clunk of a sword dropping, this one finding gasping and taking an attack position before the camera went dark.

But not for long.

The fly in Loki's room recorded the God catching the sounds outside while he was in the middle of surveying the whole room for an escape route. The grunts and gasps of orcs outside have stopped, making him all the more cautious to the steps that steadily approach the door. He took one of the chains in his hand, with calculated steps, walked towards the door to catch whatever tried to come in next. With the sound of a heavy key twisted inside the keyhole, the wheels turned and the door opened a smidge to let someone in. Without losing even a second, Loki wound the chain around your neck from behind you, nearly choking you. "Not now, dammit!" you choked, trying to free yourself from the hold. "Y/N?" the surprise stirring along with confusion was a new shade on Loki that you would have appreciated any other day. "Wha-what are you doing here?" That God wasn't even able to squeak on realising it was you. The chains came off as fast as they had gone around your neck, giving you room to breathe and widen your eyes in horror. "No! No no no no noooo!!" You ran towards the door as it clunk shut, leaving you to pull at it with all your might to no avail. "The door opens from outside," you groaned with a sob, thumping your head on it with low winces before a tiny realisation hit you hard enough to stop and look back at Loki. "Ow!" He yelled at the hard slap that came for his back, looking at you in simmering confusion. "You could've waited to choke me after we got out, you fucking IDIOT!" The slaps and punches got more vigorous with each word until Loki had to gab your hands with his to stop you from wasting your energy anymore. "And what makes you think coming here was a good idea?" He struggled to keep your writhing form from hurting itself more than him. You were ready to kick him in his shins and you would have absolutely done that if Loki had not shoved you into the wall with him towering over you to restrict any movement of your limbs. The little buzzing drone came to sit over Loki's arm and capture the frame where both of you were flaming with anger and still trying to breathe enough to keep that rage alive. "I'd already told you were on your own," he grunted, his eyes drilling through your soul. "And I'd already told you I am a psychology major. I can see the denial routine from miles away, you stupid blob of six-foot galaxy brain! You think I haven't sacrificed myself to a professor for the sake of my friends?" "...what? Wait. What do mean by sacri-" "Now get off me and find us a way out of here." You pushed him back. Well, at least you thought you did. But he pushed closer to you, shooting emotions of mild surprise in your eyes before you caught yourself slipping. Fortunately, this little drone caught everything in 4K. From the veins popping in Loki's neck to the parted lips and wavering gaze of yours. "This world is not a joke, Y/N. There was a reason you were left behind. And you have done the exact opposite of that which is supposed to keep you alive." It felt as if Loki had to restrain from spilling that anger over the rim. To make that hypothesis true, he punched the wall to dissipate this emotion he did not want to be running him. And there he stood, his head hanging above you in defeat, his eyes closed and his breath wavering. "I was supposed to send you home safe," he was barely able to mutter. The drone focused on your hands coming around his torso, your arms taking as much of his frame in a hug as possible as you softly patted his back and soothed him. Loki's body twitched a little at this new touch, still like a stone before giving in with every wave of your soothing touch. "You're family, idiot. I'm not gonna leave you behind with some crazy bitch that isn't me?" A chuckle resonated through you and then the room. The next moment when you looked at him, he was looking lighter. "Now come on, use your muscles and drill through one of these walls." Raising his good brow, he judged you while tapping his fist casually on the wall. "What exactly do you take me for?" "A cheesy brooder who's all soft inside," you commented without skipping a beat, looking around to find some kind of a loophole in this square room. "Say that outside these walls and watch what this brooder does to you." "Sounds like an invitation," you sang under your breath, tapping the walls. It took a while. A while that was long enough for you to move around the room to come and sit on the lone drawer by the wall, feeling the heat of the room bursting out the sweat in your skin, other than turning your brain into an irritated mush. You groaned while taking off your top and throwing it on the floor. You wanted to cry out loud to blow off some of the unbearable heat but stopped short at the sight of that overcoat coming off. Followed by that black shirt. Muscles. No matter how he moved or what he did, his back lived in that moment to tease you with those muscles. And what was that? Sparkles? No, sweat, glistening in the dim light. Wait, why was it glisten- You looked around and realised the lamps were at their wick's end. "Same," you sighed as you looked back at Loki's back, only to find him turned around to face you. "Oh, Gods!" you jumped down from the drawer with quite the surprise in your eyes. "This is your first time seeing me shirtless?" It almost felt like he was genuinely curious. "What? No! I don't know. That wasn't the-look!" You signalled him to come closer and let your hand hang right above the drawer's top that touched the two corners of the wall. Loki mirrored you and realised it instantly. "That's a cold breeze." He looked at you with pupils expanding wide in that dim lighting. Taking over from there, he tried his best to get a look as to which section of the wall it was coming from. "There's an opening-" he immediately shifted his position to standing parallel to the length of the wall, his hands grounded on the varnished top- "we will have to either pull it-" he tried his best but the structure did not budge- "or push it towards the opening in that section." You got to work as well, standing next to him and giving your end of the small corner a good push that only ended up in failed grunts. "Okay, let's try another way," you inhaled, "I'll push the top, you be the bottom."

The drone was sitting on the drawer now, capturing all those failed attempts from every angle both of you thought possible before you nearly collapsed due to lack of air. "We're are clearly doing something wrong here," Loki huffed, his puffed-up chest, the centre of the camera's frame. You flipped your wet hair to show your tired face in the lone lamp that burned in the room. "There weren't any more of those BDSM chains inside it, were there?" Loki's breathing stopped for a moment. You looked at him for an answer. Both of you moved to open the drawers. The drone captured the disappointment in your own IQ in high definition before watching you both taking them out with nothing but pure spite. "Take a break, I'll try-" "No," you shook your head and wiped the forehead sweat, "let's do it together." Loki wanted you to stop but that you gave him was more than adequate to let anyone know you won't listen right now. "This time you stand behind me and let's use the wall behind as a supp....ort? Wait how is this room looking shorter?" You were looking around in dazed confusion while Loki closed his eyes. "It's not a normal room. Those two walls will keep closing in until..." He didn't have to say more. "Well, then what are we waiting for?" the drop of panic in your high pitched voice was evident as you positioned yourself- putting your palms on the edge. "Come on." Loki came to stand behind you, copying your position, just a bit more charismatically- and with a bit more skin- till he felt your hair come into his mouth. "One, two, three!" This time the push did budge the drawer chest a bit but your strength had been used for that movement of a centimetre. Your breaths almost felt like your lungs were on the verge of crying. "Again," you panted, wiping the sweat beads from your forehead while positioning your hands on a surface where the drone was seemingly recording you from. Loki looked at your back, clearly concerned. This time he used his hand to remove those clammy hair strands coming in his way before both arms mimicked your position and came to rest on either side of your arms. "Are you sure?" Loki's voice, breathless and heavy, questioned you with sincerity while his body did not budge from behind you. You nodded. "Again." The frame caught you adjusting your hips to position your butt right with his front- something that was not covered by the camera. He towered over you, adjusting to your height while grounded his arms on the surface. "Okay then," he whispered, taking one arm to move your butt a little closer to your frame before going back to anchor himself to the surface, "here we go." Both of you had your eyes stuck on the wall with a fiery gaze and an aura that would have burned this place to the ground. His muscles tried to take all that you could not. And just when the grunts were turning into screams, the drawer started to move from its place with a screeching noise. As soon as Loki noticed a decent enough opening in the wall to your and his side, he pushed you and himself in through the opening before the death walls came for your limbs. The drone fly followed. Both of you rolled through what seemed like a tunnel slide through the walls for a minute till that just did not seem to end. It did end though. It ended in a noisy fall of thuds and groans- you on top of him. "You okay?" you winced through your broken voice, not moving a muscle for the fear of breaking something. Also because it was awkward lying over him on your stomach. Loki replied with a quick wince. A ruffle came from next to you. Followed by a lazy groan. Your head turned to the noise. So did Loki's. "You two could have easily waited for another hour." The drone swerved around to bonk into the one that was already there, covering the dungeons. There under the rugged blanket, laid Carol Danvers, looking at the two of you with sleepy eyes. Neither of you knew what to say. She looked at her watch and put her head inside the blanket again. "Five more minutes."

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

Note

The gang on their wedding days

[Been meaning to post this one for a while — since I’m applying to get married today, now seems like the time.]

Jake steps into the room like a child wandering into his parents’ dinner party. His bow tie is askew, seams of his jacket misaligned for all that it’s a custom-tailored tuxedo. If the buttons of his shirt aren’t one hole off from their intended placement, they still manage to convey that impression from across the room.

Rachel feels a rush of affection for him, her first best friend. The boy who’d run and fought and splashed through mud with her, back before adults started telling her to be careful of her dress and him to be careful of her. Only he could show up to his own wedding looking like he’s ready to be expelled at any moment. Only Jake.

And yes, she gets mushy at weddings. Sue her.

Tom steps up next to Jake, far more elegant in an off-the-rack suit. Some people actually got the fashionable genes in this family.

Rachel surges across the room. Tom gets a quick hug, and then she turns all her attention on Jake.

“You only have to look nice for the next three hours,” she tells him briskly.

“Three. Hours,” Jake repeats.

With expert motions she realigns his… everything, until at the very least the clothes are sitting the way the tailor intended. She tries to finger-comb his hair, thankful for the heels that put her at an inch above his height, but it’s obvious that he has also been running his hands through it and the style is hopelessly deformed.

“You can survive anything for three hours,” Rachel says as she does all this. “I’ve seen you do it.”

“But if I mess it up—”

“Then stop, go back, and do whatever it is over. We’re not exactly on a time pressure, here. Nobody’s gonna die if you trip at the altar or forget your lines.”

“Okay.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, deforming his jacket again. “Okay.”

She can see him starting to relax as he glances around, shoulders coming down. Cassie’s place isn’t quite like they remember — it’s been repaired since the war, the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic expanded to nearly five times its original size — but it still feels as close to home as any place does.

“Have a glass of water,” Rachel says.

“But what if I have to pee during the ceremony?”

She rolls her eyes. “Babysit him,” she mouths at Tom.

Tom gives her a gesture in response that approximates What do you think I’ve BEEN doing? Whether he means the last four hours or the last twenty-six years is, really, a moot point.

Rachel leaves him to it, and charges off to go check on the others.

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

Marco leans against a tent pole, trying to roll one of the rings across his fingers the way Vegas poker players do with chips. So far it’s not going well.

“Canapé,” Ax is saying carefully. He attempts to lean next to Marco, nearly going all the way over. “Can-nap-peee?”

“Uh, no.” Marco catches the ring as it makes its third or fourth bid for freedom, stuffing it back into his pocket. “That…” He tilts his champagne flute to point. “…is a canopy. Or a chuppah, I guess. Canopee. Canapay is the little pastry thing you’ve already filched in bulk, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Ah,” Ax says. And then, “This temperature and rate of precipitation is within optimal survival parameters for humans, is it not?”

“Nuh-uh, Ax-Man, I will not be pulled in by your smooth small-talk skills.”

“Did you not wish to make conversation?” Ax frowns. And then he stuffs another canapé in his mouth. “This is making conversation,” he adds through the mouthful.

Marco squints. “Is it, though?”

“It is indeed. Did you know that the rotating-wheel can opener was patented in 1870?”

Marco’s response to that one gets cut off when Rachel comes charging across the open tent space like a small freight train. Tobias is balanced on her shoulder, flaring slightly as she runs. She yanks the champagne flute out of his hand. Marco makes a squeak of protest, but Rachel just sets it firmly on a bussing tray and turns back to glare at him.

“What did we agree?” she asks sternly.

Marco rolls his eyes. “That I’d stay sober-ish for the toast, and not do anything too embarrassing.”

“You’re the best man. You have one job, Marco.”

“Excuse you, the best man’s one job was that banger of a bachelor-slash-ette party we did Wednesday night. Did you like the part where we all dived out of a helicopter and flew clear through the lower atmosphere to that rooftop bar? Because—”

“So you got the drinking out of your system. You promised.”

“Sober-ish, come on, it’s just one wine-spritzer-thing!”

Rachel turns away from him, looking Ax over. “You realize you’re going to have to demorph and remorph at some point before the ceremony, right?” she asks. “And that when you do, someone’s going to have to go through the whole kit and caboodle of getting you into that tux all over again?”

“Yes,” Ax says. “Yes, I do.”

She stares at him. He stares back, looking as innocent as it is possible to look while also chewing three jalapeño pastries at the same time.

«You should probably just listen to her,» Tobias suggests. «By the way, where’s your date? Not that I quake in fear for the wedding cake or anything, but, uh…»

“Menderash has been instructed not to eat anything on a human plate without seeking my opinion first,” Ax says, somewhat stiffly.

“Yeah,” Marco says. “So far he’s only eaten two earthworms, a candle, some decorative sand, and part of Collette’s bouquet. You two have nothing to worry about.”

“Part of Collette’s bouquet?” Rachel demands. “We can’t send a bridesmaid up the aisle without—”

“Already replaced it, I am on top of this.” Marco flips his hair back from his face. “I am a flower master.”

«So where is Menderash now?» Tobias asks.

“Helping Cassie’s mom,” Marco explains.

«And Cassie’s mom is…?»

“Delivering a baby cow.”

Rachel makes a noise like she’s choking on air. “Doesn’t Michelle have vet techs for that kind of thing? She’s supposed to be getting ready, not, not…”

“It’s cool,” Marco says. “She’s got her makeup on, her hair is done perfectly, she’s got an apron-thing to keep her dress nice and gloves over her nails, it was a breech birth so they needed a real doctor and Walter was busy supervising the caterers, she’s got Menderash and Steve helping her out—”

“She kidnapped Jake’s dad?” Rachel demands overtop the continuing babble.

“He said he had never delivered an offspring outside of his own species before, and expressed deep curiosity on the subject,” Ax offers. “Menderash is a certified medic with andalite training, so they should be well-equipped to assist.”

Marco makes jazz hands in the air. “It’s a free pre-dinner show! Cow birth. Better than icebreakers.”

There’s a very long pause. Rather than dignify that with a response, Rachel turns and stalks away.

Marco watches her go, halfway awed at her ability to navigate an open yard so well while not only wearing six-inch heels and a multi-layer floor-length dress, but also balancing an enormous updo on top of her head and a red-tailed hawk on her left shoulder.

“Is it just me, or did Jake and Cassie make a monster when they asked her to be maid of honor?” Marco says.

«You wanna take over her responsibilities, then?»

Of course Tobias heard that. Stupid hawk hearing.

“No thank you!” Marco yells after them.

Cassie, meanwhile, is currently picking her way across the open space under the tent, bunches of dress hiked up to above her knees. This last is, of course, the source of Rachel’s consternation.

“Here.” Rachel attempts to pull the wads of skirt out of Cassie’s hands and drop them back to the ground. “You’re going to wrinkle it.”

Cassie stubbornly refuses to let go. “You told me not to let it drag on the ground. If I let it down, it’ll drag.”

“Cassie, Cassie. That is a hand-tailored Christian Dior gown that I commissioned to be custom-fitted to your measurements. There is no way that it is too long if you let it…”

Cassie drops the bunches of tulle. The end of the skirt falls all the way down, where the bottom two inches rest, unmistakably, on the muddy ground.

Rachel somehow manages to wince with her entire body while also not moving at all.

«It’s a look,» Tobias suggests, by way of consolation. «Kind of.»

“How…?” Rachel peers closer at Cassie. “Wait, where are your shoes?”

Cassie shrugs, embarrassed. “Uh, inside somewhere. I was having trouble balancing in them.”

“Well that’s why!” Rachel’s emphatic gesture almost dislodges Tobias. With years’ experience, he dodges her waving arm and retains his perch. “The dress was tailored to fit you with shoes on.”

“They were getting stuck in the grass—”

“They’re kitten heels!”

“Yeah, and they’re still heels.” Cassie looks stuck somewhere between amusement and embarrassment. “I don’t really do heels. Sorry.”

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says, as if to thin air.

«Nuh-uh, leave me out, I want no part in—»

“Remember me telling Cassie that we should really try the whole outfit on before the wedding?”

«Uh. Yes?»

“Do you also remember Cassie agreeing to it, and then the day of, haring off to go try and save a bunch of vultures instead? Remember how we tried to reschedule, and there was that ALF mission on the same day so she never showed? Remember that?”

Cassie clears her throat loudly. “I think it’s a very nice dress. It’s fluffy and also comfortable, and look!” She tucks her hands away. “It has pockets.”

«Vultures are actually fundamental for waste disposal in ecosystems all over the world, and the poisons used on livestock—»

“Do you think you could at least wear the shoes long enough to go up the aisle?” Rachel asks. “And maybe even for a few photos as well?”

“Uh. I’ll try.” Cassie hikes her skirt back up (Rachel full-body winces again) and starts picking her way across the lawn back toward the house.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to un-wrinkle it in time,” Rachel mutters.

«Yep. So you’re just going to have to live with it.»

“I hate living with it.”

«Wanna go check on whatever monstrosity of a replacement bouquet Marco probably inflicted on Collette?»

“Fine, fine.”

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

Cassie walks up the aisle in a custom-tailored gown, an edelweiss and valerian flower crown, and slightly muddy Timberland work boots. The sole on the boots is apparently tall enough that the skirt does, not, in fact, drag on the ground or get tangled in her feet.

«Somewhere out there,» Tobias comments, «Christian Dior is crying into an overpriced silk handkerchief and doesn’t even know why.»

Marco has never more deeply felt the utter unfairness of Tobias being able to use thought-speak while human, because they’re currently standing at the front of the aisle and he can’t even respond.

