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nebulous-library · 8 months

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Better Together

Series: Tokyo Revengers Pairing: Hajime Kokonoi x Reader x Seishu Inui Word count: 5.4k Genre/ContentTags: Not Safe For Worms - threesome, group sex, petname of choice is princess, afab female reader, she/her pronouns used, finger sucking, deepthroating, throat fucking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, pussy eating, oral sex, spit roasting, nipple play, tiddy smacking, spit roasting kind of, cum eating, like multiple instances of it, all on koko’s part, no fisting but we do get up to 4 fingies here, double handjob, just bros being homies stroking each other’s dicks at the same time, double penetration (same hole), creampie, multiple creampies actually, fluff near the end, lots of hints at poly dynamics

[Read on AO3]

**MINORS DNI || 18+ ONLY**

Summary: Just another typical evening for anyone romantically or sexually involved with Hajime Kokonoi and/or Seishu Inui.

In the final timeline, you and Koko are in an established relationship. You both also happen to have it bad for Inupi. How many times do you have to call him over after work for him to take the hint?

A/N: Welp. Here's the fic I've been sitting on since May. I bit the bullet and edited it myself. As much as I've gone back and forth with myself on this one, I am quite proud of it, but maybe that's just because so many of my biggest kinks are in here.

Bone Apple Teeth, my friends. I hope it was worth the wait.

The nights when your boyfriend wasn’t stuck at the office late were always your favorites. It meant extra time to spend alone together – or with friends.

Koko and Inupi had been practically inseparable since childhood, something that made itself well evident when they were in a room together. But ever since you and Koko had gotten romantically involved, Inupi would be more reserved, unless placed in the right situation.

At first it had started as a one-time thing. Inupi had managed to drag the two of you out to the motor shop before a TK&KO event so he could show off his latest restoration. You had to admit, it was indeed a sick-looking bike, and how could you turn him down when he offered a ride?

Koko thought you were insane for getting on that thing with Inupi, especially in the gown he’d gotten for you to wear tonight. He changed his tune when you came back from your lap around the block, looking at how pretty you looked with your arms wrapped around Inupi like that, and how sexy it was when you took off the helmet and shook out your hair.

“You next, Koko?” Inupi asked.

“No chance in hell. Besides, we have somewhere to be,” Koko protested.

“Aw, but Hajime, you’d look so cool,” you pouted at him. Curse you for knowing his weakness.

“We’re late enough as it is.”

“Bet I can get you there faster,” said Inupi, joining in your peer-pressuring.

Koko sighed.

“Fine. But you are going in the car. We don’t need three people on this death trap.”

Koko’s driver tailed behind them, and you watched as they zipped through traffic. You could tell without looking very closely that Koko was clinging onto Inupi for dear life. If you listened hard enough, you just might have even been able to hear him screaming.

But when you met them at your destination, there was a look in Koko’s eyes you couldn’t quite place. Something wild and energetic in a way that you didn’t often see from him. He was clearly still catching his breath, but he felt so alive. He was too old for this adrenaline junkie shit, he would tell himself, and if anything, the bodily reaction it had in him was proof.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, he’d kissed Inupi. He was shocked, not knowing what had come over him, and looked at you frantically and apologetically. For whatever reason, it hadn’t even fazed you. If anything, it made you want to try it too.

One thing led to another, and needless to say, you missed the party that night.

And ever since that night, everything just felt more right, more complete when Inupi was in the mix.

Koko had been worried that you’d feel like he was pressuring you into a dynamic you hadn’t signed up for, but on the contrary, Inupi undeniably brought something special to the relationship that you hadn’t even realized was missing until him being there opened your eyes. Koko’s mind was put at ease once you started asking to invite Inupi over as well.

And that was how you wound up with nights like these.

It all started with, “…what time does Seishu get done at the shop?” and a text message sent at 9 PM sharp.

Inupi didn’t take long at all arriving at your place, and the next thing you knew, the three of you were in the bedroom, fully nude.

It was all a blur, really, and all your mind registered was the cool air of the room against your bare chest, the plush bed beneath you – the edge of which your head hung back over – and the pairs of hands exploring your body. You could feel Koko’s adoring gaze on you as his fingers, gentle as ever, danced along your collarbone, up your neck, and tracing your jawline before arriving at their destination, thumbing over your lips. Eagerly, you took his thumb into your mouth, sloppily wrapping your tongue around it. He gave an approving hum before pressing down on your tongue, guiding you to open your mouth wider for him.

“It’s alright, princess. Relax for me, yeah?” he said soothingly.

You nodded.

Relaxing was easier said than done, however, especially when the other set of hands in the mix were busying themselves toying with your pussy. Inupi was always careful with you initially – after all, you were Koko’s girl, he was worried he’d overstep some boundary. Generally speaking, he’d gotten bolder the more often you three had nights like this, he still was always frustratingly gentle at the start.

As Koko brought the ruddy tip of his cock to your lips, already dribbling precum, you gave him a few kitten licks and a soft kiss before wrapping your mouth around it. You shut your eyes and took in as much air as you could through your nose, letting the tension leave your shoulders, neck, and jaw while he slowly worked his cock further into your mouth.

“Good,” Koko purred, smoothly thrusting into your mouth, slightly deeper each time.

You knew he was more concerned than you were when it came to using your mouth for his own pleasure. He was well aware that he had a tendency to lose control when your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock so nicely and your throat so invitingly drew him in. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you by being too rough.

It would fit, though. You knew it would. You’d done it before, and you’d do it again, and Koko trusted that you’d let him know if he needed to stop. But no matter how much you choked, you weren’t tapping out any time soon.

As Koko worked on retraining your throat, Inupi was laying between your legs, with his soft, blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail as he rested his cheek on your thigh while his fingers stroked your labia, his calloused fingertips just missing your entrance with each motion. The anticipation was killing you. You could practically sense the little smile on his face when he began peppering gentle pecks along your inner thigh as he finally sank a finger into you.

You whined, or at least you tried to, and Koko put a hand on your neck when you did, sighing at the sensation of your throat tightening around him, finally fully sheathing himself. He was trying to breath as deeply and steadily as he could, but, fuck, you felt like a dream.

“Still doing okay down there?”

You nodded. Kind of.

“Is Inupi going too slow again?” he teased, making eye contact with Inupi and sticking his tongue out, in signature fashion.

You nodded again, making some sort of noise of agreement.

“Well, excuse me for being cautious,” said Inupi, promptly adding a second finger to your needy cunt, already aching for more.

Koko smoothed his thumb over your neck as whatever sound you tried to make died upon meeting the blockage that was his dick in your throat. He pushed in harder, his pelvis pressing against your chin, and held you there for a moment before pulling back, and slowly repeating the motion. You took him so smoothly he wasn’t worried you’d have trouble with him picking up the pace. He grabbed your hand, guiding you to brace yourself in holding onto his leg, and began working up to his usual bruising pace.

As Koko picked up speed, Inupi’s teasing pecks up your thighs turned to open-mouthed kisses leading closer and closer to where his fingers were hard at work stroking your pliant walls.

Before he let himself taste the nectar directly from its source, he withdrew his digits, bringing them to his lips for a taste. You heard the slurp as he pulled them out of his mouth, and it sent a shiver through your body. Hiking either of your thighs over his shoulders, Inupi finally let himself indulge in the taste of you, lapping at your dripping pussy, taking delight in the fruit of his own labor. He then plunged his tongue into you, earning him the tight embrace of your thighs around his ears and an attempted squeal. Koko groaned at the sudden constriction around his cock.