But Rachel should still count this one as a win. The gown looks stunning on Cassie, lacy and princess-ruffled while also having the kind of practical cut that allows her freedom of movement. And, Marco notes with a smirk, freedom to wear her morphing leotard underneath; the purple spandex is just visible peeking out from underneath the white silk neckline. He’s got morphing clothes under his own tux — never leaves home without ‘em — so really, he can’t judge.

Plus, Michelle’s got her dress and just her dress on by now, and her locs are still tucked into their silver-beaded updo. Really, the cow birth was just a momentary inconvenience.

“Hi,” Jake whispers, when Cassie reaches him.

She grabs his hand. Then she stuffs her bouquet into one of his jacket pockets, and grabs his other hand. “Hi,” she whispers back.

“This is pretty exciting, huh?”

“Yep.”

Ax clears his throat delicately, and they stop talking.

“There is an Earth tradition,” Ax says to the entire assembly, “that the captain of any ship may perform a wedding ceremony at will.”

In the front row of seats, Michelle laces her fingers through Walter’s.

“Although there is no legal precedent for this custom,” Ax continues, “it is nevertheless possible to become ordained as a wedding officiant if one just completes the proper applications.”

One of Jake’s great-aunts mutters something loudly about the lack of rabbi. Sarah leans over and kicks her in the ankle. Rachel beams her approval.

“Therefore, I am here to make official through human custom that which has already been forged through affection and respect.” Ax looks from Jake to Cassie and back. “The bond between warriors who have fought and faced death together can be neither lessened nor improved upon by mere ceremony. The honor shared between two such beings who have chosen to risk loving each other in spite of knowing the reality of loss is one that we recognize today. We can recognize it, but not sanctify it beyond the sanctity of what these two humans have already shared.”

Rachel lets out an audible sniffle. Marco does his best not to smirk at her. It’s not that sappy a speech.

“I have been assured that the bond between two humans who like each other far exceeds the bond between those who merely enjoy each other’s company,” Ax says.

And now Marco has to fight the urge to bang his head against the nearest support pole.

“I have witnessed this myself.” Ax stares around the room. “I have witnessed compromise and forgiveness, compassion and challenge between these two. I therefore believe it is correct and proper that this bond be formally recognized by the State of California. Is there anything you would wish to add?” he says to Jake and Cassie.

Cassie leans up on tip-toe. Jake bends to meet her.

She whispers her vows into his ear, not bothering to share with the rest of the gathering. After a moment, tears on his face, he leans in and whispers back.

Recognizing his cue, Marco grabs the rings and passes them over. They’re boring-looking, in his opinion, plain silicon bands without anything shiny. But they’re also easy to morph, easy to shovel manure while wearing, easy to wear without catching on anything. Very Cassie. Very Jake.

Speaking of which, the Timberlands prove to be a good call. When the time comes, Cassie stomps the shit out of that ceremonial glass.

**********

In a slight break with tradition, Rachel and Tobias are actually the first ones to go back down the aisle. Then Marco wheels Collette out, followed by Tom and Melissa, then Jake and Cassie go. That way, Rachel’s got time to sprint back over to the main tent and check on the banquet.

Most of the tables are arranged correctly, the centerpieces in place and the cards arrayed. Rachel does a mad sprint of the room, straightening decorations and confirming with the caterers that they got all the instructions about who needs what in their diet. Between the number of kosher eaters on Jake’s side and the number of vegetarians on Cassie’s, Rachel made the call to go all the way to a fully vegan buffet. That’s probably going to get some of the relatives complaining about kids these days and rabbit food, but there’s no pleasing everyone.

Rachel deftly switches a few of the placecards, thereby putting Jordan on point to deal with their great-aunt and grandmother who have both already overindulged at the open bar, muttering an apology as she does. She puts Tobias to work making sure the bows on the backs of chairs are straight, and rushes up to the long table at the front to confirm that the armless chair meant to accommodate Cassie’s bulky skirt is in the correct place.

D.J. is here, playlist at the ready. Dance floor is clear of grass. Weather’s holding, but tent covers are on standby.

Slightly sweaty, she rushes back out with a chair under each arm just in time to catch the guests coming across the lawn.

“Everyone except the parents, head off to the cocktail hour!” she calls. “Jake, Cassie, moms and dads, with me.”

While Marco’s date (a photographer named Dakota) sets up the camera, Rachel goes into a flurry of motion straightening bowties, adjusting hairdos, and touching up makeup. Steve’s got a spot of cow blood on his forehead, she discovers to her horror, and by the time she’s done scrubbing that off Jake’s managed to get his tuxedo jacket misaligned again. Finally she steps back, breathing hard, and nods to Dakota.

Everyone smiles. The camera goes off.

“Okay.” Rachel claps her hands loudly, because Jake and Cassie are looking ready to stand up and go join the reception. “That’s one down, just twenty-three to go.”

********

Rather than tossing her whole bouquet all at once, Cassie picks it apart and gives a single flower to every single guest she can find. When the bouquet itself runs out, she disassembles her flower crown and hands that out piece by piece until everyone’s got at least one blossom. It just seems fairer that way, she says when Rachel asks.

Several of the traditions, Rachel reflects, seem to be lost on Jake and Cassie. They cut the first piece of cake… and immediately hand it to Ax. And then they cut the second piece, and the third piece, and keep right on cutting slices of cake and handing them out to people until Rachel has to step in and wrest the knife away. She’s grateful that they refrain from any of the food-fighting nonsense, since both their wedding outfits are headed to a charity auction first thing tomorrow morning, but honestly. They’re supposed to eat the first two slices, not drop half a tier of cake into the black hole of hungry andalite.

Cake served, Marco clinks a fork against a glass. “Ladies, gentlemen, and proletariats!”

There’s a general murmur as people look around, trying to spot who’s speaking.

With a hand from Jake, Marco climbs bodily onto the banquet table. “Everyone!” he shouts, and now they’re all looking at him. At him, and at the champagne flute in his hand. “Jake and Cassie!”

It gets a polite round of applause.

“Gotta start at the beginning, right?” Marco looks around the room, grinning. “So there I am, some snot-nosed three-year-old, minding my own business. And this chubby, dorky-looking little white kid comes running up to me and is like…” He leans in. “‘You wanna be my best friend?’”

He grins at Jake, who is flushing bright red.

“I shit you not, that was his opening line. ‘You wanna be my best friend?’ So I’m like…” Marco pantomimes reeling back in shock. “I dunno man, seems like a lot of commitment to make to a total stranger. You want explore our options first, maybe get a prenup, see if we’re compatible? I mean, for all I know five years from now you’re gonna find some younger, hotter best friend and then there I’ll be out on my ear with nothing to show for it.”

There’s a smattering of laughter throughout the room. Marco visibly draws strength from it.

“But you know what?” Marco leans down to look around, smiling like he’s got a secret. “Little dork kept right on showing up to my house and letting me use his television and getting his mom to give me fluffer nutters, and next thing I know it turns out he really is my best friend. I think he was onto something.

“Anyway, you think that one was bad…” He raises his eyebrows. “Couple years later, there we are in first grade, and this girl in teeny-tiny first-grader overalls comes into the room like…”

Marco claps one hand over the top of his champagne flute and clamps the other under the base, and actually walks a few steps down the table with the determined air of a very small and klutzy version of Cassie.

“And her opening line is…” Marco raises the flute to his mouth like it’s a microphone, dropping his voice. “‘You wanna see my moth?’”

Again, there’s a smattering of laughter. Cassie has a hand over her mouth, halfway doubled over in giggles at the memory.

“Now, us being minuscule and all, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure that there was no double entendre going on here,” Marco says. “And I have to admit, no one has used that line on me since. So I say ‘sure,’ because I’m like six years old and this seems like a reasonable question. She lifts her hand up…”

Marco accompanies this with a pantomime of peering through his own fingers into his champagne.

He looks up. “And it’s not even a freaking moth!” he cries out. “Turns out, it’s just some little worm thing. So I tell her.” He puts on a snotty voice, mocking his younger self. “‘That’s not a moth, that’s just some little worm thing.’”

There’s a pause. Marco glances around the room. “See if you can tell where this story’s going.”

Marco and Cassie glance at each other. Cassie’s grinning smugly.

“She puts it in the classroom’s terrarium,” Marco drawls. “It turns into a rock. Two weeks later, rock cracks open and out pops a moth.”

The room cracks up again.

“So fast forward another few years, and she’s standing there holding this eight-eyed, venom-fanged thing. And she’s all like ‘just touch the spider, Marco. Don’t you want to be a spider, Marco? Isn’t it cute and fuzzy?’ As if she is completely unaware that she’s holding a giant-ass eight-legged freak.” Marco takes a sip for strength. “And right then, I look at Jake. And I’m thinking Jake, don’t ever let this girl go. Because if she doesn’t even think wolf spiders are ugly, then she’s got no idea about you. So here’s to Jake and Cassie. Made for each other, because no one else will have ‘em.”

Jake pokes Marco in the ankle, but he’s laughing as he does it.

“All right,” Marco says, “brace yourselves, and someone get some more tissues for my second mama, because I’m about to get sappy. I love you, Jean!” he calls. “I know we all gotta cry it out sometimes.”

She laughs and flaps a dismissive hand at him, but she’s also misty-eyed already.

“Dudes, I gotta be honest.” Marco is looking at Jake and Cassie. “I didn’t think we’d get here. I honestly did not believe, for a good long while there, that there were gonna be any weddings or graduations or driver’s licenses in any of our futures. Just seemed like a good idea not to bet on any of us having any futures, you know? Seemed like it might be the surest option.”

Cassie laces her fingers through Jake’s. Silently, her mouth pressed into a line, she nods.

“So, uh.” Marco sniffs, spinning back around and thrusting his champagne flute into the air. “Here’s to me being wrong, yeah?”

“To Marco being wrong!” Jake echoes, and tosses back his glass.

“To Marco being wrong!” the entire room calls back.

Marco jumps back down, Cassie and Jake catching him as he lands.

**********

After everyone but Menderash and Ax has finished eating, it’s Tom who becomes the next one to tink a fork against a glass for attention.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” he tells the room, strolling slowly toward the head table. “I promised my brother there wouldn’t be a horah.” Tom stops, directly next to Cassie. “But what he didn’t know is that I’d already made a promise to my new sister-in-law that there would be. So what’s a guy to do?”

He snaps his fingers.

At this cue, several things happen at once. The DJ switches to “Hava Nagila.” Several people mob Jake at once. Tom grabs Cassie and lifts her bodily over his head, carrying her chair and all to the middle of the dance floor.

With a squeak of laughter, Cassie grabs the top of Tom’s head for balance. Jake is being hauled out next to her on a chair of his own, supported by Tobias and Menderash and Rachel and James. Marco and Ax are herding the rest of the gathering, shoving people into a circle and linking arms together as they go.

“I hate you!” Jake calls over the sound of the music and his own fit of giggles.

“Gotta keep the in-laws happy!” Tom yells back, unrepentant.

*********

“You sure you’ve got everything you need?” Rachel asks.

Cheyenne, the head caterer, gives her a double thumbs-up. The staff are tipped and most are ready to go, having divvied up the several extra schaeffers’ worth of falafel and butternut squash puree and other entrees that Rachel’d set aside for them. Melissa is set to take over tending bar from here, as planned, and she’s going to keep the groomsmen after for a few minutes for cleanup duty.

“Okay.” Rachel glances around at where the last of the countertops are getting a quick once-over with disinfectant. “Okay. If anything comes up…”

“I have your number.” Cheyenne smiles and nods.

Pushing back out of the room, Rachel heads for the gift table. Everything looks like it’s in good order, but she wants to make sure it all gets packed up properly and that none of the cards get lost in the kerfuffle. It’s mostly donation receipts, at Jake and Cassie’s request, but some of the traditionalists on both sides came with soup tureens or the like —

“Hey.” Jake catches her by the arm.

Rachel turns to look at him. “What’s wrong? Is it the great-aunts?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s all perfect.” He’s smiling shyly. “Thanks.”

“I need to check on the gifts,” Rachel says, because she’s a coward who doesn’t know how to do mushy conversations, especially not with Jake.

“The gifts are fine,” he says. “It’s all fine. Because you made it that way. So… thanks.”

When he pulls her into a hug, Rachel can’t resist straightening his hair one last time even as she returns the embrace. “You realize I do this for fun, right?” she asks, holding him at arm’s length and looking him in the eye. “Like, I could’ve hired a wedding planner, but honestly why bother?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything. All of it. Without you, Cassie and I wouldn’t even…”

Then, because this is all getting too honest, Rachel links her arm through his and drags him onto the dance floor for, he’s about to realize, their middle school gym class’s favorite godawful square dance.

*********

When she has do-si-doed Jake within an inch of his life, Rachel tosses him at Cassie. She pivots around and gives Tobias a flourishing courtesy; he returns it with an equally ridiculous bow.

“It is marvelous, how well they have adapted their balance to compensate for their lack of legs,” Menderash comments to Ax.

“Very true.” Ax leans next to him against the bar. They are currently sharing a delicious beverage Melissa has made for them, simply by unscrewing the lid from a nearly-empty jar of olives and handing over the remaining liquid.

It is true, some of the dancers are more talented than others. Michelle and Walter are synchronized with each other and the beat of the music, even if their choice of moves is not nearly as audacious as the spinning thing Marco and Dakota are doing. The bride and groom, meanwhile, are looking at their own feet and keep bumping into each other as they move. Between their relative unconcern with anyone but each other and the broad hem of Cassie’s dress, the other couples are giving them a wide berth.

“Do you wish to attempt such feats?” Ax asks, glancing at Menderash.

Menderash gives a full-body shudder. He flaps one hand in an andalite gesture that, if translated to English, would approximate fuck that.

Ax grins, drinking more olive juice.

“Have you done such a thing?” Menderash asks.

“Never for very long,” Ax says.

Jake and Cassie have given up on dancing entirely, descending into a giggle fit in the middle of the dance floor as they both attempt to disentangle Jake’s cuff link from the lace of Cassie’s hem. Rachel swirls by, briefly blocking their view. She’s switched partners. Dakota is doing their best to teach Tobias how to waltz while Marco and Rachel are now swing-dancing their way across the dance floor.

As both andalites watch in awe, Rachel spins Marco in a circle, swinging him out and then drawing him back close to her body. Marco pirouettes, throwing his head back so that his hair flares around his face, and then throws himself backwards. Rachel catches him neatly around the waist, dipping him nearly to the floor. Marco braces on her shoulders and she flings him upward with her whole body so that she actually lifts him off the floor for a second before gracefully sweeping him back down. They separate until just the tips of their fingers are touching, and then spin back together until Marco suddenly swoops under Rachel’s arm, coming up on the far side as she pivots around in time fro him to fall back against her.

Ax is reminded of the way they fight. There’s something almost joyful in their ferocity on the battlefield. There’s something almost frightening in their enthusiasm on the dancefloor. Neither of them seems to know how to do anything by half measure.

One by one the other clusters of dancers have stopped to watch as well. Jake and Cassie, now sitting hopelessly tangled up in each other, seem quite happy to have the spotlight stolen.

Rachel swoops an arm around Marco’s waist and slides into a back-and-forth tango step. Within two beats he’s caught on, falling into the same rhythm as her. When the tempo of the song changes he grabs her shoulder and nudges her into a circular waltz. They’re unrehearsed, and inexpert, but moving with such force and communicating so rapidly that it doesn’t really matter.

“Yes,” Menderash says softly, “I very much do not wish to attempt to dance.”

Ax smiles at him over the rim of the olive jar. It’s empty, and in the time it takes him to set it back on the bar and catch her eye, Melissa has replaced it with maraschino cherry liquid.

The song crescendos; Marco leans his full weight back as Rachel flings him into a long spiraling turn that ends with him sliding on his knees clear between her legs, popping up behind her just in time to brace as she tips backward into him. She spins once, twice, four times, then swings him into a dip so low that his hair brushes the floor.

As the song ends they freeze like that, chests heaving, hair damp with sweat.

They both seem to become aware at once that the whole room’s watching them. Marco opens his mouth to say something, when Rachel’s smile turns wicked. That’s the only warning he gets before she opens her arms and lets him drop. Marco squawks indignantly, throwing out both elbows to catch himself. He gets ahold of Rachel’s arm and tries to yank her down as well, but ends up pulling himself to his feet as well.

The whole room breaks out into clapping. Marco sweeps into a low bow. Rachel visibly considers pushing him over again before deciding against it. Instead she runs to try and rescue Cassie’s hand-sewn lace hem and Jake’s antique silver cufflinks from their respective owners’ incompetence.

*********

“Hey Tobias?” Rachel says around a yawn.

«Uh-huh?»

Idly they watch as Tom waltzes Cassie’s grandmother around the dance floor. She’s 4’11” to his 6’4”, so it’s pretty hilarious to witness. But at least they’re not totally mismatched: each has a single sprig of valerian from Cassie’s bouquet tucked behind one ear.

She and Tobias are sitting on the ground at one corner of the dance floor. Rachel’s got her shoes off to massage her aching ankles, and Tobias is perched back on her shoulder. With clever motions of his beak he’s fishing the pins out of her hair one by one, dropping them into her hand as he slowly disassembles her updo.

“How do you feel about never, ever getting married?” Rachel asks.

Tobias drops another bobby pin into her hand. «Best idea you’ve had all year.»

#animorphs #animorphs ficlet #animorphs au #(sadly)#long post #weddings #jake/cassie #cake #alcohol mention #rachel berenson #is the canonically biggest cassie/jake shipper on the planet #do it for her #anonymous #asks

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wardenrainwall · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Blackwall/Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Blackwall/Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Blackwall/Female Trevelyan (Dragon Age) Characters: Blackwall (Dragon Age), Blackwall | Thom Rainier, Female Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Series: Part 12 of The Disaster that is Evelyn Trevelyan Summary: Evelyn is restless and Thom tries to help.

Evelyn woke early and felt a bone-deep restlessness. She and Thom shared a meal and then he pressed a kiss to her head before heading out to the small shed where he kept his woodworking supplies. She paced the floor of the small cabin for a time before finally tugging on her boots and the lightweight wrap Thom gifted her last spring, then she headed out.

She walked and walked and felt herself growing more and more annoyed with every step. Cranky and frustrated Evelyn reached out and wrapped a fist around the stems of a cluster of pretty flowers and yanked. What am I doing? She thought and grabbed another bunch. Then another before turning and stomping her way angrily back to the cabin. Thom still worked, and only cast her a quick glance when she tromped past him.

Inside she threw the flowers onto their small kitchen table and began searching, looking for a vase or a jar or something. They had no vases, because they never kept flowers in the house, so she settled on one of the largest mugs they had and filled it with water. Then, using one of the small knives she trimmed the ends and began shoving the flowers into the mug. She pulled them out, rearranged them, all the while scowling at the bouquet.

She didn’t know how long she worked, moving the flowers, trading one for another, only to replace it with yet another when Thom made his way inside. She didn’t acknowledge him, continuing to work intently at her task as he made his way over to her, the heavier thump of his prosthetic leg louder on the wood flooring. “What’s this?” He asked, picking up one of the slightly mangled flowers from the table.

Evelyn’s scowl only deepened as she ignored him. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with my Evelyn?” Thom asked and she let out a quiet growl. Snatching the flower roughly from his hand she shoved it haphazardly into the mug, realized the entire thing was a mess, and wrapped her fingers around the cluster of flowers, pulled them out of the water, and threw them on the floor with a shout. The only thing that kept her from throwing the mug down too was she didn’t want to clean up that mess and was particularly fond of that mug with its small chip on the rim.

“Ev?” Thom said softly, the concern evident in his tone as she paced away from him.

“Damnit,” she snapped and shot him a dirty look. “Go away,” she bit out the words and he sighed.

“You know that isn’t happening,” he told her. “Tell me what is wrong?”

Hands on her hips she whirled around, stared at him. “I am useless,” she said and his brows pinched together. “What am I supposed to do with myself, huh? You have your woodworking, you create things every day, sell some and give others away. I have nothing, I do nothing .”

“You could take up the woodworking if you’d like,” he offered and she narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, so I can try to cut my thumb off again?” She bit back, because that was what happened over a year ago, the last time he had tried to show her how. The knife had slipped and the healer had thankfully been able to save her thumb.

“I am a soldier, Thom, nothing else, I have never been anything else, my parents forced me to take etiquette lessons and learn the finer arts but none of them took. I could never do any of it, never wanted to, but now I am just … I am so lost ,” her voice cracked on the last word.

It surprised her that she said it, and she registered the startled look on his face as well. Evelyn never admitted to such things, unless Thom had all but physically dragged the words from her. A deep furrow formed between Thom’s brows and he straightened slightly. “Are you-” a beat. “Are you not happy here?” he asked.

Raking her hands through her hair, Evelyn heaved out a breath. “Of course, I am happy here,” she said, paced away, and then turned and looked at the flowers scattered on the floor, broken stems, and lost petals. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself. I don’t have any hobbies. I don’t have any skills. You have your woodworking, and you are good at it.” So good that people from the village often came and asked him to craft various things for them. “I don’t have anything like that and I’m just restless and feeling sorry for myself.”

Evelyn crossed back to the table, then knelt down to pick up the mess she’d made. When Thom crouched down beside her, she tried to wave him off. “Don’t, you’ll have a hell of a time getting back up,” she scowled at him, because while he’d accepted the loss of the lower half of his right leg far easier than she thought she might, and Dagna had equipped him with a lovely prosthetic that fit with sturdy leather straps, it had only been a few months and Thom was still getting used to it.

Thom’s hand covered hers. “There are a lot of children in the village,” he reminded her and her face set into a frown. “What about something with them?”

A quiet snort escaped her. “I’m fairly certain the parents of any of those children would take umbrage,” she shot back. Because while she had been the Inquisitor, had done many good things, the people at the Crossroads hadn’t forgotten her time before she’d finally relented and returned to the Inquisition. Particularly the owner of the tavern, who still gave her dirty looks if he saw her in town.

But, she did like children, would protect them with her dying breath if that’s what it took. Only she couldn’t think of anything that she could contribute to, to give her purpose and help them. “We’ll figure it out, Ev,” Thom told her, adamant and sincere.

Sighing, Evelyn leaned in, pressing her nose to his throat as Thom’s arms came around her. Inhaling deeply she caught the scent of sweat and wood on his skin and nuzzled closer, pressed a kiss to the dip where shoulder met throat. “You smell good,” she murmured and heard him chuckle, a low rumbling thing.

“I doubt that,” he muttered, and she felt him turn his head, his beard catching against her hair as he kissed the top of her head. Thom drew back enough to look down at her. “Are you really happy here?” he asked and she heard the underlying worry in his voice.

“Thom,” Evelyn breathed out his name, then reached up to cup his face gently between her hands. She was so dreadful at admitting things, confessing the things deep in her heart. Yet, this man still loved her and had likely loved her from the very beginning. Tears stung the backs of her eyes because she was so very lucky.

But the words stuck in her throat. All the things she wanted to tell him. So instead, she tugged his head down and kissed him. Evelyn had considered, wasn’t thinking, and she overbalanced them both, Thom landed on his back, her on top of him, and let out a quiet grunt. “Shit,” she hissed, lifting her head. “I’m sorry, are you-”

He cut off her words, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, he pulled her mouth back to his, claimed her lips as he rolled tucking her beneath him. There was nothing gentle or loving about the kiss, but Evelyn tried to convey every bit of what she felt for him, for this life they had created, into it.

Shoving her hands under his shirt, she scraped short nails up his back, felt him bow, press harder against her. Then he cursed quietly, reaching down, and fumbling. Evelyn glanced over, saw the foot of his prosthetic caught between table and chair. “Hey,” she murmured, and he paused in his struggle to release the leather strap through his trousers. Offering a soft smile, she nudged him onto his back once more, pushed the chair out of the way but then she shifted down his body, pushing up the cuff of his pants until she could reach the fastenings.

Then with gentle hands, she released the leather straps, set aside the contraption of steel and leather. Thom watched her as she leaned in, nuzzling the obvious bulge in his breeches before she deftly untied them and tugged them open.

Her name was a groan as she took him into her mouth, his hand tangling in her hair. She teased him with soft licks and gentle scrapes of her teeth. The sound of her name on his lips became more desperate the longer she continued. The fist in her hair tightening, releasing, petting, only to curl again as he arched beneath her.

When she drew back, he hissed. “Maker’s balls, woman,” he ground out as she nuzzled his belly, and kissed her way up as she inched his tunic up his torso. “Why are you still dressed?” he demanded, and with deft fingers, tugged at the ties of her own breeches, pushed a hand inside and Evelyn let out a breathy gasp as his thick digits, calloused and rough found her core utterly drenched.

Thom let out a low curse, and it was so tempting, to rock her hips, to take those fingers inside and ride them to release, but instead, she drew back, biting her lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape. Standing over him, she held his gaze as she finished untucking her tunic from trousers and pulled it over her head. When Thom lifted his hand to his lips and licked the still damp fingers clean, all without breaking eye contact, Evelyn pressed her thighs together. She reached down, impatient now, and yanked at her boots, then shoved her breeches and smalls off.

Evelyn dropped to her knees, straddling him as she tugged the last offending garment off, her breast band, and sent it flying. His hands were on her hips, and she wrapped her fist around his cock, shifted, and- “Oh,” she breathed out a sigh of pleasure as he filled her, stretched her, and pressed deep.

Her head fell back, her eyes shut, and … she was home. He was home. Thom had told her once, that wherever she was, he was home. And Evelyn finally understood that. Angling her head down so she could look at him. Covering his hands on her hips, she tugged at them, slid her fingers between his, held on as she lifted them up to press against the floor on either side of his head.

“Ev-” he started, a deep crease forming between his brows. She didn’t understand his concern at first, but then she felt the damp tears streaking down her cheeks.

“I love you,” she whispered, her throat tight. “I am happy here, with you.” But she knew, it didn’t matter where they went, as long as she had him. “Only with you. Always with you.” It was a quiet promise. A vow.

Her own restlessness aside, Evelyn had never been happier in her entire life. While she no longer believed in the Maker, Evelyn was thankful for whatever force or fate that had brought the Warden Blackwall into her life that day years ago. “I am so lucky,” she breathed, felt his hands tighten on hers as she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Much, much later, Evelyn lay on her back, eyes closed, utterly spent and lax. A slight smile curved her lips. And considerably less restless. Thom lay beside her, one leg tossed over hers, propped up on his elbow and she knew he was watching her. “What are you grinning about?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than usual.

“I feel better,” she told him and then jerked in surprise at the very soft tickle against her cheek. Thom had picked up one of the discarded flowers and was gently tracing her features with the pale blue petals. With a soft sigh, she let her eyes fall shut again, enjoyed the soft touch, over her jaw, down her throat. Over breasts and her belly. He skimmed along her hip and back up again. “Thank you,” she murmured, opening her eyes again to look at the man propped over her.

“For what?” he inquired.

Lifting a hand to his jaw, she enjoyed the scrape of his beard against her palm. “For being a stubborn bastard. For loving me. For… for everything.” He blinked, and she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes that he quickly blinked away again.

Thom lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, Evelyn.”

#dragon age #blackwall #the disaster that is evelyn trevelyan #blackwall x trevelyan #blackwall x evelyn #meraadwrites #fanfic

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blxxdyvalentine19xx · 3 years

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Pairing: Matthew Musto (Blackbear) x Colson Baker x Dominic Harrison

Content Warnings: swearing, light smut, oral.

Matthew looked up from his guitar to find Dominic hanging half off Colson's couch, the boys phone in hand. He grinned and carded a hand through Colson's hair as the blonde was during in the floor in front of him.

Dominic bit at his lip and groaned as he came across a photo of Colson, Mathew, Ashley and himself. "We've technically already slept together." He mumbled, though it was louder than intended.

"Humm?" Colson let go of a soft purr as he likeed the feel of Matthew's fingers in his hair. "What're you talking about Dom?" He asked, opening one of his eyes to look at the boy.

Setting his guitar aside: Matthew looked at the two and leaned back in the chair the was sitting in.

Taking a breath: Dominic passed his phone to Colson, showing the rapper what he was talking about. "What're the fooking chances of there being photo evidence of all of us getting along." He grinned, looking at the two older men.

Colson looked at the photo and arched an eyebrow. "Shit, that's kind of hot" he mumbled, showing Matthew the photo and looking up at the Florida born singer. "Course you aren't on as good of terms with her as dom and I"

Matthew looked at the photo and let go of a breathy sigh. "Hey, that one was sort of my fault but it's in the past" he glanced back up and looked at Dominic as an idea sprung to mind.

"It's not as crystal clear with me either" the Brit mumbled; sitting up and taking his phone and Matthew handed it back. "Its not horrible, but we don't talk as much now." He shrugged and picked at the already chipping nail polish on his finger nails.

Colson was the one to spring to the words first and looked at his two friends. "Fuck, how about we have a threesome..." He said and bit back a blush as the two looked at him as well. "...like Dom said we've kind of already slept together."

Matthew couldn't say he was surprised and he rolled his eyes. "I'm down if you two are" he spoke, cocking a leg as he sat up. "Dom?" He looked to Dominic, waiting for an answer.

Dominic's head shot upwards as he heard what both the man said. His cheeks red as strawberries and his eyes wide. "M-" he was caught off guard but like the idea of it. "Why not, you're both hot" it wasn't a secret that he would often fall for his friends.

○ ○ ○

Colson pulled Dominic into a kiss and grinned as the boys hands slipped un under his shirt. "You know you're cute as fuck Domo?" He pulled his shirt off and bit his lip as Matthew took to Dominic's neck.

Matthew slipped his arms around Dominic's waist from behind as he kissed at the boy's neck. "Everyone thinks he's cute, Kells." He mumbled and looked up at the blonde.

His eyes fluttered shut as the two older men talked about him. "you two are the worst." Dominic mumbled out between moans and his breath shook. Bringing Colson back into a kiss, his breath hitched as Colson's hand met his neck and one of Matthew's hands dipped below his jeans.

Breaking the kiss for a moment; Colson's other hand pulled Matthew's head upwards. "I know that, he's fucking cute and I meant it." He kissed Matthew slowly and tugged at the man's lip. "I know you've thought it before so" Colson tightened his grip on Dominic's neck and moved the kiss back to the boy.

Matthew grinned and ran a hand into Colson's hair. Kissing the blonde and smiling as Colson's hand moved to his ass. "Ohh trust I've thought a lot about him."

○ ○ ○

Dominic looked up as Colson ran a thumb along his cheek. Letting go of a soft moan as Colson and Matthew shared a kiss.

'"You didn't got to ask baby" Colson looked at Dominic and smiled as the boy's tongue ghosted his lips. "I'm not going to stop you."

Matthew let his attention fall on Dominic as Colson spoke. "You're too fuckin sweet Dom" he pressed a kiss to Colson's neck and ran his hand down the man's chest. "Go ahead and suck it baby"

Dominic licked his lips as Colson slipped a hand into his hair. He couldn't help but blush as the two looked at him. Dominic took to Colson's tip and sucked at it, his hand stroked Colson's shaft as the blonde watched him.

"Right like that baby boy" Colson bit his lip and moaned as Dominic half grinned at him. 'Shit, what I wouldn't give to fuck that pretty little mouth if his." He said to Matthew and kissed him as Dominic looked up at them.

Matthew let go of a breathy moan as him and Colson had their eyes on Dominic. "C'mon, more baby" he mumbled as he kissed colson again before moving to the man's neck.

Taking more of Colson's cock into his mouth, Dominic inhaled through his nose and let his eyes shut as Colson fucked into his throat. He half whined when his head was pulled off Colson's cock.

Colson moaned as Matthew bit at his neck. 'Mmm, fuck do that again matty" he hummed and pushed Dominic back onto his dick. "God you're fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth baby."

Matthew grinned as Colson moaned and bit down on the man's neck again, leaving a hickey as he sucked at it. "Isn't he though, those lips wrapped around your cock." He pulled Colson's head back and kissed the front of his neck. "Watching him suck your cock like a good little whore"

Dominic hollowed his cheeks out and sucked Colson's cock, bobbing his head and nearly gagging as Colson pushed his head forward. He loved the feel of colson using his mouth.

Growing out a heavy moan, Colson arched his hips and thrust his cock into Dominic's throat. "F-uck, feels so good, baby boy" his hips arched again as Matthew sucked at his Adam's apple. 'God, I fuckin love you both."

Matthew looked at Dominic and bit his lip as he watched Colson's cock go in and out of the boys mouth. "Shit, kells, fucking beautiful." He smiled as Dominic's eyes went back. "Our beautiful boy" Matthew purred as Colson pulled him into a kiss.

Dominic tasted those first few drop of pre cum on his tongue and gripped Colson's thighs.

○ ○ ○

Dominic was cuddled in between Matthew and Colson, an arm each around him. "So I take it I'm stuck am I?" He grinned as the two men kissed his cheeks. Running a hand through Colson's hair; he kissed them both and relaxed.

Colson nodded and buried his head in Dominic's neck. "I don't wanna get up, too comfy" he squeezed Dominic lightly and smiled as he looked between dom and Matt. "It might sound stupid but i love you both."

Matthew reached an arm across Dominic to Colson's shoulder and kissed the blonde before kissing Dominic. "We know you do, and it's not stupid, kells" he smiled and relaxed as Dominic pressed a gentle kiss to his nose.

#machine gun kelly #mgk #yungblud #blackbearfanfiction #matthew musto #dominic harrison #colson baker #polyamorous fics

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shikantazaart · 3 years

Text

Shikantaza Creativity Interview III - SPARTALIEN

At Shikantaza we are not content to just create art. We want to understand art. We want to understand the people who make art. Into the act of creation. Who are the people behind the art work? What motivates them? Where do they find their inspiration?

No two people think and act alike, so it is even less likely to find two artists who think and act alike. Yet, there will be crossovers, shared thoughts and shared experiences. Where do we adjoin and where do we diverge?

Our series of interviews with artists and creators aims to answer these questions.

In interview number three we speak to multimedia experimenter SPARTALIEN. You can find his creations here https://spartalien.com/visual as well as a collection of his work in the Shikantaza gallery.

1 - Starting with the most important question - Who is Memoria?

Memoria is Latin and means, when translated, memory / remembrance.

I named the merchandise for the album "2358" Memoria instead of Memory, because the main track titles are also translated into Latin.

I see my merchandise as small memories/artefacts. Not only because they are very rare, but because I can never go back to that time.

“Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things” - Cicero

2 - You work across different mediums. Do you have any preference for a specific form? When did you first find the format that was “you”?

I became really infected with the digital virus around in the late 90s when I built my first computer. A year or two later I started taking photos and manipulating them digitally. I also had a few printed, which allowed me to bring the digital into the real world. Then I discovered IRC and started learning a little bit of TCL. Since I had fun coding, I decided to learn the basics of web development because I needed a website to show my pictures to other people. In general, I was fascinated by the flow of information on the Internet. That distance is no longer a real hurdle when it comes to data transmission.

I've always loved music as a listener and small collector. I was then and still am one of those people who never go out of the house for long periods of time without a Walkman. Music production came into play when a couple of friends set up a small studio where they produced Techno/Psy. When I was there for the first time, I knew immediately that I wanted to try it too. A few old tracks from back then are still available on my website.