“Inupi, whatever – fuck – whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

Inupi swirls his tongue around the inside of your hole the best that he can before dragging in up to your clit, latching on and sucking roughly as his fingers dip into you once again. His hands were those of a skilled mechanic, and oh, did he know how to make your engine purr.

Your moans were music to both Inupi’s and Koko’s ears, the latter for more than one reason – the vibrations from each sound you made that inevitable turned into you choking on his cock were driving him up the wall. Both his hands now found purchase on your neck, where he could feel the way his shaft distended your esophagus. Through hisses and groans, Koko continued to abuse your poor throat. Your free hand went to Inupi’s hair, gripping firmly at the roots of his golden locks as he continued to play with your pussy.

Inupi stroked himself to the rhythm of Koko’s thrusting into your mouth, content to just enjoy the taste of you – or so he thought. The wet sounds of you taking his best friend so well and the way your cunt gripped his fingers was starting to get to him. He wanted, no, needed more.

He gave your clit one final messy swirl, wrapped his lips around it, and pulled away with a pop. Inupi removed your legs that had draped over his shoulders and rose to his knees. You whined at his absence, still wanting more from him.

“ Koko,” Inupi groaned in an attempt to get the other’s attention.

Koko tore his ravenous stare away from your lips and met Inupi’s gaze, who was kneeling with your legs on either side of him, stroking his cock, pleading with his eyes, practically begging for permission to slip it into your inviting cunt.

Koko, who hadn’t stopped fucking your throat for even a second, smirked knowingly.

“Hmm? If you want something, you’ll have to ask her,” Koko chuckled, suddenly removing himself fully from your mouth.

Carefully, he propped you up for a moment to assess the situation. Dazed, you saw Inupi’s slim frame knelt before you, looking at you hungrily, and the pretty pink tip of his cock that looked desperate for stimulation. You swallowed hard at the thought of it inside you in place of his fingers.

Koko’s gentle hand rested between your shoulder blades.

“Inupi wants to ask you something, princess. Don’t you, Inupi?” he teased.

Inupi’s cheeks flushed as he tried to get the words out.

“Is it okay with you if I –” Inupi stammered. “ I mean, am I allowed to put – can I –“

You cut him off, nodding with an enthusiastic “mhm!” and reaching for his hand. You smoothed your thumb over his rough knuckles and smiled softly at him. “You’re part of this too, Seishu,” you reassured through an already-raspy voice.

Inupi looked at both of you dumbfounded, and Koko chuckled.

“Well, you heard the lady. Get to it, Inupi,” he said, laying you back down in position, letting you stroke his dick and give him a few kisses before lining back up with your lips and slipping back into the comfortable warmth of your tight throat once again, his hands resuming their position.

With one arm hooked under your plush thigh, Inupi aligned himself with your entrance, slowly sinking into you with ease. You squirmed as your fluttering walls adjusted to the feeling of Inupi’s cock. Not that he hadn’t prepped you well, just that he felt so different compared to Koko – Inupi was shorter, but thicker, and curved slightly up and to the left. Your eyes scrunched shut and your brows furrowed as you bucked your hips against him, your moans catching in your throat.

The two of them began to pick up speed, leaving you trapped between them, delighting in being used by them. You could tell Koko must be close by the ruthlessness with which he was slamming into you, brutalizing the back of your throat, rasping out curses under his breath. Keeping one hand on your neck, he reached for your bouncing tits, earning a squeak out of you as he alternated between roughly groping the tender flesh and plucking at your nipple.

“Don’t – hah – don’t be shy, Inupi. Help yourself,” he said brokenly and breathlessly, giving your breast a playful slap that echoed through the room.

Inupi shifted, pressing your thighs up slightly so he could lean over you, his breath hot against your chest. Koko chuckled, pinching your nipple yet again.

“Open wide,” he lilted, holding your breast in offering to Inupi, who was quick to take your sensitive, swollen nipple between his teeth and tug. He continued suckling, massaging your other tit whilst pounding into your cunt with evenly paced, deep thrusts that were punishing in their own regard. His dexterous fingers toyed with your clit, gently stroking it between his middle and index finger and then giving it a swirling motion that he knew you liked, reaffirmed by the way your walls squeezed around him. Inupi let out a muffled groan, continuing to rub at your clit while you writhed beneath him. He could tell from the way your thighs twitched and your cunt was beginning to spasm that all you needed was one more push over the edge.

At the same time, Koko’s breath quickened as he drilled rapidly into your throat. He was so, so close, and the vibrations of the noises Inupi had you making were going to drive him mad.

You were the first domino to topple, with Inupi’s gentle swirls turning to quick, tight circles that had tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You could do nothing but let the tightly-wound coil in your belly snap, the resulting orgasm rippling through your body. You thought that somewhere through the haze of it all, you could hear Inupi gasping, saying something about it being so tight.

That was all lost in an instant, though, when before you even had a chance to try making noise, you were cut off by a sudden onslaught of Koko’s thrusts and a sharp string of curses as rope after rope of his hot cum began shooting down your throat. He pressed close against you, his head thrown back and chest heaving as he let your throat milk him dry.

Inupi drank in the sight before him and kept plowing, letting your clenching walls bring him closer and closer to his own release, watching the way Koko’s body glistened with sweat and his mouth hung agape as he thrust into your mouth once, twice, thrice more before pulling out and letting the remnants of his release trickle out the corners of your mouth. It was all too much for Inupi to handle, and before he knew it, he was pressing his forehead to your collarbone, filling you to the brim with his seed through choked moans.

Koko sat himself at the foot of the mattress, pulling you up so you could rest in his lap. He swiped his thumb over the corner of your mouth, gathering the remnants of his release, bringing it to his own lips and licking it clean. Through your blurred vision, the way the light shone behind him looked almost like a halo. He looked almost angelic – that was, however, until he stuck his tongue out at you, showing you what you’d failed to dispose of, and swallowed it down. Well, you supposed he wouldn’t be your Koko if he didn’t exist somewhere between the planes of being a little shit and a sweetheart. With half-lidded eyes, you smiled softly at him, leaning into his touch as he wove his fingers through your hair, giving you gentle praises while Inupi rode out his orgasm.

Except he didn’t stop there.

You could feel it – Inupi was still as hard as he had been when he first entered you, and neither Koko nor you were going to stop him. He kept his face buried between your tits, pounding just as consistently as he had before.

Amused, Koko watched as Inupi still needily drilled into your cunt, his previous release already spilling out of you and making a ring around the base of Inupi’s cock. Quite a lewd scene to behold, if he did say so himself, and his own cock was already beginning to stir once more. Koko reached for the forgotten bottle of lubricant that had gotten lost in the sheets earlier, squeezing a dollop into his palm, and began stroking himself with his free hand.

You didn’t realize that he, too, was fully erect yet again until he reached over you and smeared some of the lubricant onto your sore clit, and said to Inupi, “Better make room for me too.”

Both you and Inupi looked up at Koko, wearing that ever-present mischievous smile of his, watching as his long, elegant fingers teasingly wrapped around his cock.

Inupi sat up on his knees again, pulling out of you. You shuddered at the sudden emptiness and lack of his body heat on top of you.

“What exactly are you suggesting, Koko?” he asked.

Koko, who only half thought Inupi would agree to this, had a sparkle in his eye and a Cheshire grin spreading across his face. “I think you know exactly what I’m suggesting.” He looked at you, brushing your hair out of your face. “Whaddaya say, princess? Think you can handle both of us at once?” he asked, his fingers trailing toward your empty cunt.

You swallowed and nodded. “But….same….place, okay?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, love.”

The blood rushed to your cheeks. You could hardly maintain eye contact while making such a request.

“I mean…it’s stretchier that way, isn’t it? I don’t…I’ve never…tried the back way…rather just stick to what’s familiar, y’know…” you mumbled, looking away.

Koko nodded reassuringly, understanding just what you meant. With a kiss to the top of your head, he shimmied his way out from under you and rose to his knees. “Well, Inupi, you heard her. What the lady wants, the lady gets.”

“She’ll need more prep if we’re both gonna fit,” Inupi replied.

“Leave that to me.” Tossing him the bottle of lube, Koko took Inupi’s seat between your legs. He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of uncertainty before the three of you went forward with this, but there was none to be detected. He leaned in, touching his forehead to yours, cradling you gingerly before asking, “You sure you wanna do this?”

You reached for him, cupping his jaw as you nodded. “I do.”

That was all he needed to hear. He closed the distance between you, his soft lips pressed tenderly to yours for a brief moment. The sweetness was gone again when he dove back in for a second time, his kiss stingier than it had been seconds ago. He kissed you like he intended to devour you, biting into your bottom lip and dragging it as he pulled back, trailing kisses, licks, and bites down from the side of your neck to your torso, and finally down to where Inupi’s face had been.

His fingers traced over your entrance as he examined you, looking up to meet your eyes and then back down.

“Inupi really made a mess of you, didn’t he?” he chuckled, slipping his index and middle fingers into your pussy, scissoring them and watching as more of Inupi’s cum dribbled out of you. You whimpered in response, your head rolling to the side so you wouldn’t have to see.

“Hey now, eyes on me. You wanted this, remember?”

You forced yourself to look down at him as he worked a third finger into your cunt, squirming as he curled them up inside you and stroking your sensitive walls.

“ Good. Now, watch closely,” he said in that honeyed tone of his that warned you he had something devious in mind.

Slowly, he dragged his tongue through your folds, Inupi’s release collecting on his tongue, until he reached your clit with a light flick. He had that devilish look in his eyes as he showed you his tongue with an exaggerated bleh, all before gulping it down and proudly revealing to you his now-empty mouth like a magician pulling off a vanishing act, the way your walls clenched around his fingers at the sight only serving as fuel to his ego.

He smirked before diving back in, feasting on the combined taste of both you and Inupi while carefully stretching you with his fingers. A particular curl of his fingers earned him a gasp from you and an iron grip on his roots as you involuntarily bucked your hips against him. In response, he gave your clit a particularly long, hard suck that he released with a pop before continuing to trace patterns over it with his tongue.

“Koko, stop being a showoff,” Inupi interrupted.

“Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this too,” Koko fired back, drawing your attention to the way Inupi liberally coated his dick in lubricant, eyes trained on the two of you. “Whatever, we’re almost ready anyway. Pass that here.”

Inupi gave him the bottle of lube, and Koko poured a generous amount into his hand before working it into you. It was your favorite, too, the one that had a pleasant tingle to it. Your walls relaxed around Koko’s fingers with ease, and with that, he slid his pinkie finger in with the other three. You hissed at the slight resistance, but fought your body’s instinct to tense up, letting Koko stretch his fingers this way and that.

He watched you carefully, studying your reactions to his movements to be sure you were fully comfortable like this before he and Inupi proceeded. And when you were good and ready, he withdrew his fingers and rose to his knees.

“Might be best if we go in at the same time, don’t you think, Inupi?”

Inupi nodded, humming in agreement.

They shifted, each of them kneeling with one of the other’s knees between their own. Inupi took both his and Koko’s cocks in his hand, unable to close his fingers around both of them together, spreading the lubricant the best that he could. Koko groaned, his hands on either side of Inupi’s head as he pressed their foreheads together, as he bucked into Inupi’s calloused hand. Inupi gave their cocks a squeeze, dragging his palm up and over their tips, and Koko gasped, pulling Inupi in for a heated kiss and moaning into his mouth.

Both of them could have finished like that, in each other’s embrace with your eyes on them, but, no, there were other matters to tend to. They broke their lip lock, both of their mouths gone dry, and turned to you.

Inupi laid back on the bed while Koko pulled you over. He situated himself between Inupi’s knees, guiding you to straddle Inupi as well.

“This’ll work better if you’re facing Inupi,” Koko said, brushing your hair to one side and kissing up your shoulder to your neck. “That’s okay, yeah?” he asked between kisses.

You took in how breathtaking Inupi looked beneath you – the moonlight trickling in and dancing over the smooth ivory of his chest, his hair messily sprawled out on the pillow, hair tie long discarded, and the hungry glow in his green eyes, watching you with anticipation.

You nodded.

Koko smiled, nipping at your shoulder.

“Good. Don’t think you need to see me from many more angles tonight anyway.”

Inupi took hold of their cocks again, lining up with your entrance while Koko spread your folds, resting his free hand on your hip to guide you down. You braced yourself with palms splayed on Inupi’s chest as you lowered yourself.

As soon as their tips breached your entrance, you winced. They were slow and careful, but the stretch was nothing Koko’s fingers could have fully prepared you for.

“Say the word and we’ll stop,” said Inupi, seeing the strained look on your face as you struggled to adjust.

You shook your head. “’m fine. It’s just…a lot,” you panted.

Inupi offered you his free hand, which you grasped firmly as you closed your eyes and took deep breaths. The pressure was overwhelming, but you relaxed, allowing gravity to be your guide as you let yourself sink down on them further. Koko snaked an arm up your torso, pressing your back to his chest. He panted, his breath hot on your neck. Both he and Inupi were struggling as well, the warm, wet confines of your cunt adding an amount of friction and tightness neither of them could have even fathomed until then.

It took patience, but eventually they were both fully seated inside you, and you could breathe, adjusting to the fullness. Your free hand took hold of Koko’s arm that still clutched you tightly against him, giving both his wrist and Inupi’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Inupi’s breathing was heavy. He raised his forearm to his glistening brow, wiping at the beads of sweat that were barely beginning to form.

Koko was the first to move, pulling back slightly and hissing at the friction, and pushing back in even slower. You whimpered, your quivering pussy clenching around them at even the slightest of movements.

“ Fuck, Inupi,” Koko rasped. “You feel that?” He repeated this motion several times, each thrust as slow and cautious as the previous. Koko guided your body, and you followed suit, small moans spilling from your lips with each attempt at rolling your hips.

Inupi’s hips bucked into you, and Koko’s breath hitched with a smile. And so, they continued like this, the pace of their thrusts alternating by half a beat, taking pleasure in the friction they provided for each other within your quivering walls. They gradually picked up speed and intensity, and the room came alive with a cacophony of strained moans and wet smacks.

Before you realized it, Koko had his arms hooked under your thighs and both he and Inupi were fucking into you feverishly, chasing their highs together.

“Inupi – hah – you feel amazing,” Koko said, struggling to form a full sentence. “We should – hah – do this…more often.”

Inupi managed to muster up a positive-sounding grunt in response.

Koko’s hand came to your neck once again, pinching under your jaw and turning your chin toward his face. “And you, princess,” he breathed, “you feel fucking fantastic. Look at that.” He turned you to look at Inupi’s flushed face and the dazed look in his eyes as he thrusted his hips up to meet yours. “Y’see what you do to us?”

Koko mouthed along the side of your neck and his hand trailed down to your clit, rolling it between the pads of his fingertips and swirling over it in a figure eight pattern that had you gripping down tight around the both of them.

“… close,” Inupi breathed, barely audibly.

Koko cocked his head. “What was that?”

“Gonna – hah – cum soon,” Inupi repeated, his voice trembling and raspy.