From then on, many of my projects have developed in the direction of music. The input for a program was often music metadata or it was a website that was about music in some way or another. But since I was still at the very beginning of my learning process, I kept discarding practically everything in order to improve it or to learn new things. Around 2001, I started a web radio with friends, which was online for several years. The music was mainly Downtempo, Trip-Hop, IDM and Ambient. Promos from unknown artists from around the world were also broadcasted.

The atmosphere, the feeling I got from this time - how the music finds me and not the other way around, how it can change people's thoughts - has never left me since then.

3 - Do you feel that each medium allows you to express yourself differently from the others? How do you choose which medium you work in any given moment?

Yes. But I think you can convey the same feelings with any medium. The question is how direct it is. For example, pain can be expressed with fire but also with a chair in an empty room. At the end of the day, in my opinion, it's not about the artist's intention but about the perception of the viewer and his or her subsequent thoughts and actions. For example, imagine you make a dark ambient track that you experience as sad and heavy, but someone else tells you that it helped to relax and develop thoughts.

In addition to all of this, each medium also has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to technical implementation. So, sometimes the choice can also purely depend on skill or resources.

We all have ideas and often out ambitions outweigh our resources. Sometimes we need more resources, but more often than not we need to chip away at our ideas until our ambitions and resources align.

4 - Do you seek different sources of inspiration for your music than you would for your visual creations?

It's everything in the world around me that inspires me. Everything I perceive and feel, so to speak. Most of the time I don't have a melody or a picture in my head. It is more of a feeling and then I look for the right tone or shape for it, so to speak.

5 - How closely are your creations connected to each other?

Very close one could say - through my thoughts that I have wrapped in it. I always had a bit of a problem putting my thoughts into words. I tend to stray through various topics when I talk about something. With music and visuals, it feels lighter and more natural to get to the point. The "message" doesn't always get through, but being able to do so is liberating and invaluable to me.

6 - If you were to direct people to a specific piece of work that you feel really nails what you are aiming for with your creations, which would it be?

This is a hard question. Maybe I would ask you to sit down and listen to the album "FLOATING HIGH" in one sitting. Since it felt like coming home to me while making it. The music is less intrusive and not as precise in its message as the previous releases. Like its cover art, where the clouds could be seen as opening or closing. I wanted to create tracks that leave more room for thought while still telling a story.

7 - You have “X minutes of peace” on your site. Why is this needed? Was this made for you or for others?

For others but also for myself. For me it is self-reflection that allows me to understand myself better. But since I have problems with "just switching off my head", the moments in which I just sit quietly and let the recording device do its work are very valuable. In moments like these I can really switch off and think about something very carefully. Asking questions even though I feel like I don't have an answer. Or simply enjoying the precious fresh air and sounds of nature.

Unfortunately, too many people don't have time for that kind of peace. Too much pressure is on them. They either get this or that, or they can't survive. It's so sad how the system works. I simply think that if everyone would have more inner-peace, the world would be a better place. But then again, what do I know living under a rock between mountains?

The videos should allow us to find peace for a few minutes, no matter where we are. So that new and hopefully useful thoughts can develop.

The series Let It All Go is actually the same thing, just with music.

For the really dark hours there is BRAIN I/O. From time to time I prefer to embrace the pressure. Difficult to describe. The concept is basically: don't think, just feel and record it. It's about things that I personally want to leave behind or at least want to learn to accept (not necessarily being okay with) them if I can't change them.

Peace is an issue for me. When I briefly find it only points the way to the next act. This is fantastic but self defeating. Why can’t we just stay in peace?

8 - When inspiration has left the building where do you look to find it?

I'm not really actively looking for inspiration. Somehow it doesn't work that way for me. So variety is important to me. That is why I usually have several side projects going on in the areas that I do not much publicize. Much of it never leaves my hard drive and is mainly intended to free my mind and get on to new ideas in the process. Coding, graphics, drawing, etc. But the music production is and remains the main focus.

9 - These are the questions I am asking all the interviewees. Why do you create? What is it that pushes you to keep creating?

The inner child is just too strong. I've been living for a while and I know exactly nothing. It kind of feels like that. So many things that you can create with the computer alone. I'm stuck in that loop where you just love to create things and learn - and use the new knowledge to create new things. Things!

10 - What would most assist you to create more works? Is there an ultimate goal for your creations?

More time and resources for sure. but most important to me is the feeling that my loved ones are safe. When I have to worry about their future because the system is going the way it is, it feels like a pile of stones in my head.

The creative / social goal of my art is relatively simple and based on my own experience. Art has helped me tremendously when I felt lost - or when I was just "bored". Taking time to really listen to or look at something can be very liberating.

My short-term financial goal is to generate a more or less regular income through art. But since I never released anything commercially before 2016, this world is still new to me.

My dream goal is to hear my music in film and games and to generate an income that supports my family.

Nonetheless, I think goals are here to create an initial path, not necessarily motivation.

I do not know of a single soul who has not been lost. Some never find their way back. Some don’t need to find their way back, they are happier in the place they found.

11 - If you were to offer a creator any advice what would it be?

Based on my own experience in no particular order:

Stay curious and open minded for different viewpoints.

Tutorials can limit your creativity. Sure, learn the basics, but explore as much as you can on your own and never be afraid to fail. It's a process, not a game.

On projects that take longer than a day to complete, set yourself a deadline when you want to have it completed. Not important if it takes longer, but in general that helps to stay more focused.

Very few things are easy when you start.

Limitations are not necessarily bad.

Don't wait for motivation to create. It will kick in usually a few minutes after you've started. Therefore keep your tools ready and organized so you can start creating at any time.

You can always turn off the internet.

Be open for constructive criticism.

Especially for the digital crowd, backup your stuff!

(All images and works by SPARTALIEN)

#shikantaza #art #music #video #visual #creation #peace

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shinycorvidae · 3 years

Text

How Vic and Hiro Ended Up Sharing a Brain Tapeworm

(cowritten with @smilepal)

Part 6 of 6: In Which We Piss Off Our Pseudo-Father Figures

"Please proceed to insert the jack below the ear, although not too deep"

"... auxiliary neurosockets..."

"If I hit a vein by mistake..."

"...end up like Deshawn...fucking try me..."

"I think I have it."

"V! We're at viks, just..."

"... cannot...need...rest"

"Misty!"

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

(I got stuck writing this for two weeks and I want to get to the rest of the story SO HERE HAVE SOME BULLET POINTS ✌️)

Vik taking V from Hiro's arms. He moves right into surgery and leaves a blood soaked Hiro to pace and listen to Delamain tell Vik that she’s going to die. Misty tries to convince him to go wash off the blood he’s covered in. Like hell is he leaving till Vs stable. She instead sits him down within eyesight of V and wraps up his torn palm. It’s cyberware, the best she can do is stop the leaking.

Hiro uses his anti-anxiety medication for the first time since he was a teenager. He doesn’t have time for panic attacks, he needs to be sharp, he’s got multiple people to protect.

Vik finally manages to stabilize V. He forces Hiro out of the clinic, V will be fine tonight, he needs to go home.

Hiro goes home to an empty, silent apartment. Watches V’s blood wash down the shower drain.

He doesn't sleep that night.

Hiro returns the next morning with three coffees. He’s not optimistic enough to bring one for Takemura or V.

Not that he’d bring one for the corpo anyway.

Vik is tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and he's slumped over on his stool staring into the distance. Hiro’s gut sinks, and he reflexively checks that V’s still breathing.

That’s Vik’s bad news face.

Hiro hands Vik the coffee and they sit in silence for a while. Watching V breathe.

Vik puts down his coffee and sighs.

“Do you want the good or the bad first?”

“Just tell me Vik”

“She’s stable. I removed the bullet from her head and she’ll recover fully from the wound. She’ll have a nasty scar and nothing else.”

“...but?”

“It’s hard to explain kid.”

“Vik.”

“The item V and Jackie were sent to filch? It’s a biochip, a Relic. Arasakas “upload a dead person” magic trick. But this one’s different, a prototype. Somehow it got slotted into Vs head.”

“What? Why would she do that? That...that makes no sense. Vic’s an idiot sometimes but...she wouldn’t do that.”

“Might not have been a willing choice kid. Might have been a desperate action. Maybe she was just reckless. I don’t know. Doesn’t change the end result. There’s a biochip in her head and I can’t get it out without killing her.”

“What? You can’t just unslot it?”

“When Deshawn shot her, she was dead. Just for a minute, maybe less. Then the nanites in the chip booted up and brought her back. That Relic is the only reason she’s breathing on that bed right now.”

“Fuck. Fuck, she...never mind, keep going Vik. Tell me all of it.”

“There’s only bad news left Hiro.”

“Keep going. Please.”

“...alright. That reboot, the bullet to the head? It activated the construct on the biochip. The virtual psyche of the person written on that chip. Johnny Silverhand.”

“...the rocker?”

“The terrorist more like. He’s...he’s overwriting V. He’s-It’s going to scoop out everything that makes her V and replace it with Silverhand. She has a couple weeks before there's nothing of her left, maybe a month at best.”

“How do we fix it?”

“There’s...-kid there’s nothing I can fix. I can slow it down a little with some medication, keep her a little more comfortable. But I-I can't fix this.”

The floor drops out from under him. No. Not now. She lived, she survived a bullet to the fucking head. A little piece of tech isn’t going to-

Fuck. FUck. Not another one, please not both of them, he cant-

And V. V who hates any loss of control, who’s so sure of who she is. Getting erased...he can’t think of a worst fear for her. A worse torture.

He leans against the counter heavily, the only thing supporting his weight. He can’t even look at her. He failed her. HE failed them both.

Vik's hand falls on his back. He can barely feel it. Barely hear him talk.

“I tried kid. I worked through every possible solution. Nothing works. The closest I got was splitting the engram but its not going to-”

Hiro will take anything. Any deal, any bargain to keep her here.

“Split it. How would you split it.”

Vik just looks at him. Keeps his mouth shut for a beat.

“Hiro-”

“NO! Vik, I refuse to- we won't lose her. We can’t, I can’t-. You aren't going to hold anything back from me, I swear-”

“Fine! Fine. If you split the engram, you might, MIGHT alleviate the load on Vic’s brain enough that she can fight off the engram, partially. Enough so she keeps control. It's a slim chance. More likely it will just buy her time, a couple months, and doom the second host to the same fate. And it might just outright kill her and the second host. I'm not going to take someone off the street and subject them to that. And I don't know anyone who'd do it willingly.”

“...I will. Use me. I’ll be the second host.”

“No.”

Viktor’s no is immediate. He's both horrified and shocked that Hiro would even offer. He watched him fight to survive as a teenager. To see him gamble his life on the slight chance to save Vic...

He won’t. He practically raised the kid, he’s not going to kill him on his own operating table.

Hiro gets right in his face, desperate and angry.

“We have a chance Vik! You're just too scared to take it!”

“It’s a fool’s chance! At best you buy her a couple months-”

“You said there's a chance it’d cure her completely.”

“A tiny one! It'd be like betting on a five year old in a one-on-one with Razor Hughes. Its suicide.”

“If V’s that five year old I’m taking that god damned bet.”

Vik just stares at him. He’s completely serious. He knew Jackie's death was affecting him, but he hadn't realized he'd lost his mind.

“Hiro-”

“I am BEGGING you Vik. I will get on my knees if that makes a difference, PLEASE. If you have an ounce of respect for me you'll do this, its my body, my fucking choice”

Hiro ups the ante at the sliver of weakness of resignation in Vik's face. He’s terrified and it’s making him desperate, making him mad.

“If you don't I will never forgive you, I fucking swear. You will never see my face again. You can’t not give me this chance to save her,-”

Vik's face goes hard. Stony. If the kid is going to guilt him with that, fine. He's an adult and obviously he doesn't care anymore. Let him risk his own damn life.

And. Hiro’s desperate enough, Vik KNOWS, he just knows that Hiro won't give up. He’ll find a different ripperdoc, one willing to do it. And they’ll fuck it up. No one willing to do that would be good at their job. He has to do it. Or put Hiro at even greater risk.

A little part of Vik hates Hiro for it. For backing him into this awful corner. For forcing him to be complicit in Hiro's death. In V’s.

“Alright. Alright. Go change into one of the scrubs, the sooner we do this, the better. For you and for V”

“Thank you-”

“DO NOT thank me for this Hiro. Do not. I don’t want to do this. It’s wrong and I’m pretty sure V would-”

“V lost the right to an opinion when she slotted this thing in her fucking skull in the first place.”

Vik performs the surgery. They both live. He makes sure Hiro is comfortable and asleep before opening up the scans of their brains. Of the Relic, still nestled in Vs head untouched. His stomach drops.

His prediction was mostly right. V isn't cured. Hiro bought her a couple more months, maybe 2 or 3. He's only delayed her death. Stretched out how long it will take Silverhand to devour her. Hiro has connected himself to her and the Relic but in a stroke of luck not her death. The relic isn't trying to scoop him out, but it will put stress on his synapses. He’ll have migraines, nausea, even possible seizures at the end of V’s life but when her final thread of self snaps, the bridge between their brains will collapse. He may be left with some permanent effects but he’ll live. Thank god he’ll live. He mourns for V but selfishly, awfully he's so grateful Hiro lived and will live. He will never say it out loud but he'd sacrifice V, a good friend, if it meant Hiro could live.

Hiro wakes up the next day. He refuses to believe Vik's final diagnosis. He’s bought V time, they’ll find some way to fix this.

He spends the week at Vik's, recovering and waiting for her to wake up. He tries to help around the clinic, but his relationship with Vik has been severely strained. Any conversation is awkward and stilted.

V wakes occasionally, short periods of not full awareness. Murmuring words, clenching her fists, eyes barely opening.

The first time she does it, Hiro's sitting right next to her bed, fiddling with the dismantled pieces of a shotgun to keep busy. He happens to look to his left. He’s shocked by the sight of V’s yellow brown eyes, staring at him lazy and warm.

“Hiro...”

“Hey V. Go back to sleep. It's too soon for you to be waking up.”

“K. G’night.”

A surge of deep want goes through Hiro as he pushes Vs hair back. He wants her.

Ohhhhh fuuuuuck he wants her. Not just as a friend. Or a roommate. Or a want for her to be safe. Oh no. oh nooooooo.

Apparently he’s not gay??? At least not completely. MAybe it's just men AND V. like an exception? Fuck this is bad. This is bad AND weird.

But he definitely wants V in his bed. He wants to know what her nails feel like on his back, her teeth on his lip. The playful look in her warm eyes as she drags her hand down his chest-

NOPE. NO. He’s not doing this right now. V is sick, V is DYING, he’s not- nope we aren't thinking about that.

It takes a couple hours for his ears to stop being bright red.

V wakes up late on the 6th day, Vik is sitting right there. Waiting for her to wake up.

V takes the news quietly. She's tired and obviously weak but her voice only wavers a little. She only begs Vik for a solution once, when she learns she’ll lose everything she is. She doesn't tear up or panic but examines every option she has. Looking for a way out. She can break down when she’s alone. Vik looks like he’s struggling with this enough. He doesn’t need to see her pain and fear too.

Hiro watches the whole thing from across the clinic. In a dark enough corner that V wouldn't immediately notice him. He watches her push down her feelings. Comforting Vik about her own fate for fucks sake.

He shouldn’t be here. Now that she’s lucid she probably hates him for not coming with them. He shouldn't creepily watch her be vulnerable without her consent. But he can't manage to drag himself away either.

Vik shakily wipes his face and delivers the final blow

"Hiro bought you sometime so you have a couple months instead of weeks. But you’re still dying V-"

"Wait Hiro? What did he do? Where is he?"

Fuck. Well now he really can't just sulk in the corner anymore. He comes out, walking up to her bed silently. He has no clue what to say to her.

V doesn't leave him drowning for long. She gives him a small smile, tired and pained but happy to see him anyway.

"It only took me dying to get you to learn to be sneaky, huh?"

A small choked laugh, suspiciously wet, escapes him. Only she would pull a laugh out of him right now, the brat.

Misty helps Hiro move her to a wheel chair so he can bring her home. Vik explains the meds to him too. He can tell her later. When she's not fast asleep in a wheelchair.

She's snoring and her hair is stuck around the handle. She's an idiot. She’s adorable.

Fuck.

#hehehe #HIRO CAUGHT FEELINGS #Vs doing...k.#just k #viktor vektor #hiro oda #victory delvin #cyberpunk 2077 #there you go kids.#we did it #There will be an epilogue thing and an extra tho

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monstaxardeur · 4 years

Text

Warnings: Mature, Angst

𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 - 𝚒𝚒

His black chipped nail brushed the small chit of paper in his hands as he was questioning himself… 'was this necessary?' He looked out the window of his cab, the early morning wind greeted him but there was no sun in sight…in fact it looked like a storm was brewing. 'Wasn’t there enough rainstorm last night?' he wondered blankly watching the cityscape pass him by, his thoughts starting to tangle in last night’s aftermath.

'She' was gone, just like that, leaving a little pricking void in his heart, no..not just his heart, he was sure she took his soul too, sucking the life out of him. She wandered into their lives one fine day and disappeared one night as if the dark skies swallowed her whole, her being now lay atop the cosmos as perhaps the beautiful moon he witnessed every night…along with her stars she oh so lovingly called 'her little moonbeams'.