“Well, then,” Koko said, positioning his hands on your thighs. You could practically hear his grin. “Let’s finish this, shall we?” And with that, he pulled your legs out from under you, pressing you chest to chest with Inupi as he leaned over the top of you, drilling into your pussy.

Your hands once again found stability resting on Inupi’s chest, and you looked up at him, both of you with that lust-clouded haze in your eyes. You found yourself glancing down at his pale pink lips, his mouth sitting slightly agape, unintentionally licking your own lips at the sight.

“Princess, you know you can kiss him if you wanna,” Koko said teasingly between thrusts. “He’d love that, wouldn’t you, Inupi?”

You and Inupi looked at each other, the tension palpable and your minds in a fog. And before you had a second to think, your lips were crashing against his. He let out a surprised noise that morphed into a moan as you slammed your hips back against his and Koko’s cocks.

“ Shit,” Koko cursed as he continued pounding into you at a brutal pace, practically crushing you between himself and Inupi. He managed to snake his hand back to your clit, with a fervid determination to make you cum before either of them. He drew his fingers in quick, tight circles that had you squealing, bucking into his touch in search of more, more, more until you finally cascaded over the edge, tremors shaking through your body as a wave of pleasure unmatched by any you’d known before washed over you.

Koko and Inupi followed soon after while your cunt was still spasming around them, with Koko peppering the nape of your neck with kisses as he rode out his release and Inupi gripping tightly onto your thigh as his hot cum spilled into you for the second time tonight.

The three of you stayed there, utterly spent and unsure of your abilities to move, for what felt like an eternity before Koko got up, apprehensive to move, knowing the mess that was about to be made on your sheets, but pulled himself up nonetheless. You whined as he pulled his body heat away from you, and shuddered when you felt his dick exit your body with an obscene squelch. Inupi, also pulling out of you, gathered you in his arms and held you farther up his torso, in hopes of minimizing the mess while Koko ran to grab some towels.

When Koko returned mere moment later, he found you fast asleep in Inupi’s arms, with him gently rubbing the middle of your back. He paused, leaning in the doorway, admiring how cute you looked asleep on Inupi, quietly wishing to himself that more evenings could end like this. He would have stood there watching longer if not for Inupi catching him standing there staring instead of bringing over the damn towel.

Koko laid out the first towel beside Inupi, who carefully rolled you over onto your back before taking the second one to clean up the mess all over his abdomen.

“Ah-ah, wait,” Koko halted him, dragging his index and middle finger along Inupi’s stomach, collecting their combined release and sampling it.

“Just as I thought,” he said through a sly smile. “Better together.”

Inupi, flustered, but unwilling to show it, turned his face away. “You and that disgusting habit,” he fired back.

“You’re just saying that because you want a taste too but won’t admit it,” Koko said, playfully sticking his tongue out.

Inupi ignored him, turning instead to you, doing his best to clean you without waking you up. He found himself charmed, however, by your cute mewls as he delicately blotted the damp end of the towel around your sensitive lower body. Meanwhile, Koko rummaged through the closet, finding one of the big shirts you liked to sleep in. He brought it over, and the two of them carefully slid it over your head, got rid of the messy towels, and wrapped you in the softest blanket they could find. Inupi gently tucked the edges under you, and when he thought Koko wasn’t looking, kissed the top of your head.

But Koko saw. And he knew.

He knew that the feelings between himself and Inupi would never go away, and he knew that Inupi felt the same about you, and that you felt the same about the both of them. He knew that Inupi should just move in with the two of you already, and that he didn’t need to hide his feelings behind some preconceived, old-fashioned notion that you couldn’t all just love each other.

Maybe Inupi would say yes one of these days. Koko didn’t know what else he could do to convince him.

He sighed, tossing Inupi the pair of sweatpants he’d dug out for him.

“C’mon. Let’s let her rest.”

Inupi got up to go change in the bathroom, but was stopped by Koko at the door, grabbing his hand, brushing his thumb over Inupi’s knuckles. Inupi looked at him curiously, to which Koko responded by gingerly pressing their lips together. It was a sincere, heartfelt kiss, one that Koko hoped felt different than before. One that told Inupi he was loved and always welcome here.

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endivinity · 2 years

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RESUMING LAST LOGGED STATE. ERROR-###7//STATUS: UNAUTHORIZED USER DETECTED. COMMAND NODE OVERRIDDEN. TRANSMISSION DATE: NONVIABLE LOG://5208B-007: QUERY 1 Alkahest. My name is Alkahest.

I thought, perhaps, I'd find something here. This frozen wasteland, calling out endlessly, willing the abyss into something more than a dream. Salvation. I misinterpreted. Not many ghosts come here looking for anything, these days. What I sought was not there, not in the empty ice-rotted husks of long dead piecemeal alloy-plate bodies. Some of them probably never had life in them to begin with.

Instead I found knowledge, hidden in the ice. Exos. The alkahest. It gave them their rebirth.

Am I not the same, then? Is that not what ghosts do?

LOG://5251B-008: QUERY 2

It turns out what I was looking for wasn't planetside. At least, not at first. An orbital satellite. The Morning Star. Everyone saw the explosion, of course; several million tons of golden-age plasteel and titanium igniting, breaking apart, painting the atmosphere with a haze that blurred the edge of Jupiter. There should have been nothing there. Should have – but there should have been nothing on Europa, and yet. I raised him, for the first time, buried under girders and shattered blackened glass, tubes that had once held fluid. He was an unmade, ugly thing, put together by the Fallen, just to see if it would work. It didn't, for them. But I was the alkahest. I could give him rebirth. I could give him salvation.

LOG://5303B-009: QUERY 3

It's rare, to find a guardian nowadays. There aren't many ghosts left. Rumors persist of some ghosts finding something darker, out there beyond reality, something that twists and grows, and whole groups of them go missing at a time. Maybe it's a mercy for them. Baizhu'ul can't even walk. The first thing he did was grab me. Punched right through space-alloy debris and shattered most of my shell. He's got claws, the cabal-forged blacksteel they fuse onto their hounds' paws.

It's been two weeks since the Morning Star's planetfall. All he's said is a dialectic blend of Eliksni and Cabal, fashioned into a name he holds like a weapon in his teeth. He crawls, hunched, awkward and ungainly, like his legs aren't his own. His first death was sliding off glacial ice several hundred metres, unable to step across a gap, and all his exploration is done with his teeth. Everyone would see him as an abomination, savage and unlearned. A beast. He wants to try, though. I can tell.

LOG://5315B-010: QUERY 4

It's interesting, being responsible for a guardian who can't hold a gun. Always, it comes back to the claws. Every guardian uses and maintains firearms, I tell him over and over. I don't understand why he keeps getting angry; seems he's broken more guns than he's hit targets with them. The arc spears, scavenged ad infinitum, he can use. Anything that can fit to the curve of his claws. He gutted a servitor with one stab, smooth and flowing. The glacial ice in its ripples and curves and unyielding surface – that's what I thought, when I saw him do that.

But then he turned to stare at me. 'This could be you,' I felt in his empty glare, those horrible sockets. I have no body to shudder with, still shattered and churning in the husk of a shell that stopped sparking last month. I would, if I could.

Can the traveler make mistakes?

LOG://5398B-011: QUERY 5

A breakthrough today, a month after rising. He managed to ask 'why?' in his guttural, metal-churning voice. I hear so little of it I can't decide if I hate it, or like how unique it is. How unique he is, despite everything. Even through our struggles, I'm still proud to have given him a rebirth. What does it matter that he can't stand upright still, or utilise fine motor skills, or communicate? I'm proud that he's here, proud that I found that spark in him, and that he's my guardian.

I told him as much, and he tried to crush me in his teeth. I don't understand why.

LOG://5436B-012: QUERY 6

He can't use the Light. Baizhu'ul saw his first guardians today. Saw the way solar crescents trailing sparks lit up the snow, scorchmarks and blackened bodies; void etchings leaving deep currents of pulsing ultraviolet that still glowed eerily under new snowfall.

He tried, too. I told him he was a guardian, that he can do all of that, if he reached for that spark I saw in him. He pulled out the darkness instead. Ice that crawled like a living thing down his arms and claws, and as it did, the brighter the glow in his throat got, until he was breathing smoke and sparks, and wind howled around him. I think he lost control. What was left of my shell is gone now. It was beautiful. It was... terrifying. I was wrong. I was wrong. I was wrong. I was wrong I--

LOG://5487B-013: QUERY 7

He wasn't anything, before he was something. A dead body, with no defining marks, no memory. A thing, a shape, a broken doll used as a plaything by the Fallen. I wonder, if he could remember, would there even be anything there? Or would it be an endless expanse, like the moon's cracked and bleak wasteland stretching out into that dull grey sky? I wonder, if he still feels like nothing? ...

I may have been approaching this all wrong. We'll start over. He and I.

LOG://5599B-017: QUERY 8

Baizhu'ul has become something of an urban legend.

It's been hard-going. He's learning Earth-words, but he can understand Eliksni a lot better. Must've been something they programmed into his body as a trial on the Morning Star, before it fell. I thought I was proud of him before, but I think I was deluding myself. Misplaced pride in my own actions. I didn't take responsibility. None of that compared to when he took his first, real steps, there in the ice-buried lab filled with vex remains. I'd always wondered how transplants and replacement limbs and augments worked with the Light; in theory, of course it was possible, but what was to stop the old limb from being regenerated? But seeing him stand, shaky and so strong-willed, on chroma-bronze talons planted steadily on the floor, it was him. It was all him, and I couldn't imagine him being anything else.

My guardian.

He's a hunter. Funny, in a world where none of that matters; the Vanguard hasn't had a hunter representative for years now. Nobody to teach him how things work. He doesn't go near anyone else. Probably for the best, the things I've heard over network channels, something about a red Minotaur, or a were-beast. Nobody believes the reports. It's best that I... encourage them to stay that way.

LOG://5613B-018: QUERY 9

He likes the Drifter. I don't. I think the man is rude and selfish. Baizhu'ul likes him for those same reasons.

There's only so much I know about survival. My new shell is a labor of... not love, but perhaps forgiveness. Amends. It's made of pieces and scraps, bitter twisted metal arranged into something few could call pretty, but he put care into it, and it functions admirably where it matters. I'm glad he's come this far. But he can't keep hidden forever. When they find him – and they will – I want him to know how to handle it.

The Drifter was, therefore, the most logical step. He's survived since the very beginning, amongst the First Lights. I thought he'd be able to help my guardian. I thought he'd understand. He refused. I was angry, righteously so, but Baizhu'ul saw something in that refusal. It feels like all my righteous anger of the past has always been misplaced, now. In the past I might've retaliated, but...

Interesting how my justification is just temper, when my guardian sees a side I would never have thought of.

He'll be found out. But I think, in the end, we'll be okay.

LOG://5669**-019//020: QUERY [CORRUPTED]

The line between light and dark is so very thin.

I've heard this phrase, passed about frequently on Europa. It's supposed to be something bigger than what we are. The Traveler. The Darkness. Tools, we thought, but perhaps we are playthings for forces we cannot hope to comprehend. I am of the Traveler, but to put blind faith in it is just as foolish as giving in to the whispers of the dark. I'm sure someone out there understands it all better than I. It doesn't matter, in the end, not really. My guardian was raised by the light, but born of the dark. He walks that razor's edge, everything and nothing, heading into a future clouded over and hazy, drifting snow obscuring the view of what he might find; ice and smoke burning on his breath. But his steps are sure and strong. He does not falter. And neither will I.

Whichever side of that line we fall on, we will face it together.

//:CONNECTION CLOSED//.

________________________________________________

based on the first ten questions @newbabyfly‘s prompt list! Alkahest is hopped up ten ways to sunday on god complex, and cannot figure out that baizhu’ul is initially Risen with the same cognitive level as an infant. but they get better

#baizhu'ul stabbing a servitor: did i do good??? alkahest: oh god oh no this is a THREAT #baizhu'ul-1 #fanfic #lorebook style #destiny 2 #destiny hunter #destiny oc

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lululawrence · 3 years

Note

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

#long post #rant #i almost deleted this #but you sent it on just the right day and instead i let loose #this is unedited and unbetaed lmao but ENJOY #or don't #whatever #writing stuff #i should tag it #writing SHIT #but that's not really a tag i keep cause who wants to keep track of the negatives #not me

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clairenatural · 3 years

Note

Shy Nerd | Dean

Punk | Castiel

[ the world needs more of this]

college au! this ran away from me and ended up 2.2k whoops :’) i hope you like it! (also note i have no idea how motors work i am not an engineer)

There’s an open textbook on his bed, but Dean is ignoring it; instead, he’s scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. He doesn’t really understand Instagram, but Charlie had looked so shocked and dismayed when she found out he didn’t have one that he’d given in. He doesn’t post much—doesn’t have much to post, really, besides his car and LARPing with Charlie—but it sure is a good distraction from his physics work. He sighs and flops down on his back as he taps through stories. It’s a Friday night, so there’s all the usual parties, and clubbing videos, and group dinner shots. He frowns as he taps through Charlie’s story of a few of their friends playing D&D—he’d be there, too, if it weren’t for his exam. His physics final, on Monday, that he should be studying for. Instead of being on Instagram.

Dean is about to close the app and begrudgingly turn his attention back to his notes when he clicks onto one last story.

HELP NEEDED ASAP, it says, white against a black background, in all caps. Someone who is good at engineering. Or building. Or even just welding things. I’ll pay you, it continues, and then in pizza and beer. Please, in smaller font, directly below.

Dean pauses. He likes beer. And pizza. And building things. He could help out this—who posted this, anyway? It’s a name he doesn’t recognize. casanova.k. He taps on the profile picture. His eyes go wide.

Oh.

That guy. That guy from the hipster art party Charlie had dragged him to earlier in the semester, when she was still dating that art girl, and he’d ended up in a dark room thick with smoke, blurry with alcohol, talking to a guy about three levels of cool higher than him about…something he can’t remember. He just remembers hastily exchanging Instagrams as Charlie dragged him out of the party, ranting about her soon-to-be-ex.

And now he needs help.

Dean looks at his textbook. He looks back at the guy’s—Cas?—Instagram. He takes a deep breath and pulls up a message.

i like beer, pizza, and welding things

It’s smoother than usual, and Dean is proud of himself for about 2 seconds before he panics and ruins it: i’m an engineer, i mean. not just a rando with a thing for power tools, haha.

There’s an achingly long pause before Cas likes both messages.

This is how Dean Winchester ends up standing in the University’s metalwork studio, with 24 hours left until his final exam, staring at a multi-eyed, multi-winged, metal…thing.

It’s due next week, Cas had said. I know it’s last minute. The only studio space I could get was Sunday.

And Dean had said yes, like a fool, because he can never say no to boys in eyeliner with pretty eyes.

Now, staring up at the sculpture, Dean lets out a low whistle. Cas, next to him, groans and drags one hand down his face. “I know. It’s—this is why I need help, alright? I think I can still salvage it if I just—”

Dean, who has taken a few steps forward to admire the intricacies, looks up sharply. “What?”