Last night had been difficult, his fingers grazed over the frayed edges of the torn fabric, he hated it…how she had intoxicated him, her existence, her touch…her kisses in the dark like a pretty little secret. He may or may not have pleasured himself to the swaying memories of 'Queenie'. Her words, the soft nothings would haunt his nights and keep him from peaceful sleep but it had been a while, a good while and she hadn’t been around anymore. Sometimes it felt like a lucid dream he had, it won’t be long when the affects of her drugging existence wear off and it may just feel like it was never real.

'Why am I even doing this?' He bemused himself staring at the small piece of folded paper. He was sure he wasn’t the only one she left small favors with, but why? Its like she left the boys with her fragments to finish what she couldn’t.

“Will you do me a favor my love?” Her words were soft like velvet, her lips barely away from his, both of their lips swollen from the feverish kiss they shared. “Hmmm?” He had replied and all she did was slide a small piece of paper in his palms. He briefly looked down to inspect it but she closed his palms into a fist and captured his lips onto hers, resuming their romantic escapade.

He bit his lip at the sudden memory vividly playing out in his head and sighed throwing his head back and pulling the hoodie over his face, but his moment of tranquil came to a halt as the cab stopped at the destination.

He hesitated before turning the knob…'this doesn’t feel right' his mind told him but Queenie gave him the keys herself, entrusted him with it for this very purpose. He walked into a room greeted with soft music playing, he recognized the song, 'Art Deco by Lana Del Rey' but his feet stopped at a canvas before him. A beautifully haunting image was splayed in freehand strokes on a dark canvas that lay there. An image of a silver cloaked goddess caressing the cheeks of a butterfly winged human. He could recognize her face anywhere, the goddess..was Queenie, but this other person wasn’t completely visible yet, probably an incomplete artwork?

“It’s still in progress.” You spoke startling him out of his trance and he swallowed a lump he didn’t know was in his throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He flashed a faint smile and held up the chit, “She sent me.” You paused and he turned and pointed at the goddess in the painting, “I meant her, I know its her you painted.” Your gaze shifted away as you rubbed the back of your neck sighing….you missed her dearly at times. Right now was one of those times, for your home was the definition of grief, it was messy and unkempt and your appearance looked like you were yearning for the moon’s touch, this moonbeam looked drained of her beams, he could see it in your eyes.

His fingers dug deep into the skin of your bare thighs and his lips moved feverishly over your hot skin as he trailed them all mottled to find that one spot, on the left of your chest…where your heart beats, he knows the goddess lives there and what was meant to be a soft bruise was a harsh mark, a love bite perhaps? You panted and winced at the sudden surge of pinching pain and your own hands tugged and pulled at his blonde locks. His brows knitted and he growled in frustration….he could feel Queenie all over you, he was convinced you were a vessel. What looked like a drained little moonbeam turned out to be bleeding moonlight the moment your skins touched. Like a butterfly so still but at a mere touch it’s wings were spread wide, shimmering it’s vibrant colors and beauty as it fluttered about.

He dragged his lips back to to the sweet spot under your neck to hear those soft moans that were like comforting music to his ears. One of his hands grabbed hold of your neck in a low squeeze and your eyes met his again as you panted and held his hand that was over your pulsing veins. “Please…let me..” your words barely audible against him in close proximity and he loosened his grip over you, softening up and your lips requested entrance at his own and he greeted yours with a needy urge. Holding his face in your palms, you shifted to sit up closer in his lap and your core could feel his hard on but you were patient and just kissed him the most mind numbing kiss, just as his entire existence was mind numbing to yours.

You wanted out, you wanted it all out, the moonlight in your veins that was injected by 'her' loving words and caring notions, by her presence….by her mere existence. You knew you had soaked in a lot of her essence maybe a little more than what you bargained for and he wanted it like a drug, why else would he wander here upon Queenie’s request, you knew despite your overflowing emotions underneath the moonlit facade…that he was here for her, he envisioned her in your stead, all he wanted was to feel 'her' under his skin and you were radiating with her essence…dripping moonlight at his mere touch.

'What an odd place to find your heart at?' You thought pushing back tears so forceful that your throat hurt and a whimper escaped your lips as he broke the kiss letting you breathe. You had hoped to find the other side of him when you looked into his beautiful dark eyes but all you saw was a disciple’s yearning for his goddess and you let go of yourself to his dark desires..

It was nightfall, a silent beautiful night, the moon was full and the starts winked from beneath the floating clouds. He lay bare under the sheets of the bed, he had slept his aching soul away and it was late. '00:00′ the time struck. Was it the witching hour? Did it feel like Walpurgis Night? Sort of, but not in the most devious ways only in the most lulling ways as if the witches themselves descended to sing their lullabies.

When he came to, his nose caught the whiff of scented candles but a very non conventional one, you lived in a beach house but couldn’t get enough of the scent of the ocean. His eyes were greeted by your bare back that had your floral print tattoo, it was so delicate like an old lovers kiss~ When you felt him shift you put on your little crop top sweater and turned to see him, for a moment your breath was stuck in awe as you saw his naked form that lay moonkissed before you. The way the moonlight touched him made you wonder he was perhaps truly made for his muse.

“Were you crying?” His deep low voice was raspy from having just woken, the reason he asked was your glistening cheeks, “I finished the painting.” You changed the subject wiping off your semi dried tears. The painting of the butterfly human was no longer the same, it was in fact everything like him. Changkyun’s eyes were fixated on the painting of what was now the moon goddess and himself…~ “Take it with you.” Came your voice from inside the room, you wanted nothing to do with it anymore, they belonged with each other and you wanted nothing in between their love story, the ache was too much to bear.

The mattress depressed beside you as he sat down next to you in nothing but his undone jeans, he followed your gaze to the night sky outside your window from where you sat. “Isn’t she beautiful?” You asked smiling melancholic. “And haunting.” he added as his fingers traced patterns on your arms trailing them to your wrist. “Do I still bleed her soul?” You asked looking at him, your expressions always softening up while looking at him. He hummed a nod still playing his fingertips on your skin. “Just a little though but it’s always there, like a dormant demon wanting out….I felt it in your heart beat.” and his eyes glance at the mark under her left collar bone, a deep bluish purple bruise and he couldn’t help but feel a little smug for his doing. He marked your heart so harshly, you’ll probably remember it for days to come.

You felt defeated at his reply, “I’ll always be with you my little moonbeam, shhh don’t cry now. You’ll see me again, I promise~” were her words and back then they felt like warmth, comfort & home but never did you ever thought that too much of even such a deep unexplained love could leave you scarred and over flowing with her memories. It’ll take forever for someone to find the real you deep down trapped under the smothering love of your Queenie~

Just as he came, he had left, leaving you in your sheets bare and bruised with his love marks. His touch always burned, always left indents because he was always searching for someone within you. You lay fast asleep exhausted from your little sexual escapade but in the dead of the night you may have felt a comforting touch stroking your head as if a guardian angel watched over you. “I’m so sorry my little moonbeam.” The muse softly kissed your head and fixed your covers, “My poor baby, I’ll tell him to be kind to you hmmm?” she cooed. “I’ll have to pay him a visit though.” her words trailed off as she looked up at the sky and the moon was now completely covered in clouds….almost as if it was never there in the first place~

…𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚍𝚎

mood song: art deco by lana del rey

#i.m #changkyun #monsta x imagines #monsta x scenarios #untitled #moodsong

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winchester-fantasies · 4 years

Text

Day 182 - Part 1

Day 182 Masterlist

Series Summary: You and Dean are on a routine hunt when strange things begin to happen around you. When you start searching for answers, you soon find yourselves stuck, under quarantine, and no way to communicate with the outside world.

Word Count: 4057

Warnings: angst, bit of violence, swearing

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

A/N: Part 1 of my quarantine fic! I am loving writing this one, and it’s completely taken on a life of its own! I will try to post a new part once a week, but there is no set schedule. If you would like a tag let me know! Now sit back and enjoy Part 1 of Day 182....

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

Day 1

“So get this,” Sam said from across the table.

You looked up from the open book in front of you and Dean from his cup of steaming coffee to look at the youngest Winchester.

“‘Man in downtown Austin was attacked Friday afternoon by a man that some witnesses are saying acted like a wild or rabid animal,’” Sam read, brow furrowed. “Says here that the guy went straight for the jugular and didn’t let go until...until, uh, a local police officer...shot him…. In the head.”

“What the fuck?” you breathed. “Croatoan?”

“Doubt it,” Sam said, shaking his head. “It’s similar, but none of it really sounds like Croatoan. It’s like a weird, Croatoan hybrid.”

“Whoa,” Sam breathed a split second later, a look of shock crossing his face.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison, darting a quick glance at one another before turning your attention back to Sam.

“Another news story of the exact same thing happening was reported in Denver,” Sam said. “On the same day.”

“That can’t be a coincidence,” you said.

“Sounds like our kinda deal,” Dean said. “Okay, me and (Y/N) will check it out.” You nodded, pushing back from the table.

“Sammy, you stay here and keep digging. See if you can find anything else on this thing,” Dean directed.

“Yeah, will do,” Sam said with a quick nod. “I’ll call up a few other hunters, dig through Dad’s journal…. Maybe even see if there’s anything in the Men of Letters’ books.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “Start packing,” he continued, addressing you.

You nodded quickly before heading for your room, taking out your duffle and throwing the usual clothes and necessities you packed for a routine hunt. You were half-way through packing when you realized just how nervous you were. You weren’t really sure just what it was, but something was gnawing at your insides, begging for your attention.

You stopped packing, leaning forward on the mattress and closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. “This is just another hunt...just another hunt,” you repeated, but no matter how much you told yourself that, nothing seemed to alleviate the uneasiness.

You finished packing, throwing your hair into a ponytail before slinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way back to the library. “You ready?” Dean asked from where he was sitting at the library table, duffle bag at his feet.

You nodded silently, and Dean got up from his perch with a groan, bending over and picking up his bag. “See ya, Sammy,” he said, slapping the tabletop lightly.

Sam tipped his head and smiled at both you and his brother. “Stay safe.”

“We will,” Dean reassured. “We’ll check in once we’ve reached Austin.”

With that Dean turned and headed for the stairs that led to the bunker’s heavy, iron door. You followed closely behind, each stomp of your feet against the metal stairs like another nail in the coffin.

**********

You reached Austin by sundown. It was a beautiful and sprawling city with tall buildings and lovely views. If it hadn’t been for the fact that you and Dean were working a case, you would have actually enjoyed strolling around the city and seeing some of the sights.

Dean drove a ways out of the city, finding a secluded motel. He parked the Impala before you both alighted, taking your duffles out of the trunk and making your way to the lobby. A woman in her forties sat behind the counter, swivel fan on and turned towards her, her humidity-frizzed hair moving softly around her worn face.

“What can I do you for?” she asked, getting up from her perch, the stool creaking under her weight. She came to the desk, flipping open a ledger. Before either one of you could answer her question she spoke again. “I have a queen. One night. Cash only.”

Your cheeks flamed red at her implication, and Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Uh, no thanks,” he said, giving her her tight-lipped smile. “Two queens will do.”

The woman seemed unfazed as she jotted something down in the ledger. “Thirty-five bucks.”

Dean took out his wallet, flipping it open and taking out a small wad of cash. He thumbed through it, the woman’s eyes zoned in on the money before he tossed down a few bills.

The woman grabbed the money and tipped her head before reaching behind her and taking a key from the set of hooks on the wall. “Room 5. Check out is at 11:00.”

“Thanks,” Dean said before turning and motioning for you to follow him. You made your way outside, crossing the parking lot to a set of rooms. Room 5 was right on the street, vehicles passing every few minutes.

Dean unlocked the door, a wave of hot, musty air hitting your face as he swung it open. You both stepped inside, Dean finding the light switch, the room bathed in muted light. It was small, two beds hugging either side of the room, a worn nightstand the only thing separating them.

“We’ll find a better place tomorrow,” Dean promised as he made his way to one of the beds, tossing his duffle at the foot before throwing himself down on the mattress, springs squeaking. “You can have the first shower.”

“Thanks,” you said, depositing your own duffle on top of the bed. You unzipped it, taking out a pair of sweats and a tank top before making your way to the bathroom.

All but one of the lights over the dirty mirror was out, and the sink underneath was chipped. You closed the lid to the toilet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, setting your clothes on the back before undressing and flipping on the fan in the ceiling, the motor rattling.

You pulled back the shower curtain, pleasantly surprised; the shower and tub was fairly clean, and you turned on the water, letting it run for a bit before stepping inside. The water was lukewarm and the pressure shitty, but it felt good nonetheless.

After getting out, throwing on your change of clothes, and tossing the used towel and washcloth in the corner of the bathroom, you exited the room. Dean was still sprawled out on the bed, arms behind his head and eyes closed. The room was cooler than when you had first entered, and you realized Dean must have turned on the A/C unit.

“Your turn,” you said, falling onto your own mattress. It was hard and lumpy, a few springs digging into your back and it smelled old; looked it, too, with a few threadbare patches and unknown but questionable stains.

Dean groaned as he sat up, his eyes slightly puffy, indicating he’d drifted off for a few minutes while you were cleaning up. “Save me any hot water?” he asked, his jade eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, smiling and closing your eyes, throwing an arm over your face.

You heard Dean moving around the room, the bathroom door closing a few moments later before the water in the shower turned on. Voices could be heard through the thin walls, a woman moaning her lover’s name. The air conditioning started up again a few seconds later, the sputtering air drowning out the sounds of ecstasy next door.

Your body relaxed and before you knew it, you’d drifted off to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open a few hours later, the sounds of a movie filling the air, making you glance over to the other bed. Dean was leaning back against the headboard, laptop open and resting on his lap, a slice of pizza hanging from his hand. He was chewing, his eyes lit up as he watched the screen. He threw his head back, a deep and hearty laugh bubbling up. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him. Times like these were rare; moments when Dean would just let go - be carefree.

As if sensing your eyes on him, Dean glanced over at you, and he grinned. “Hungry?” he asked, a hint of laughter still in his voice as he held up the slice of pizza in his hand.

“Yeah,” you admitted, sitting up.

“C’mon over,” Dean said, patting the space beside him.

You grinned and climbed off the bed, stretching your back before making your way over to Dean. You crawled onto the mattress and settled down beside him before you leaned forward and grabbed a slice from the pizza box at the end of the bed.

You leaned back against the headboard with Dean, and he shifted the laptop so you could see, too. It was an old black and white Red Skelton comedy, and you found it hard to hold in your laughter as you ate.

You and Dean spent the rest of the evening pigging out on candy and beer, binge watching Netflix, and only going to bed when your eyes couldn’t stay open on their own accord. It had been a long time since you’d laughed like that - first time in a very long time since you had really felt content - and you found yourself smiling as you once again fell asleep.

**********

Day 2

A low rumble sounded in the distance, breaking through the thick haze of sleep. You groaned and smacked your lips lightly, rolling to your side as you chased after the sleep you were already losing. But the rumble continued, growing louder and closer.

You opened your eyes, trying to place exactly what it was. It wasn’t a plane, you knew that much, and you hadn’t seen any train tracks near the motel yesterday. You failed to pinpoint exactly what it was so you finally threw off the covers and went to the window.

You parted the dusty and yellowed shades with your hands and peeked outside. It was a few moments before you saw the cause of the rumble, but your breath caught in your throat when you finally caught sight of it. An entourage of military vehicles passed by the motel on the road, a tank following close behind.

“What the hell?” you said under your breath as you watched several men in military uniform marching alongside and trailing behind the procession.

“Dean!” you hissed as you turned away from the window. The room was still dim, but you could just make out Dean, sprawled out on his stomach, one arm dangling off the side of the bed, covers having been shoved to the end of the bed sometime during the night. He was snoring softly, and you hated having to wake him, especially given the fact he was such a hard sleeper and more often than not woke up moody when his sleep was abruptly interrupted. But what you had seen was unusual and unnerving and Dean needed to know.

So you made your way to the bed, stopping at the edge where his arm hung off the side. “Dean,” you whispered again. He smacked his lips and moved slightly as if he was aware of you, but he made no move to wake up. So you finally sucked it up and leaned over his body. “Dean!” you snapped, shaking him.

He shot up in bed, his eyes wild and searching, gun from under his pillow now in hand. A look of irritation replaced his shock as he realized it was you and not an enemy, and he lowered his gun, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, (Y/N),” he growled. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

“You need to see this,” you said, motioning him for him to follow you as you made your way back to the window.

Dean grumbled, but he climbed out of bed nevertheless and joined you at the window. The entourage had thinned out a little, but it was still going. It took a moment for Dean to respond, but then his eyes widened. “What the…?” he murmured.

“Exactly,” you said, uneasiness once again filling your stomach.

Dean stepped away as the last of the convoy disappeared down the road. He turned to face you, his shocked and confused expression matching what you felt inside. “Do you think this could have something to do with that attack?” you asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know…. It could, but I mean, it was only one attack.”

“Or at least that’s what Sam read,” you said, your tone betraying your uncertainty.

Dean bit his lower lip thoughtfully before he headed for the bed. “Let me call Sam,” he stated, picking his phone up from the nightstand. “See if he’s found or heard anything new.”

You nodded, going to join him. You sat down on your own bed, facing him. You leaned forward to flip on the single lamp on the table as Dean dialed his brother’s number.

Dean’s eyes met your own as it rang, his expression one you weren’t sure you knew how to read. His gaze dropped to the floor as Sam finally answered. “Hey, man,” Dean said. “Listen...somethin’ weird’s going on here and….”

Dean’s brow furrowed when his brother interrupted him. “Sammy?” he asked.

You could hear Sam’s voice on the other end, broken and questioning through the staticky connection. You made out, “Dean?”, “Can you hear me?”, “Are you there?”

Dean grunted in frustration, finally hanging up and throwing his phone down beside him. “Connection’s all wonky,” he growled.

The room fell silent, and you watched Dean carefully as you waited for him to say something else, anything to tell you what needed to happen. “Okay,” Dean finally said, meeting your gaze. “We need answers. I’ll go talk to someone in charge. You stay here.”

“No!” you stated defiantly. “I’m going with you. We don’t know what's going on out there,” you hurried to add when Dean started to protest. “We shouldn’t be split up. Especially not now.”

Dean eyed you as if contemplating your argument. Finally he nodded. “Okay, fine,” he said, voice gruff and sharp. “But we stay together.”

“Of course,” you said with a quick nod.

“Okay, let’s get dressed,” Dean directed. “Then let’s get outta here.”

You nodded and jumped up, rifling through your duffle bag and pulling out a comfortable change of clothes. You went to the bathroom to change before quickly brushing your teeth and throwing your hair into a ponytail. Emerging from the bathroom, you found Dean perched on the end of his bed, phone in hand. His thumb was slowly swiping over the screen as he read something.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, glancing up at you. He turned off the screen and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. He grabbed his pistol from where he’d placed it on the nightstand, and you found your Bowie knife, slipping it into the waistband of your jeans.

Dean took up Baby’s keys before heading for the door. You stopped on the concrete stoop outside the room while Dean locked up, surveying the area around the motel. Everything was quiet…. Almost too quiet and that familiar prick of discomfort reared its head.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Dean abruptly turned around, the jingle of keys loud as he tossed them in the air before catching them and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. “Easy…” he said, regarding your with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You’ve been jumpy since we left the bunker. You good?”

“Yeah,” you said without ceremony. “Let’s just go.” You turned and stepped off the stoop. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you headed for the Impala, but you didn’t dare turn around. You didn’t know just where this uneasiness was coming from, and you had no way of coherently explaining it to him. You knew what his answer would be anyway. He’d just tell you you were worrying needlessly and to just relax. But you knew you’d never be able to do that. Not when everything around you was telling you to run.

Dean finally decided to join you, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting up the Impala. The streets were empty as Dean drove down the highway; no morning commuters, people walking their dogs, early morning joggers, or school buses making their rounds. It was entirely deserted, leaving you feeling as if you were the only two people left in the city.

Neither of you spoke a word as you headed towards the heart of the city. There was a certain hush in the air that neither of you really felt like disturbing so you sat still and peeled your eyes ahead, waiting and searching for anything out of the ordinary - well, anything that was more out of the ordinary than everything already was.

Road blocks had been set up on the outskirts of the city limits. Dean stopped the Impala and sat still for a moment, looking around. He finally cut the engine, pocketed the keys, and stepped out onto the asphalt. You took his lead, joining him outside.

You watched him carefully for a moment before shutting your door and walking around the Impala, going to stand by his side. “This doesn’t feel right,” Dean said as if just now realizing the strangeness.

There was a muffled shout, and you both turned to look. A man in full military uniform could be seen directing a company of soldiers as they set up another blockade a short distance away.

“Let me go talk to them,” Dean said. He jumped over the large cement blocks and started across the road and large expanse of grass leading to the group of men. You hurried after him, determined to stay together.

“Mornin’!” Dean hollered when he got close enough for them to hear. They stopped what they were doing, jerking around to face both you and Dean, guns raised. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean said, stopping abruptly and causing you to collide into his back. You stepped out from behind him when you realized he had his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture, you being quick to do the same.

“What are you doing here?” the man in charge snapped.

“We just wanna know what’s going on,” Dean explained.

“Nothing that concerns civilians,” the man said dismissively.

“Really? Because I happen to think it does,” Dean retorted. “Especially given the fact that you’re blocking off the city.”

The soldier’s face hardened, but he didn’t respond. “McDowell!” he suddenly called over his shoulder. One of the younger men immediately left the rest of the company and made his way over to where you were all standing.

“Yes, sir?” he asked, his voice sounding barely old enough to be out of high school.

“Please escort these folks to the camp,” he instructed.

“Hold up,” Dean said, taking a step back when McDowell started your way. “We’re not going anywhere with anyone until we get some answers!”

“Not happening,” the man in charge said authoritatively.

“Wait, wait!” Dean snapped. “All our stuff - it’s back at a motel a little ways from here. We’ll go quietly; we’ll leave town just….”

“Son,” the man said, a hint of an unamused chuckle in his voice. “You just crossed the blockade into a quarantined city. Nobody’s leaving.”

“Sir, if you’ll just….”

“McDowell!” the man shouted, and before either you or Dean could register what was happening, McDowell had lashed out, pistol-whipping Dean across the head with the butt of his rifle.

Dean crumpled to the ground, a grunt of pain on his lips. “Dean!” you cried out. You lunged down towards him as he struggled to his knees, but you suddenly found yourself down beside him, cowering as McDowell held the butt over you threateningly.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean snapped.

“Enough!” the older man behind McDowell yelled. “Take ‘em to Camp.”

Dean didn’t argue this time as McDowell jerked him to his feet, another soldier coming over and pulling you off the ground next. They marched you down the road, the buildings growing closer and looming over you.

Several tents could be seen pitched across another patch of ground on the edge of the city, soldiers and military vehicles encamped about. Clamoring voices filled the air as you got closer to the camp, and you noticed a long line of civilians leading up to one tent in particular, people stepping through every few seconds.

“Wait here,” McDowell said, shoving Dean behind a woman and little girl before doing the same to you. You stumbled forward, but Dean caught you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you close as he stared after the retreating soldiers.

“You okay?” Dean asked, finally taking his eyes off their backs and looking down at you.

“I should be asking you that!” you scoffed incredulously. “Dean,” you said remorsefully as you raised your hand to his forehead. A gash ran along his hairline from where McDowell had landed the butt of his rifle and a small trail of blood led down to his temple. You touched his brow gently, but he hissed and jerked away from your touch. “I’m sorry, Dean,” you said.

“Had worse,” Dean mumbled gruffly under his breath as he let you go and turned to face ahead.

“Only family members allowed to stay together!” a voice boomed out over the crowd as you shuffled closer to the tent. “All others will be taken to separate quarantine sights!” He repeated the words again and an icy chill settled deep within your stomach. You were going to be separated from Dean....

You were suddenly brought back to the present as Dean took your hand, weaving your fingers tightly together. “Follow my lead,” he said quietly, giving your hand a quick squeeze. You swallowed hard and your stomach clenched with anxiety as the woman and child stepped up next.

A scream from the little girl echoed through the air a second later as she was abruptly ripped from the woman’s arms. “No!” the woman cried, reaching out for the child. “No, please! I have to get her to her parents! I have to get her home!” The screams of the child and the cries of the woman faded away as they were taken away in opposite directions.

“Relation?” the soldier sitting at a small table asked as you and Dean stepped up next.

“Siblings,” Dean said, the lie falling effortlessly from his tongue, and if you hadn’t known better, you would have believed it.

The soldier jerked his head behind him and another one directed you and Dean through the tent. “Next!” the soldier’s voice called out.

You and Dean were escorted through the tent to the other side before being loaded into the bed of a truck. Several others joined you before the truck started towards the city. It felt as if hours had passed before the truck finally stopped.

“Everyone off!” a soldier called out, the bed coming down as people began to unload. “Every family has their own apartment! You’ll be given numbers! Stay inside and wait for further instructions!”

Dean jumped down before turning and grabbing your waist to help you down before you made your way to a tall set of apartments that reached nearly as high as some of the smaller skyscrapers.

“22,” another soldier stated, handing you and Dean a slip of paper. Dean took it and you headed inside. Apartment 22 was the last one at the end of the hallway. Dean turned the knob, the door opening without resistance. You both stepped inside and Dean quickly closed and bolted the door before flipping on the light.

You looked around at the space. It was completely furnished with quaint decor, and if it hadn't been for the fear and confusion clouding your mind, you actually would have called it homey.

Dean trooped to the recliner in the corner and sat down heavily, shoulders slumped and a bewildered look in his normally confident green eyes.

You made your way to the love seat under the window and slumped down into the plush cushions. You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, and cradled your head in your hands.

You ran your fingers through your hair roughly before looking up towards Dean across from you, meeting his gaze. “What the fuck just happened?”

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

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤️❤️

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

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

Tags:

@divadinag @mogaruke @calaofnoldor @defenderrosetyler @coffeebooksandfandom @emoryhemsworth @satans-0-spawn @fandom-princess-forevermore @titty-teetee @gallifreyansass @swiftrogerswinchesterthot @hollymac79 @codename-nyx @kalesrebellion @peaceinourtime82 @babypink224221

Dean Girls:

@weepingwillowphoenix @akshi8278 @thesuicidalflower @adoptdontshoppets @unmistakablyunknown

Day 182:

@wingedcatninja @hazel-eyed-hunter

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #day 182

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moonstruckbucky · 4 years

Text

Royal Holiday (2/6)

Summary: Bucky Barnes is bored - trust him, he knows how that sounds. But being royalty, in his humble opinion, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Time to mix it up a bit.

Pairing: Prince!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, modern AU

Warnings: None - just dumb fluff.

Notes: Like everything else, I’m sorry for the wait on this. Enjoy x

If you like my work buy me a Ko-Fi.

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Bucky’s unashamed to admit that the woman in front of the flower shop has been a permanent resident inside his mind. That expression of hope ringed in sadness on her face, paired with the subtle beauty she possessed has been stuck in his mind’s eye, even a week later. He’s already addicted and he doesn’t even know her name.

He doesn’t know the name of the flower shop, either. He’d been so enchanted by her, so preoccupied with who is she that he’d completely forgotten to get the name of the flower shop. He feels like an idiot, curses himself both internally and verbally, amusing the absolute shit out of Sam.

He’s never seen Bucky so torn up over a woman for more than a night, much less one he hasn’t even talked to yet. He actually feels bad every time Bucky requests to return to the city and Sam has to say no - “a meeting with your father”, “a suit fitting for the gala”, a number of other things that chip away at Bucky’s patience - and by association, Sam’s.

So he relents the next time Bucky has an opportunity to escape. He’d managed to fool his mother - something about a custom suit from a top designer in the city - and takes a car the first chance he sees. Or rather, Sam does, and he listens grudgingly as Bucky talks to himself.

“Was it...here? Or...or down 5th?” he mutters in the passenger seat, nose pressed to the glass like he’s out of some kids’ cartoon.

Sam rolls his eyes, taps his fingers against the steering wheel at a red light. Bucky, meanwhile, analyzes every building face they pass, eyebrows drawn downwards in concentration as he tries, gives himself a headache, to remember. He remembers the colors of the building - white brick and faded, green-grey paint befitting of a florist shop. One of the letters is crooked, tilted downwards like a nail’s come loose.

And then… he sees it, yelps out loud and points out the window. Unfortunately it’s just after Sam’s pressed the gas to move into the intersection. Bucky’s head bounces off the window as Sam slams on the brakes, spurring a chorus of angry car horns around them, harmonized with cursing and yelling.

Before Sam can yell at him for nearly getting them killed, Bucky’s stumbling out of the car, tripping over the seatbelt in his haste to make it to the curb. Growling under his breath, Sam eases down on the gas, waves apologetically to the cars around him and loops around to find a place to park.

Bucky pushes through people, offers half-assed apologies as his vision seems to tunnel, the flower shop the focus. Everything else blurs, becomes a white noise haze as he steps up to the door. Knob ice-cold in his bare palm,

and it’s locked.

Stomach plummeting, Bucky feels the hope leave his chest in a painful flurry. So tangible he actually winces. Tries the knob again and he feels that same aching pang - is that his heart?

He pitches forward, winces at the frigid glass on his skin. Taps his head once, twice, three times lightly against it because that’s just his luck isn’t it? He doesn’t even realize he’s muttering under his breath until Sam snorts behind him.

“They went to lunch, drama queen,” he teases. Confusion, an eye roll from his friend and a gesture at the window where a sign reads “back in an hour” in messy, feminine scrawl.

Another flutter, only this one is hope - taking off like a dove at a wedding. He elects to wait, declines when Sam offers to get him something from a bistro down the block. He leans against the wall beside the door, scrolling through his emails, barely sparing them a glance - he just wants the notification to go away. He waits, belly all quivering with nervous anticipation. After fifteen minutes, he lowers himself to the ground, knees tucked up so he doesn’t trip anyone.

Will she even show up to this shop? Or was it just a coincidence that she’d passed it in the first place? Is he just wasting his time on a girl he, realistically, might not see again? Doubt clouds his mind but he pushes it down, refuses to be at least a little rational. After all, the expression on her face as she gazed at the shop seemed far too coincidental that she’d just been passing by. There’s a correlation there, and he’s determined to find out what.

“Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry! I hope you weren’t waiting too long!”

A voice, sweet like honey, disrupts his thoughts, and as he looks up, he feels the breath leave his lungs in a whoosh. It’s her, the woman he’d seen before, her face flushed from the chill and a sincerely apologetic look. He thinks he’s in love already.

It takes him a few awkward moments for his tongue to reconnect to his brain, and then he clambers to his feet, nearly bowls her over in the process.

“Uh, um, n-no, I wasn’t waiting all that long!” he assures, feeling the heat creeping up his neck because her eyes are so big and sparkling in the sunshine. Then she smiles, and oh boy, is he in trouble.

“You don’t have to lie,” she teases lightly, sidestepping him with a key in her hand to unlock the door. “Are you looking for something in particular or are you just browsing?”

The shop is warm, filled with the aroma of fresh flowers - roses and hydrangea and gerbera daisies, pine and balsam and winterberry. It’s blossoming Christmas in the shop, fairy lights strung up everywhere and the fluorescent lights dimmed low - not too low that he can’t see the product, but just enough.

He gets so caught up in looking around he forgets she asked him a question. She’s shucked off her coat, looking pretty in an emerald green sweater that’s rolled at her wrists. She’s watching him, head tilted curiously and eyes bright. He shakes himself, gives her a smile that probably looks as shaky as it feels.

“Uh, well, I, uh, just thought I’d pick something up for my mother.” Barnes, you genius. He grins suddenly, rolling with the idea. “Yeah, something festive, you know? She loves flowers.”

She smirks and leans on the counter. “What’s her favorite?”

Bucky’s mind blanks, and he knows she knows he’s fibbing. He glances to his left, sees a large, bright red flower, wide open like a lion’s mane on a tall, green stem. He points.

“These.”

“Ah, amaryllis,” she says, sashaying around the counter. “A favorite around the holidays. I think I have some potted, if your mother would like to grow one of her own - they last longer.”

“Sure,” he agrees readily. He’s pretty sure she could ask him to walk on the Sun and he’d do it. She smiles that pretty smile again and turns away from him to fetch the potted amaryllis.

Even puts some pretty foil on the pot it comes in and drops it into a plastic sleeve to protect it from the cold. She does it all seamlessly, hands familiar with the task, and she rings him up. He pays her with a fifty, tells her to keep the $25.01 in change. Something akin to gratitude flashes in her eyes at that, but it’s gone when he blinks.

Awkward silence stretches - she taps her fingers, tries not to stare at him because why is he still here - and he searches his brain for any possible reason to linger a little longer. But he comes up empty, and all he can do is stare, looking stupid with that amaryllis in his hands and a far-off look in his eye. And then Sam - dear old Sam who he could throttle when they get outside - sidles up beside him and flashes her a charming grin that’s brilliant white against his dark skin.

“Afternoon, miss,” he greets, and Bucky thinks he feels his teeth crack. “What a beautiful shop! Are you the owner?”

To her credit, she seems to catch onto his game and smirks, cocks a hip as she leans against the counter. “Why, yes I am.”

And she introduces herself, just like that. Accepts the gloved hand Sam puts out, and Bucky feels the tips of his ears heat. How is it so easy for Sam when Bucky’s been practically rendered speechless?

This never happens, he thinks, especially not with women. But she’s...different. He isn’t sure how but she is, and she’s taken his tongue and glued it to the roof of his mouth.

Sam nudges him roughly, gives him an expectant look that screams get your shit together.

“This is my friend, Bucky,” he says when Bucky still can’t bring himself to speak. “He’s...shy.”

Another smirk and a slow appraising look up and down. He feels all too exposed under her gaze. “Pleasure to meet you, Bucky.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he squeaks. Clears his throat right after as beside him, Sam snorts.

She giggles cutely, and Bucky’s mouth lifts on its own accord - finally, some brain activity. A long moment of silence, of eyes connecting and holding, until Sam coughs and both she and Bucky seem to jump at the sound - like they’d forgotten he was there.

“Well, we’d better get that back to your, uh, mother,” Sam urges with a pointed look.

Right - “appointment” with a tailor.

Sam has to tug him out the door - backwards, because he just can’t stop smiling at her. He’s spoken less than twenty words and he’s pretty sure he’s half in love with her already. She waves, a little wiggle of her fingers, before the door closes.

And Sam loses it.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he taunts, high-pitched and squeaky before dissolving into raucous laughter. He claps Bucky on the shoulder. “Oh man, I am absolutely never letting you live that down. Ever.”

Bucky thinks he can live with that.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #prince!bucky barnes #prince!bucky x you #prince!bucky x reader #modern royalty au #modern au #royal holiday

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 128

128

Lance had snapped. Being tired and hungry did that to a man. He’d hit the point of exhaustion where he’d gone over and lost the plot... Lotor held him down as Ezor stuck her arm in his mouth. Her blood tasted gross, forced down his throat until he had the strength to get free... Then had kind of lost it over everything. He’d tried to rip the door off its hinges, hands burnt because of it. His temper tantrum stopped by Lotor, but the damage was done and he was moved from the others. With his ego beyond his ability to rein it back in, it’d taken five vampires to hurl him away from his friends, earning him a black eye and a broken nose... yet a nicer room, despite the fact he promised to behave himself if they just put him back with the others. He hadn’t even seen Curtis as friend once the blood started flowing into his mouth. Everyone had just been a source of food, with his ego being okay with that.