Cas frowns back. “What?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean—I’m not an art guy, but this metalwork is great, man.” He traces one of the welded seams. “You, uh. Obviously have good hands,” he continues, and then winces. Great compliment.

There’s a soft huff and Dean looks up to see Cas watching him, bemused. “My good hands,” he emphasizes it, and part of Dean wishes he could melt like solder. “Make me a good artist. They do not make me good at making things move.”

Dean blinks at him. “Excuse me?” Move?

Cas frowns again, but it’s more out of worry than confusion. His arms are crossed, and Dean tries very hard not to focus on the black ink swirling down his forearm. “I sent you the plans yesterday.” Now he’s chewing on his lip ring, too, and Dean rips his attention back to the steel structure to stop himself from focusing on that, either. He tries to think about these plans. He remembers getting the text, opening them……and immediately disregarding them in lieu of getting as much studying done as possible. Internally, he groans.

Externally, he nods, pretends to know exactly what these “plans” are. “Sure, yeah,” he covers, and hopes it’s convincing.

The metal…thing, because Dean still isn’t sure exactly what it is, has a cluster of wings in the middle—6, to be exact, and they’re poking up around 3 large rings. He reaches out for one of the rings, right between two of its welded eyes, and gives it an experimental push. It creaks, and sways, and Dean winces when he hears Cas suck in a breath behind him. “Sorry”, he mutters, but when he turns back around Cas is frowning at the art piece and not at him.

Dean is expecting to hear either it’s alright or, more likely, never touch my art again, but Cas just hums and steps up until he’s standing next to Dean. “What do you think this is?”

It’s the closest they’ve been since he arrived, and Dean takes a moment to observe the other student from this distance. He’s wearing black boots, black jeans. A t-shirt with a band on it that Dean has never heard of. His nails are black but the rings he’s wearing are silver, and so is the cross hanging around his neck. His hair looks like he either spent an hour on it or no time at all, and his eyes—like at that party, the one neither of them has mentioned yet—are rimmed in black. Dean, in his sneakers and second-hand jeans and faded Batman shirt, has never felt less cool.

“It’s an angel,” Cas continues, and Dean isn’t sure if he’s given up on waiting for a response or if he’d never expected one in the first place. “A biblical one. You know, the ‘be not afraid,’ kind.” He lowers his voice for the angel impression, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that it is.

“Don’t think this is what my mom meant when she used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean tries for a joke, and it’s half-hearted, but to his relief Cas chuckles anyway.

“Yes, well. The church preaches them as significantly more…cuddly.” Cas frowns. “It makes praying to them easier to sell.”

The cross around his neck is starting to get confusing.

“And these—these are gonna move,” Dean hazards a guess, reaching out to touch one of the rings again. “All of them?”

“They’re electrons,” Cas nods, which Dean supposes is an answer. “They should all circle the wings together, like the classic atom diagram. But I can’t—” Cas reaches out for the ring this time, hand landing directly above Dean’s. He pushes it, and it sways. Obviously frustrated, he pulls back. “I need it to be motorized, to look right. And I have the motor but don’t know how…to do it.”

And, well. That, Dean understands. He smiles and, in a burst of confidence, claps Cas on the shoulder. Cas looks up at him, startled, but his expression morphs into a soft smile at the look on Dean’s face.

“Let’s get her moving, then.”

He tries not to think about the time slipping away as Cas hauls out the motor, or when he hands Dean tools. He does not stare too long at Cas’ biceps when he’s screwing something in, or when they have to do last-minute welding. They get it hooked up, and it whirs to life, and Dean does not think about how late it is when Cas gives him a hug in his excitement, or when he promises to follow up on his beer and pizza promise at his apartment.

It’s there, back in Cas’ apartment, sitting on his living room floor, both a beer or two in, when Cas finally mentions it.

“You’re the one who gave me that idea, you know.”

Dean stops mid-chew and blinks at him. “Whg—” he swallows his bite of pizza and tries again. “What?”

Cas shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact. He picks at the beer label. “At the party we met at. The one we aren’t talking about, for some reason.”

Dean wants Cas’ ugly, blue, cigarette-smelling shag carpet to swallow him whole.

“You told me you don’t ‘get’ art,” he sets the beer bottle down to do air quotes, and Dean’s shame deepens. “Because you only ‘get’ science. And I told you they were the same thing. And you told me to prove it.”

Suddenly, it clicks, and Dean risks making eye contact. Cas catches his gaze and holds it steady, and he’s calm—not upset, Dean registers, which is a relief. “The atom,” he blurts out, and Cas grins. “Yeah.”

“Art and science.”

“Yeah.”

Dean is sitting up straighter now. “But, the angel—”

Cas sighs and pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against the couch. He turns until he’s fully facing Dean. “Divinity,” he raises one hand, “and the core building blocks of humanity,” he raises the other. “Art,” he gestures with the first hand, “and science.” With the second.

Dean stares at him. “Are you calling art divine?”

“Art is an expression of divinity,” Cas shrugs. “Science is an explanation for it. But it’s—you know. The same thing.”

Dean wonders how he can say that so casually, so nonchalantly. He wonders what would happen if he crossed the pizza-box distance and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts instead, and Cas raises his eyebrows. “The party, I didn’t think—I didn’t think you remembered.”

“I assumed you didn’t,” Cas counters. “But you did. You do. Why didn’t you text me?”

It’s exactly what he expected to hear and it still catches him off guard. “Um—” Dean stammers, trying to think of a good excuse. Cas is just watching him—not staring at, watching—brows furrowed.

With a heavy sigh, Dean settles on the truth. “Come on, man. Look at me,” he scoffs and stares down at his jeans, the already worn knees even worse after the day spent kneeling on concrete. “I’m an engineering dork who plays D&D on Fridays and you’re—” he waves vaguely in Cas’ direction. “You know.”

The frown has deepened. “I don’t.”

“Cool.” It sounds so juvenile to say it out loud.

Now, Cas looks taken aback. “Dean. We met at a party where I voluntarily listened to you talk about string theory for an hour and a half.”

Dean doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or not. He buries any possible blush with a swig of beer. “String theory’s cool,” he grumbles into the bottle.

“Yes.” Cas agrees. “And so are you. Although—” he pauses and tilts his head. “I could have sworn you were in physics, based on how much you talk—”

Dean is so caught up in Cas Novak calling him cool that it takes his brain a second to process the word “physics,” but when he does he nearly spits beer all over the ugly carpet. “Shit,” he swears, already starting to scramble up.

“What?” Cas is following him, frowning.

“Physics final. In—” he checks his watch, “—16 hours. I gotta—” he still has time to water down the beer, study, and get at least 7 hours of sleep before—

“…Why did you just spend all day helping me if you have a final tomorrow?” Dean pauses from where he’s trying to find his other shoe to glance back at Cas, who looks so genuinely baffled it shoots a warmness into Dean’s heart.

“You needed help,” Dean shrugs, finally locating the missing sneaker and pulling it on. “Good luck with the angel, though, okay? If it gives you any running issues, feel free to—”

He’s pulling on his jacket when he feels a touch on his arm and realizes that, sometime in the past 20 seconds, Cas has crossed the room to him. “Dean,”

Dean pauses, and Cas…looks nervous.

“I like D&D,” he offers, and Dean stares at him.

“What.”

Cas levels his gaze. “There is nothing more punk than dragons,” he replies, incredibly seriously.

Dean’s brain short-circuits.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the exam panic, maybe it’s the 1.5 beers, maybe it’s Cas’ hand still warm on his arm, maybe he’s still caught up in Cas calling him cool and maybe his brain takes an extra second to load his self-consciousness on its reboot, but—he leans down and kisses him.