Dragged through what Lance now knew to be a house and not some kind of warehouse, he chained to a bed by his feet and his wrists, a collar around his neck with chain linking to the chain between his wrists. The bars of the bed groaning with his strength, yet refused to yield under his force. Hit by the full realisation of what he’d done, he’d curled up the best he could around his chains, crying himself to sleep over how violent he’d been.

He’d been in the bedroom for a few days now. Away from the others they brought him food. Human food that did nothing for his blood cravings, and blood capsules that he’d forced himself to swallow down so his body was at least getting some form of blood. The other vampires seemed wary of him now. Despite being able to take him in his weakened state, they came in a group of five. Two would guard the door, one would throw his food on the bed, one was armed with a cattle prod and another with what Lance could only call a dog catching pole. The steel comprising the loop was no joke. It’d been wrapped with razor wire that he was sure would decapitate him if they felt he was misbehaving.

Next to the bed was a bucket, Lance barely had enough chain to roll over to use it, resulting in him messing up his clothes and the bed, not that his captors cared. He was permitted one 5 minute bathroom break a day, where the was observed for the whole thing and Mr Cattle-Prod would stand right up near him with the device hovering near his back. He’d make the mistake of moving too fast to grab toilet paper and had been dropped by the device so fast he’d smacked his head on the toilet. Still, Lance hoped for all his mistreatment that they hadn’t laid a hand on Curtis. Zethrid, Acxa, and Ezor all fell under Lotor’s protection. Curtis had no one now. He bitterly cursed his outburst and attempt to escape when they’d come to subdue him. Had he kept his head level, he wouldn’t have been taken from his friend.

This waiting thing sucked. All sorts of thoughts coming to mind. Their captors were careful. He hadn’t caught a whiff of Sendak’s scent, nor was his name mentioned. Nothing important was mentioned at all... so all he had time for was his own thoughts. Like if he’d ever see Keith again, or if he was destined to die... or if Lotor had been lying and in on it all, with this whole thing being a charade or an attempt to extract information from him. He didn’t know how to feel. He really missed Keith, but he missed his Mami in a whole other way. Coran would be taking care of her, yet Coran had nothing to say that could reassure her. Lotor had left VOLTRON instead of doing all he could to help there, where his help would have been more appreciated and they could have all been out of here by now. Sleeping was the only time he could relax... forced to deal with the cuts and scraped around his ankles and wrists if he moved too much.

He was never going to complain about Keith hogging all the blankets again. Nor was he going to complain about his boyfriend’s inability to human before coffee, not that it really sucked. Keith was too unbelievably cute as he stumbled around seeking cuddles and guidance. Lance was as scared as he was tired, and frustrated that he wasn’t strong enough to withstand this forced captivity. Keith would be strong. He’d be quiet, brooding, until he worked out how get himself free. He wouldn’t go around having tantrums. He would have figured out how to get the cuffs off by now. Lance had tried to channel Keith and pick the locks with his nails. All that’d happened was he’d chipped them. Biting them broke his teeth. He was quite certain his captures thought him insane. He was acting insane.

There was only so much he could do chained down to a bed. Thanks to his little outburst he didn’t even know the way back down to the basement, so if he did break out, he’d be caught without being able to do anything for the others. Fuck. He’d even take being locked up with Lotor for the company over his own thoughts... yeah, he really was going insane... but... if Lotor actually helped him... No. Nope. No. It’d been days locked up in the room with nothing. He didn’t even bother trying to initiate conversation knowing he’d be abused if he did. Had Lotor planned something then surely things would have been in place and his arse would have been rescued by now.

Keith was not above torture. He wasn’t the saint Lance made him out to be... but his friends were literally the only thing he had left now that he’d been sent down to the VOLTRON staff quarters. Isolated for his own good. What a load of shit. Shiro was still in the briefing room, where he should be... not sent to rest like a little kid when he could sleep perfectly fine in a chair beside Shiro

Hearing a knock on the door to his room, Keith very nearly called out to tell them to fuck off, before remembering the rooms were sound proof and he’d actually have to face whoever was on the other side of the day. He was supposed to be resting. How could when Lance had been gone six days now and Shiro had been working his arse off for the last 4? Dragging his body off the bed, he rubbed at his tired eyes. Sleep hadn’t been his friend. He’d slept when Shiro slept because he’d believed Shiro was okay and he thought maybe with his brother back in action they would have located Lance by now.

Hearing the soft knock again, it irritated him. Striding over he flung the door open to find Miriam standing on the other side. Shit. Yeah. He hadn’t been the best person around, and he definitely wasn’t winning any awards when it came to checking up on Mami. With her standing in front of him, he didn’t know what to say. Both of them staring at each other before Mami gave him a sad smile

“Oh, my poor boy”

Shuffling forward, Keith tensed as Mami wrapped her arms around him. The last person to hug him had been his brother. Mami was tiny in comparison. Her head coming up to his chest

“M-Mami?”

“I’m glad you remember who I am. I’d be very sad if you forgot me”

Way to make him feel even shittier about himself

“What are you doing here?”

“Call it an old woman’s hunch. I thought you could use some company”

No. He really couldn’t... but he couldn’t say no to Miriam. Mami squeezed him tight before moving her hands to grip Keith’s arms lightly

“Ah... I can hear your thoughts my boy. Don’t you worry, this old bird came bearing gifts”

Keith didn’t know when Mami had the chance to cook, only that she’d brought food down to him. The bag left by the doorway when she’d shuffled in for a hug. Opening the bag, everything smelt delicious, until he caught sight of a certain bottle

“Mami!”

Mami chuckled. He supposed he sounded how Lance did when he was scolding her. The bottle of vodka wasn’t full. Mami was definitely some kind of grandma rebel

“That’s to share. I know you haven’t been taking care of yourself. Lance would have kicked you into the shower by now. My nose might just fall off”

Okay. Maybe he hadn’t showered in a little while...

“My mind’s been elsewhere”

“On our Lance. I heard about what happened with our Shiro and the others. He wouldn’t want you letting yourself go like this. Now, there’s some soap in the bag, I want you take a nice warm shower, and I’ll get dinner organised”

How was Miriam so composed? Her youngest was missing. Possibly being tortured and she... was there. With dinner, alcohol and an ungodly amount of patience. Keith found himself questioning her good intentions. He’d let her son be stolen away. Lance wasn’t back and he was... being useless. He wanted to scream. He wanted to drag in as many vampires as he could and force them to tell him where Lance was. He was acting like the Keith he’d used to be. The Keith who had nothing to lose.

“Why? Why are you here?”

“Because my boy, it breaks my heart to see you suffering”

She had to be suffering too... He had no right to

“But Lance is your son...”

“And he’s your boyfriend. Our Lance is strong. He’d be broken hearted to see the man he loved in so much pain. I have faith that our boy will come back to us. Now off to the shower with you. I had to pull many strings to sneak away from Krolia. Woman was giving me more grey hairs with her worrying than I know what to do with”

Lance probably thought he’d given up on him. He wouldn’t rest if their roles were reversed. How could he look his boyfriend in the eye?

“Do you... do think Lance will still love me?”

Miriam chuckled at him, Keith feeling self conscious knowing she was laughing at him

“My boy. That son of mine is absolutely crazy for you. Always talks my ear off about you. He says your very stubborn, but very sensitive. He’s always at me not to tease you because he doesn’t want you be sad. He adores you. Gracious, you’re as bad as my boys, you need to take a shower, mister. I can’t let Lance be seeing you like this. He’d scold me for not taking care of you”

Heading to shower, the warm water hid his tears. Keith letting everything go as he cried out how much he missed his boyfriend. He missed his whole existence. The sleepy smiles as they lay cuddled up in bed together. The way he knew Keith needed his morning coffee and let him hang off him until he was caffeinated. The way he was the dorkiest and clumsiest vampire in existence. He felt like his soul had been cut in half and he didn’t know how to exist on his own after finding love with Lance. Trying to stay strong was exhausting. Nothing was going right and no one would give him his boyfriend back. He had Lance’s clothes but he feared if he handled them too much they stop smelling like him... and then he’d have nothing anymore. Keith already felt like he was forgetting what it felt like to hold him. To hear his voice.

Cried out and much cleaner, Keith climbed out the shower slowly. The warm water left him in a state ready to pass out in bed. Without a change of clothes he put on what he’d been wearing before, having to admit that he’d definitely been past due for a shower. Lance really would be kicking his arse for how he was acting. He was 27. He needed to be an adult... no matter how much everything hurt right now. Shiro would... Shiro would work this out... and Lance and Curtis would come home. Lance would tell him off for being a wreck, but Keith wouldn’t care because his boyfriend would be back and those who took him would have paid for it... slowly. Torturously slowly.

Heading back into the bedroom area, Mami had dinner all organised. She’d even had someone smuggle in two small glasses for the vodka. Drinking would change nothing. It’d only serve to make him more depressed, but one drink wouldn’t hurt, it might even take the edge off enough to finally rest

“You smell fresh as a daisy. Dig in, you need your strength”

He smelt like Mami. The soap that Lance always went to such trouble to buy because he knew she loved it. He wanted more times like that. More times of watching Lance fuss over Miriam with love in his eyes. The way Mami was looking at him... like... like she loved him, hurt

“Uh... thanks. I... know I’ve been a terrible partner to Lance... and I’ve neglected you...”

“Hush yourself. Lance is going to be found. I’ve seen enough airport security television to know he’s not getting through a cargo detector with those racing heartbeats of my grandbabies”

Keith hadn’t thought of things like that. The image of an irate Lance stuffed in a suitcase came to mind. His boyfriend would be so fucking pissed. Still, there were other avenues open if someone really wanted out of the country. Miriam seemed almost naive to think Sendak would waltz into a public airport and fly away to Zarkon’s territory. nearly half a moment later he realised that was the lie Mami was telling herself to keep going on strong. She had to believe Lance would come back, because the only other option was her son was dead... again. Keith wouldn’t believe that until he saw Lance for himself.

“Now, let’s have a good meal and a few drinks, then you’ll get yourself some much needed sleep”

Krolia had tried to be there for him... but she was better off being where she could be useful and not chained to his side. He was lashing out. Moody. Desperate for any kind of news and angry the Blades hadn’t found something despite all their work

“Thanks, Mami. I... don’t know how you can be so kind to me. It’s my fault he’s missing”

“Don’t you say that. Those people who took him are to blame. You’re not the one who abducted him. And if you are, I’m very cross at you”

“I wish I was... then we’d know where he is”

“I suspect he wouldn’t think of it as an abduction if it was you. He’d probably skip away merrily with a smile on his face”

“Probably. He’s kind of hopeless”

“He’s also lived a long time. He’ll be back home sooner rather than later. Now, eat your dinner. You can tell me everything you know while we eat. Lance often says I give good advice”

Keith resisted rolling his sore eyes at Miriam. She was so fierce and gentle... Lance would probably be the same with their twins. Fierce, gentle, and paranoid about dropping the baby... As for the whole “advice thing”, Miriam really did give good advice. He really should be going into detail, but this was Lance’s mother. She looked at things completely different to him and everyone else around them. She had a unique kind of “inside outside” view of the situation... There wasn’t much to be lost if he talked to her... he’d just have to leave out the scarier bits

“Yes, Mami”

He and Mami shouldn’t have been left unsupervised with the vodka. One more glass turned to two more. Keith’s tongue getting away from him as he spilled too much about how all of this was making him feel. With his defences down, he could have talked to Mami all night. She held his hand, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand like Lance would. She filled in so many parts of Lance’s life as “their little secret”. The parts of his childhood that were happy felt every bit the distant memories they were. Lance learning to drive had to be his new favourite story. His boyfriend overcompensating for his sense, driving so slow Mami smacked him until he crashed into a stop sign... then freaked out. Noticing she’d gone missing, Krolia came to find her. Eyeing the glasses on the desk, his mother raised an eyebrow, Keith feeling ashamed for actually finally relaxing and talking to someone about what he was feeling. Things were different now. He knew Krolia cared for him, but trauma didn’t disappear and he felt weak for relying on Mami when she had enough on her plate.

“Do I need to seperate you two? Or ask who was leading who astray here?”

Miriam laughed softly at Krolia, maybe his mum wasn’t as cranky as he was mentally making her out to be

“Don’t blame, Mami”

“So she’s the culprit. Leading my son astray, whatever shall I do with you?”

Mami smiled at Krolia

“You could sit and have a drink with us?”

“I only came to make sure you two hadn’t snuck out. Pidge tried to. Matt’s decided she needed rest and has sent to her to sleep”

Mami nodded, abandoning her glass in favour of placing her other hand over Keith’s

“Ah, perhaps it’s that time. Keith, you should rest too, my mijo”

He still felt self conscious... and kind of didn’t want Mami to leave. Hearing about Lance was nice. The kid that loved soccer and dancing...

“What about you?”

“When you get to my age, you can just about sleep anywhere”

That wasn’t what he meant. He kind of felt Mami shouldn’t be alone either

“Do... you want to stay?”

“I’m flattered by the offer, but can you imagine how jealous Lance would be? If I was 30 years younger I’d eat you up”

Krolia covered her mouth as she snorted at Miriam, before composing herself into “mum mode”. Keith hoped he hadn’t offended her by asking Mami to stay instead of her. He’d just... Krolia had her son and knew where he was. Mami didn’t. She was old and... He didn’t know what he’d tell Lance if anything happened to her. He hated Luis with a burning passion, but he wanted someone with Mami. He wanted someone there to take care of her and make sure she wasn’t pushing herself

“Miriam’s right. You need to sleep, we can all see it. We’ll wake you if we learn anything, and I won’t be making a move without consulting you first. It’s hard to have hope, but all we can do is trust in Lance and Curtis to do what they have to do until we can bring them home. Matt’s heading down to Garrison tomorrow to collect a few things for Rieva and pick up Blue. Maybe you could go with him? Or make a list of things that Lance would like to come back to? Oh... I’ve got this back too... I know it’s customary to keep evidence, but I felt like you should have it”

Krolia tossed something into Keith’s lap. Keith realising it was Lance’s phone. He hadn’t been allowed to keep it. Lance’s laptop was bagged as evidence when Pidge’s was retrieved from her parents... so he’d really thought he wouldn’t be allowed his boyfriend’s phone. Hitting the power button, the screen lit up. He was Lance’s background. Fast asleep with Kosmo curled up in his arms. Keith hated the photo because it was him, Lance loved it for that reason... his doggo no longer that tiny now he was 8 months old. Feeling himself growing teary. He really fucking missed Lance... Miriam squeezed his hand

“We’ll bring him home. You’ll see. Krolia, can I tempt you into a nightcap?”

Krolia groaned playfully, before nodding

“Ooooh, you’ve twisted my arm. One when we get back to your room. You’re a terrible influence on me”

Mami cackled. Maybe Krolia could be the one who stayed by mami’s side. They got on so well, and Mami would have a protector by her side

“As I’ve been told. Keith, you get a good night rest. I’ll see you tomorrow. Remind me to tell you about the first time Lance tried to make dinner on his own when he was four. I’m sure that’s a story he’d never want repeated seeing he was naked”

Mami tapped the side of her nose mischievously. Keith kind of wanted to know that story, but he kind of really wanted to find some kind of video of he and Lance to watch on repeat until he fell asleep. He knew Lance had a habit of filming things... even when they didn’t turn out right and people were left headless in the frame

“Thanks, Mami... and thanks for coming to see me”

“You’re welcome, my sweet boy. Don’t forget you can talk to me about anything”

“I know... I just... yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“That you will. Not too bright and early though, need to put my makeup on and my teeth in... You never know when you’re going to need to bite someone”

Mami sounded like Pidge, but Pidge wished she’d grow up to be as badarse

“Right, that’s enough you two. Keith, don’t stay up too late. I’ll know if you are and take that phone back”

Krolia could try. She wouldn’t get very far. He had Lance’s phone and that was the closest thing he had to his boyfriend right now. He wasn’t going to invade Lance’s privacy. He trusted his boyfriend and his emails and messages were his private business. His photos though... those were fair game.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncestupidtwicestupid #ashratherose

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theloveliestprince · 3 years

Text

Reapting Reapting Reapt

TW: Remus?, Being sad and stuff.

Roman sighed as memories filled his head as he tapped his pencil on the edge of his desk in time with the music in his head phones. Roman took in his room looking at the details on the walls as if he hadn’t already spent hours looking at them. He couldn’t get his head to think normally it was filled with too many questions, comments and criticism. He wanted to do something more than listen to the thoughts and stare at the wall. Roman spun around the room trying to decide if he should leave it for the first time in weeks or stay put spinning in his chair tell he felt too dizzy to stand. Roman planted his feet on the ground stopping the chair with a force. He had done this time and time again think and spun in the chair tell he didn't have to think anymore, he turned towards the patterns on the wall and looked at them as if he hadn’t spent hours already looking at them for his 30 years of life. Roman looked at his hands studying the details the way his palms were more read than the back the way his nails had old chipped nail polish he had put on. He looked at the small scar that went over his knuckle wondering when he got it or how he got it. The song changed in Romans headphones he knew the song changed but was too caught up in his own hands to care.