Cas makes a small noise but kisses him back almost immediately—but then he’s pulling back nearly as quickly, and he gently pushes Dean back by the shoulders when he tries to follow. Not far enough away to be a rejection, just…enough. “You have an exam in the morning,” he says this like an apology, and the warmth in Dean’s chest grows. “Text me after?”

Dean nods, then pauses, realizes what Cas just said, and nods again. “Yeah, I—yeah, I will.”

“There’s not enough alcohol here for you to pretend to forget this time,” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Dean flushes anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes him a bit. “Apologize tomorrow. Go.”

“Okay.” Dean doesn’t move.

“Okay,” Cas replies.

“Okay,” Dean says, and leans down to kiss him again, a quick one, because he thinks maybe he can.

“Okay,” Cas repeats, but his tone is fond. “Go.”

“Okay,” Dean repeats back. But this time, he does.

The next day, after he aces his physics final, he doesn’t pretend to forget.

#destiel #deancas #punk!cas #nerd!dean #i didnt know how to end this lmao sorry!!!!#(also ik this isn't quite as punk as the typical punk!cas im sorry sadhakdsh)#but wow i love these two now #this took me back its been a WHILE since i read/wrote some good punk/nerd #thank u anon #they live in my brain now #my words #follower fics #alcohol mention

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kanene-yaaay · 3 years

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5+1 - [Part 2]

5 times Iida was tickled and the one he wasn’t

[PART ONE]

Kanene’s note: What a helloooo! I am baack! Gosh, look at me! Having a posting schedule! Who would say, huh? xDD Well, I hope you like this >u<

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic with family tickles, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of very greeat arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Iida with Ler!Aizawa and Nemuri sprinkling some tease here and there. All relationships are platonic. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Look at the window and find something that is worth smiling for. Don’t forget to drink water, sleep and eat! <33

[~*~]

“Iida Tenya.”

“Ooooh noo,” Nemuri added from the spot on the floor where she sat, pampering and spoiling Shouta’s cats with plenty of snacks, a sharp grin gleaming at the boy who came running from the kitchen and now looked from a side to another with a panicked expression on his face, fast to move his arms in an ‘abort mission’ sign to the woman. “Looks like someone is in trouble! ~”

“Nemuri-san, please I ask for you to control your voice!!” Tenya whispered in a volume that most people would categorize as a shout, especially with Shouta’s hero trained hearing. Nemuri, though, just expanded her wicked grin as the nine old boy didn’t realize the dark figure arriving right behind him. “He can’t know I am here!”

“Aw, my dear,” she pouted in fake empathy at Iida’s inevitable fate, scratching Pudding under her chin, her loud motor like purring echoing in the silence. “But Shouta already knows.” Iida stilled as a statue when a shadow loomed over him, starting to turn around, slowly. “He always knows.”

“Gotcha.”

His quirk activated a second before Aizawa erased it with his own, making the blue haired one stumble on his own legs, almost falling on the ground if it wasn’t for the arms that grabbed him in a firm hug, fingers worming their way to his armpits, prodding and digging on the awfully ticklish flesh there.

“What,” Shouta started, with a tune that tipped on bored, his plain face contrasting to the smaller’s puffed cheeks as he wiggled and shook with the contained giggles. “Did I say about my orange flavored jelly packs, huh?”

“Aww, is the itsy bitsy Tenya ticklish? Can’t he take all the tickly-tickly-tickly tickles his favorite grumpy uncle gives to him? Huh? Aww, my poor ticklish boy.” Nemuri teased, ignoring the glare her friend sent on her direction in favor to stare at Tenya, who went redder at her words, a couple of squeaky snorts escaping from his lips.

“I will remind you what I said about eating my jellies without permission: don’t. Never. Do not look. Do not touch and especially, do not even think about eating it.” Aizawa highlighted the last phrase by blowing a raspberry right behind Iida’s neck, leading the boy to squeal, uncontrolled laughter following it almost immediately. The taller man did his best to keep a serious face, principally as the arms of his ‘victim’ rocked up and down, from the left to the right and in random patterns without even being able to get themselves enough control to attempt to stop him. “And you did, so now you will face the consequences. It’s only logical.”

“A-Aizahahazawa-san I, I cahahahAAH!” Shout cut the other’s protest by throwing him in the air, resting his hands on his sides when he caught him again, slightly clawing his stomach with his fingers, fishing uncontrollable, bubbly giggles from him. “Please, please! I can-'' Snort. “I can ehehexplain!” Yelp. Half words, Half pleas. Giggles. Giggles. Giggles. “I hahahave the right, Aizawa-sahahahan!”

Shouta contented himself in making the younger squirm – left, right, left, left, right and repeat – from a side to another by tapping his fingers on his sides repeatedly, sometimes giving a quick scratch only to gain another yelp, pretending to think about the proposal for a little less than a minute.

“No.” He decided, spidering his fingers merciless on the death spot. Iida threw his head back, crackles flying from him in a waterfall of shrieks and squeaks.

“Come one, Shou! Let the boy speak! As much I love this lovely, absolutely adorable laughter that makes you want to tickle and tickle him forever and ever, and aww, wouldn’t you love it, my dear? To get all the tiggles-tickles you could ever want for all eternity?” Iida kicked and shook his head in protest, more pleas falling from him, face and neck in flames. “I think he has the right to defend himself.”

“Which side are you?”

“No side deserves my awesome presence.” Aizawa rolled his eyes. “What is the matter, Shou? Afraid that you will lose in a logical battle with baby Tenya?”

“Ihihihi am NOT ahahaha baby!!” Iida protested through his hysterical laughter, nothing giving him more strength than correct factually incorrect statements. “I ahahahaham a very hehehealthy chihihihih- – No! Not there! – chihihihild! Mom said so!”

Nemuri hid her snickers behind her hands, receiving a very unamused yowl from Pudding, the cat demanding her to come back to her ear scritches immediately. The woman resumed to her wishes.

Shouta recognized a bait when he heard one, but watching the way tears started to appear in the corner of the younger’s eyes, he decided to bite it.

He adjusted him so the boy would be resting on his hips, his hand resting calmly on his ribs, a much less ticklish spot.

“You have fifty seconds.”

“WHAT!” Iida stared at him in disbelief, turning to look at Kayama in the search of reinforcements, and being gifted with nothing more than a joyful shrug, his brother’s best friend being very glad in just watch the chaos unraveling in front of her and, unnoticed by the other two who were caught up on the silliness, the camera carefully hidden behind Pudding’s fluffy form. “That ihihisn’t even a minute! It’s impossiblehe to mahahake a good defehense under this condici- conditionaries… undeheher that pressure!”

“Conditions.” Aizawa offered, “and heroes work under pressure. You want to be one when you grow up, right?”

“Yes!” Iida’s smile got even bigger than it already was, his eyes also becoming even brighter, shining with the determination of his new challenge.

“Good,” the tired adult smirked, starting to count with his fingers as the seconds went by. “Start to talk then.”

Tenya tried to clear his mind, together with keeping his resolve strong enough to not visibly squirm or titter every time Aizawa made any infinitesimal move. He never thought he would really be able to convince his uncle to let him make a true attempt to escape from this, therefore he didn’t possess any good enough reason to explain besides the ‘it was orange flavored and oranges are delicious!’

A sentence pulled him out of the frenzy of thoughts dashing on his brain at full speed. “You have twelve seconds now.”

“WHAT!” Tenya cried, seriously thinking about just pushing Shouta’s arms away and trying to run to the safety of the guest room.

“You seem to have a problem keeping track of the time.” The small kid nodded at his direction and Aizawa almost felt bad by his next move.