Ten minutes goes by faster when you're locked in a staring contest with your hands. Roman sighed as his head had diffeted him again. Romans eyes landed on his feet he looked at the floor looking at the wood that was usually covered by a carpet. He looked at the scratched wood following the lines with eyes he’d get mad at himself later for letting his chair off the little carpet letting it scratch the floor but now was not that time. Roman sighed he had spent too much time thinking and not enough time doing anything else. He stood up taking another look at his room, his eyes landing on the old closet in his room. The old closet was covered in a thin layer of dust having not been touched in a long time not even Remus had bothered to use it. Roman stared at the door to the imagination as if he was waiting for it to move, he locked eyes with it following the outline with his eyes. Roman stood up and walked over to the door putting his hand on the wood feeling it with his fingers. Thoughts filled his head, ones with worries and concerns, what if he didn't leave the imagination if he entered, was the biggest thought. Roman couldn’t pin a point where he started worrying so much but he knew he started paying way more attention to what he was saying maybe too much. Roman pushed the worries aside; he knew someone would come get him, he hoped someone would come get him. He put his hand on the shiny gold door handle twisting it open feeling a weight being lifted as the door showed the blue abece that was the imagination. With one knee on the edge of the closet he pushed himself in the imagination.

In a blink of an eye Roman found himself in his usual price ware and laying in a field, he looked up at the sky making eye contact with lady moon. Had it really been night? Roman sat there talking a silent conversation with lady moon and her children, who are the stars. Roman tried to find a constellation ones that he heard Logan talking about but to no avail it was much harder than he thought. He remembered how mean he had been to Logan and knew he should say sorry but he didn't want to make Logan upset, he felt the cold of the grass brush the side of him, it sent a calm in him as he closed his eyes. “Hey, Smelly” He felt the warmth of the person who just called at him sit next to him. Roman opened his eyes meeting them with the green of Remus’s “Good your not dead” Remus jokes. Roman sat up on the grass slouching a bit making him a bit shooter than Remus. “Roman? How are you doing? I haven't felt you come in here for a bit?” Roman felt a sigh leave him as he was angry with himself for even debating if he should tell his brother what was wrong.

“Yeah” was all Roman could let out before he slouched more looking at his hands scanning over the details.

“You know you can tell me what's wrong I wont judge you” Remus bumped his brother's shoulder.

“I don't know how to start” Roman admitted

“Was it what Janny said?” Remus knew what had happened but didnt know how to help his brother he wanted to.

“Yes, but there's more than just that. I think that might have just been the pushing point for it�� Remus dabated his next move. He moved his way to be more in front of Roman and pulled him into a hug. Roman took the hug letting out a long shaky breath.

“It’s ok” Remus whispered as he rubbed circles on Romans back as Roman began to cry.

“I was his Hero!” Roman let out as he clung to his brother for dear life.

“You still are”

“He chose him over me he made it very clear that i'm not” Roman mumbled into his brothers shoulder.

“Have you talked to him?”

“I don't know if i want to”

“You should it would help” Roman thought maybe if he did talk to him and maybe if he did it sooner he wouldn’t have to be stuck in his room.

“I can’t i don't want to explain why i was in my room for so long”

“So you're going to hide even longer? You don't have to explain it to everyone if you don’t want to you could have a one on one” Remus was right but Roman didn’t want to admit that he wanted it to be one of those things that just gets swept under the rug and it won't ever come back up again

“I-” Roman didn’t know what he wanted to say to his brother. His mind had finally stopped thinking long enough for him to enjoy his brothers comfort.

“Your aloud to not talk about it and still hang out with your family” Remus brought up “But you cant push it down forever, that hurts more than just your Roman” Roman clung to his brother he needed to hear this as much as he wanted to leave and deny the fact he couldn’t hide it, he stayed and sat in the field with his brother. “Roman?” Roman moved a bit away to look at his brother's face. “When was the last time you ate?” Roman was at a loss he couldn’t remember the last time. Remus said and stood up. “Come on big guy let's get you some food” Remus held out his hand and both of them sunk out into the light side's kitchen.

Romans first thought was what if someones up but the kitchen and living room were both alone sitting in the dark with only the dim kitchen light above them both.

“What do you want?” Remus was looking through the cabinets.

“I don't know” Roman shifted in his feet. Nothing had changed in the house besides the feeling.

“Mac n Cheese it is” Remus got a pot out of a cabinet and filled it with water.

“Has anything happened”

“Not really Virgil got use to me Patton jumps at me and Logan is nice” Remus paused “OH! You mean in like general”

“I'm glad Logan is nice to you” Remus let out a wide grin.

“Him and I like to do Science” Remus stried the pasta a bit. “Virgil has been more on edge without you around and Logan just seems a bit bored when were not doing things. Patton I don't know he hasn’t changed.”

“Do you know why Virgil is more on edge?” Roman asked

“Jan” Remus looked into the water as if it was telling him something. Roman hummened back. He let the silence fill the room.

“Are you ok?”

“I am, I'm just a little sad that Jan and Virg don’t like each other anymore.” Remus turned to look at Roman leaning himself on the counter

“Unresolved?”

“Miscommunication they both have too much pride to talk to each other”

The sound of someone in the living room was now apparent to both Roman and Remus, both of the locking eyes before looking into the living room.

“Roman?” Virgil stood in the living room like a deer in headlights.

“Hi” Roman waved nervously at what Virgil would say. Virgil walked into their small kitchen looking Roman up and down and doing the same to Remus.

“I missed you” Virgil played with his hoodie out of habit. Roman smiled at Virgil; all his thoughts at this very point were wrong. He was happy that he was still family to at least two people.

“Sorry to worry you, and sorry for disappearing” The room fell to a nice silence as the two stared at each other with smiles. Remus let out a laugh as he drained the pasta in the sink.

“What's so funny” Roman laughed

“You” Virgil answered for Remus. All three of them laughed. In that moment they were happy with each other. At that moment the endless cycle had stopped and Roman was content for that hour.

I’m at school so i finally felt like writing so here its sad i know but yeah also this is sorta a vent but not ya know?

#sander sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders

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pearlplusau · 4 years

Text

Chapter 5- The insertion (Part 1)

Decades passed in the home world galaxy, everything was different now, as the planet slowly ripped in half, the anguish of the three diamonds remains unscathed and permanent as the infinite suns.

After the incident, White Diamond isolated herself in her giant head ship all day, carrying out duties through simple mind control and formal messages to the higher ranked gems in her court, never needing to leave, never needing to see the empty palace of her starlight or the absent of the pink ship.

Blue Diamond wept, she wept day in, day out, as her only companion to feel happy together was lost and never would she returned. She suffered greatly from losing her, the sadness got so out of hand, under her eyes were dark bags as if they came to warn her about her powers draining her life force. Every now and then, she would visit Pinks sacred planets or the Human zoo, just to mourn for her, just to be reminded how she didn’t help as much as she should, just to feel what was left of her.

Yellow Diamond showed no more than what she already feels, anger. she would be in her chambers, attempting some long forgotten experiments of retrieved gem shards from the battle on Earth. Could she recognize her own soldiers from the rebels? No, it was impossible to distinguish gems by their shards, so she decided to continue the experiment. as she examines the various shards scattered on the counter,she thought of a plan . “If I can’t make a colony out of that hideous rock, then it looks like I’ll have to destroy it. White may have yet to approve my idea, but her refusal of talking anything regarding Pink won’t stop me from wiping that planet out of existence,” she thought as bitterness and anger fueled her, but she knew she was just as heartbroken as Blue, she just couldn’t show it.

She wiped off something from her eye and called out, “Pearl!”

The yellow pearl peeked out behind the counter with her arms in salute, “Yes my Diamond?”

“I want you to seek out the Inordinate one, and get her here immediately, I have a very important mission for her.”

“Yes,right away my Diamond!” Pearl bowed and left the room.

Back on Earth,

The remains of a war was mostly scattered about, there abandon weapons, obilerated lands, and broken space ships here and there, but no gem shards were shining in the dusty bright dessert, and no real sign of battles can be seen.

A corrupted giant yam monster, the size of a giant boulder was rolling away into an abondoned kindergarden. The Crystal gems, which consisted of Garnet, Pearl and Coral panted as they chased the monster for the whole day, but it was too fast for them.

"Not that i know of, but we need a break, i dont think Coral here can withstand another hit from the monster." She pointed to the aformentioned gem as she looks like shes gonna collapsed at any moment.

Pearl was the first to recover herself and started, "That’s the third time this week it got away! Garnet! Can you see if we're able to take care of it?"

The fusion, paused and go through the multiple outcomes of the situation, but none shows a newly bubbled gem in her room.

The pink pearl was panting and wheezing as she was rather in low health, but she held her head up and assured the two gems that she's fine.

"Really! I'm fine! Let's keep goin-" She almost finished her sentence before collapsing.

Before she went unconcious, she heard Pearl mumbling and complaining, "I knew it was a bad idea! Why was she so insisting on coming along? She was the one that lost track and couldn’t keep a stable stance with it!”

“Pearl,” Garnet said, “You can’t blame her for the inevitable, besides, Rose needed sometime alone and she was the one that suggested we do it together since we can’t all just swing a sword and poof them in an instant! At least she’s trying her best.”

Pearl responded the fusion, “Well maybe, her best just isn’t-”

Coral passed out before she could comprehend her last words, and drifted into some sort of realm of the past, or rather, somewhere that’s so familiar but yet still the same.

She was standing in a dark room, but was suddenly lit up bright, she found that she was in White’s Head ship with her heels up in the air, her arms stiff and stuck in an unsual pose, and she was…greyscaled? Before her stood White Diamond herself, she looked pleased of what she’d just done.

‘Ahh yes,’ The great diamond spoke, but her voice was echoing from somewhere nearby, ‘it’s been a long time since I used my powers but looks like its doing just fine!’

She looked at Coral as if this was a fun game, and only she know how it ends.

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself pearl,’ Her voice was almost, sympathy, pitying the pearl, ‘You wouldn’t want to remember any of this now would you?’

She placed her index finger under Coral’s chin and lifted it up to her bright face, her nail was so sharp it was a miracle her skin didn’t poof on impact.

‘I’m doing you a favour,’ Her voice echoed more, it was louder this time. ‘That crack of yours will never truly heal, she can’t be seen with an old, broken pearl, you understand now don’t you? Besides, she has her new pearl now, so don’t you wory about a thing!’

Coral tried to spoke, she tried to defend herself, but she couldn’t even look away, she doesn’t know WHAT to feel. All she could remember was Pink demanding a colony from the diamonds.

“Now off you go!” A white bubble materialized around her and floated out of the White torso ship. Everything went dark.

Back at the temple, Coral was lying in her room, tossing and turning and gasped, shes awake.

She found herself on a pile of human clothing, she doesn’t wear them, but they were soft, perfect to lie on and rest when needed. The different shades of pink from ranging from Light to Deep pink to medium violet red can be seen neatly placed in piles, almost the size of a human bed.

“What was that? I don’t think I ever... dreamt before?” Coral questioned herself.

She looked around and saw all the things too familiar, surrounding the pile of clothes was running water in a pink hue, stretching out longer and wider than the sea, but no deeper than a kiddie pool. Above her, pink clouds were drifting through, they seem endless as well, going to the same direction as the sea around her.

“Wait a sec,” Coral suddenly thought, “Weren’t we on a mission or something? Where are the others?” She rose up and took a step out of the comforting pile of fabric and ballerina her way on the water’s surface.

She concentrated and a door size glow materialized in front of her. As the light dimmed, rose stems with thorns glowed and departed, leading her outside her room.

Just as she was half-way through, she heard a voice, no, two voices talking aloud and complaining.

Rose’s voice was first recognized, “-too dangerous, you need Coral on this mission!”

‘For what? All she did was getting trampled and hit by that thing! Any more damage taken would’ve poofed her! Or worse!”

Garnet’s voice joined in, ‘That I agree.”

‘Well, even if she’s not capable of catching the corrupted gem, you should’ve leave her out like this, she’ll be heartbroken if she finds out you went without her!’

‘So? It’s better than her slowing us down! There’s so much more monsters out there, we won’t be able to bubble them all with her around! Garnet and I can’t fight AND keep her safe at the same time!’

Garnet chipped in, ‘And it’s not that we dislike her, we love her, all of us, but if we’re gonna take care of the planet and avoid locals from getting harmed, we need to bubble as much as possible in the least amount of time.’

A faint sigh can be heard, the leader spoke, ‘If it means less suffering and less humans getting hurt, then I suppose it would be fine for Coral to have a time-out for a few days. You two need to rest, but you should head out before Coral wakes up, all right?’

‘Of course’ said Pearl.

‘Noted.’ said Garnet.

‘Good,” Rose ended, ‘Dismissed’

Coral slipped back into her room before any of them noticed her. She was processing what was heard while the rest of the crystal gems head back to their respective rooms.

I’ll show them, she thought, I’ll show that I’m capable of handling a gem monster AND myself!

When the coast was clear, she quietly tip-toe out of her room and went back to the last known location of the yam monster.

Just outside the Earth’s orbit, various yellow spaceships can be seen in a form of a diamond, specifically, Yellow Diamond.

Inside the first spacecraft, with green and yellow glowing alien technology far advanced than anything that ever existed, and piloting each ships were handfuls of Era 1 peridots. These peridots each have a triangular gem and the same heights as pearls, but far more intelligent as they are very competent technicians. The peridots were capable of doing various tasks such as data logging, research, communication range bigger than the galaxy without external equipments.

(Art by @gemfiles, if you would like your artwork removed please dm me, as this pic here has the purpose of visual aids for the readers)

They were busy working on the coordinates and history of the planet Earth, typing required data and analyising it’s past reputation and current resources on the ships available platform and programs.

A peridot stood and walked off from her post, the others took no notice and persume their work. The peridot stood still in front of a door, and a scanner appears from the right wall. The contraption scanned her form for her gem and found it on the back of her left hand, the light scan turn from green to light yellow and beeped.

The door slid open and the peridot went through, her arms in diamond salute as she greets her superior officer.

‘My Anglesite,” She said, ‘I am here to report that we have arrived at the planet’s orbit, do I have your orders and coordinates to land ?’

‘My, my,’ The main gem-in-charge yellow Anglesite replied, wearing a white lab coat and triangular pointy shoulder pads in the colours yellow and white. She wore glasses so thin you could only notice it up front, the right side of her face was covered by her light blonde short hair.

If you think she’s the same as the other gems, she not, cuz her lower half was just hovering circle platform, so she would resemble a vase on the circular coffee table. But, the platform serves as a method of transport, as it is designed to float above any ground so she can travel as same as other gems, it’s just faster and requires her pretty much no energy to be in motion.

at the edge of the platform, robotic hands can sprout out and execute projects better and faster than a normal gem, weapons and defence systems? You dont need to worry about that.

The yellow gem continued, ‘Just as I calculated, looks like even the atmosphere is liking what will be done to that little chunk of rock, wiping it out of our starmaps will be so much faster, and then, the great Yellow Diamond will praise me for my work, promote me and i will finally have the chance to meet my glorious, shining White Diamond!’

The peridot was getting tired of hearing the “possibility” after the mission was complete, but she could only agree with her superior, ‘Of course she will my Anglesite! So, about the course-’

‘Ah yes, set the course towards north of the largest continent on the planet, that is where the final stage of the mission will commence!’ The yellow gem started giggling and laughing, but she gave one last order, ‘That will be all!’ and continued with her laughter.

‘Yes my Anglesite.’ Peridot trudged back to her position and set the course.

The ship entered the planet’s orbit and the technicians went to work.

It’s been a few hours, the sun was starting to rise, the cold nigh air was starting to warm up the atmosphere as shadows began to crept under the desert lifeforms.

Coral was walking aimlessly through the desert, mumbling and kicking the sand, just wanted to catch that gem monster and prove to them she’s not useless.

I can’t believe they didn’t want me to come along, she thought, I’ve been with Rose longer than Pearl has, and I was there when everything happened, it’s not fair!

She kicked more sand, but the impact wasn’t obvious, since the whole terrain was a desert.

She sighed and sat behind a rock to take a break, physically and mentally.

The whole trip was to catch that monster but she’s done nothing but follow her “instincts” and it led her nowhere. There was no tracks, no damaged that looks like its from a giant yam monster, and most importantly, no idea whats next.

Wait, she thought, whats that on the sky?

Is that….a homeworld spaceship? No wait, there’s more than one?

Ohnononono, she thought, they’re coming back for us!

I have to go back! I have to tell Rose and Garnet and Pe-

….

Or…

Maybe this is the chance I’ve been waiting for, to prove that I can handle myself.

Yeah, I wont be able to fight off ships of soldiers, but I can do a little sneaking around, trying to see what’s really going on, or better yet, their plan of attack so we’ll know what’s coming!

Coral summoned her trusty lance and did a quick jog to catch up with the ships.

End of Part 1.

(Heyo, so...as you finish reading this youll notice it’s pretty different from the story before.

But its not like im trying a COMPLETY different thing, its kinda like the previous chapter where we see what happens on homeworld, but in this chapter, we’re dealing with something that doesn’t really have any leads from the canon series.

Sooo, yeah, the north of the largest continent, Yellow diamonds plan, corrupted monsters, you should have a pretty huge idea of whats going on.

Also, the new gem is very different from what we usually see, but there’ll be a concept art in traditional paper, and probs no colour, just for you guys to see what she looks like, cuz the description of her isnt so...Complete?

But feel free to draw her tho, cuz i guess she kinda an OC here? If you could tell, she’s a gem under yellow’s court, but she also contains little essence from white diamond, which is why she has two diamonds on her design.

So yeah, she will be posted in a few days or smth.

Aaaannddd thats abt it for now, if youre reading this, it means you respect what i have to say, and i thank you for that.

Happy reading!

Pearlplusauchap Pearlplusauchap5

#pearlplusau #Coral #Pinkpearl #Rosequartz #yellowdiamod #bluediamond #whitediamond #stevenuniverse #fanfiction #Garnet #Pearl

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