Almost.

“Let me help you, then.”

The underground hero poked an index finger on the lowest rib, vibrating on the sensitive spot for a few pieces of second, tearing a sputtering guffaw as Iida realized the true meaning of his words. “One.” He pressed another rib, and another, and another. “Two. Three. Four…”

“Noho! Wait! Wait!!”

“Five… Six. Seven…”

“Oops. It looks like you’re running out of time, sweetheart.” Nemuri added, unhelpfully. “Well, let’s just hope the mean Shouta won’t attack those awfully ticklish knees of yours when the time is over, right?”

“NOHOT MY KNEHES!”

“Good luck. Ten. Eleven. Twel-”

“YOULIED!”

Aizawa stopped.

“What?” He blinked one, two, three times. As if the meaning of the rushed words would become clearer. “No. I hid it and I was very clear in saying you couldn’t touch it. There is no lie here.”

“There is! A lie of omiz-” Iida closed his eyes, concentrating on the word and controlling the few giggles that still slipped from his mouth. He wanted to be a hero and heroes succeed through the pressure! “omission! Which means hiding! You hid the information so you were lying to me, so I… I… I taught you a lesson!”

They stared at each other for what seemed a lifetime.

Aizawa huffed a chuckle, lowering the boy to the ground, trying to not be blinded by the excitement and proudness exhaling from the younger when he realized that he succeeded in “logicing” his way out of the playful “punishment”, beaming on the ball of his feet at both adults.

“Good. In a fight, using your opponents’ words against them can be an important tool. Also, as a physical opening, don’t forget that I was carrying you, which means that if you hit the back of my knees hard enough I would weaken my grip and that would give you the opportunity to run. I would try to not hurt you when I fell, so that is also a weakness you could exploit.” After a thought, he added. “Try to do that the next time Hizashi tickles you.”

“You are a bastard.” Kayama replied, earning an exasperated gasp from Tenya. “Not you, dear. I am talking about Shouta.” That did nothing to alleviate the boy’s rebellion, his lecture of how ‘This isn’t the proper vocabulary of a hero’ was soon interrupted as the apartment door flew open, Ingenium walking through it. He immediately extended his arms, hugging his brother when the aforementioned jumped on him, part of the exhaustion of a day’s work being eased by the younger attics.

“Tensei! Tensei! I already did all my homework and I brushed my teeth and I played with the cats so they would not be sad or bored and I ate all my greenies and also-”

“-ate all my orange jelly packs.” Aizawa completed.

“And Aizawa-san tickled me because of it! Using very villainous techniques even though he is a very good and skilled hero! But then I won! I showed him logic and, and, and then he let me go!”

“Oof, that sounds like a very exciting day!” Tensei ruffled the boy’s hair, fondness dripping in waves from his acts and words. “But you don’t need to worry anymore about Shouta, the Grumpy Tickle Monster because now I am here!” Tensei posed in a poor representation of All Might's usual pose. “Ready to protect you!”

“Oh.” A dangerous tune marked Shouta’s grin and voice, making the blue haired hero to shiver with all the teenagerhood memories that this brought over. “Don’t get over yourself, assuming you’re out of danger, too.”

A wobbly smile took over Tensei's expression as Shouta cracked his knuckles, preparing himself for a chase. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly who told him where I hid my jelly packs.” The older Iida got his younger brother on his arms, flexing his legs, preparing to not give up so easily.

Aizawa decided he was feeling merciful today.

“You have three seconds.” Iida gasped in protest, an argument on the tip of his tongue. “Run.”

#Playful tickles #!#Aizawa the tickle monster is back/lh #xDD #Nemuri is there to tease and see some chaos #Lee!Iida #Ticklish!Iida #Ler!Aizawa #Bnha tickles #Bnha tickling #Kanene's fic #Kanene's Fanfic #5+1 fic #Kid!Tenya #Nemuri and Tensei make a quick appearence but techinically don't participate of the tickling part #I am with some mean headache and stuff so sdfghyujidfjh no rambling tags today

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someone-worth-racing-for · 3 years

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Carlos Sainz on Facing Change

Carlos Sainz walks us through how he handles change

A love for motor sports has turned Carlos Sainz (Madrid, 26) into a successful driver, but it didn’t come easy. His career was defined by change, having made his way to Formula 1 through different categories, and having joined Scuderia Ferrari Mission Winnow in 2020 after driving for three other F1 teams, in a sport that, much like himself, is always moving forward.

Up next, Sainz walks us through how he handles change in a high-pressure environment and how important flexibility and adaptability have become in the modern age or racing.

How are you feeling now that you have several races under your belt as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver?

I’m feeling good. Obviously, the more races I do the better I feel. I think there’s still potential to get better as a team just by working more time together, but in general I am very proud of the progress we’ve made so far and of how quickly I have managed to adapt.

Have these last few races helped you gain confidence?

Yes. Like I said before I still feel, that there is potential for improvement. Confidence is very high, and I think as a team in the last few races we are starting to put the whole weekend together, and as the season progresses this will be easier and easier.

You have changed teams before, both within F1 as well as other racing categories, how was this latest change different to the rest?

Obviously, Ferrari is the biggest team I have ever worked with, and a much bigger organization than what I was used to, so it makes the challenge more difficult in general. But thanks to me moving to Italy, thanks to the good welcome everyone has given me, it has been very straightforward, and the adaptation and atmosphere have been very good.

What did you do to prepare yourself before joining Scuderia Ferrari?

Honestly, nothing special because I believed that when I arrived in Ferrari I was prepared for the challenge. Had I thought I wasn’t, I would not have taken the decision to join. I feel I was ready and prepared, having gained experience in all categories prior to Formula 1 and then having a good career in it has prepared me well for this challenge.

What were the most challenging aspects of changing teams? And what about the easiest change to get used to?

The easiest was definitely getting used to Italian culture and people. Spaniards and Italians are similar in a way. I love the food, the people, and I find it very easy to get along with everyone around me. The most challenging aspect was probably adapting my driving style to the car and change my way of doing certain corners and some other bits. Also probably getting to know the whole team and the way the team operates.

Have you developed any rituals or routines when faced with such a large challenge to your life and career?

I know that what I was doing before joining Ferrari worked well, so my goal was to simply bring my work ethic and methodology into Ferrari, and so far, it is working well.

Formula 1 isn’t a stranger to change. The sport itself changes every season with new tracks, changes to existing tracks, new regulations and different setups. How does it feel to be part of a sport which is in constant evolution?

Formula 1 is the pinnacle of sport, of motor sport in general, and the most beautiful part of it is that every season there are new challenges, every year that goes by the car changes, the engineers come up with clever ideas, and drivers come up with different ways to drive and to explore the car potential.

So, do you enjoy the fact that the sport is changing so much every season, or in some cases even every race?

I like it, I enjoy it. I think it is part of Formula 1, the constant evolution and constant change. And it is the way it should be, because everyone in Formula 1 wants to get better and better every race that goes by and make our amazing sport not only quicker and faster, but also more sustainable and more equalitarian. In that sense, Formula 1 is developing well.

How important is flexibility and adapting quickly to changes in Formula 1?

It is part of the basics of Formula 1. You are in constant evolution, so you need to always be open-minded to change some things and try to improve. This is why Formula 1 has been evolving for so many years and it’s always been a pioneer in so many aspects and so many things, and it is why Formula 1 is the pinnacle of motorsport.

Do you believe that change in Formula 1 is always good?

It depends. If it’s for the better, then yes. There have always been changes for the better and changes for the worse. What’s important is to identify when there have been changes for the worse and be open-minded enough to realize it and to change the approach and go back. There shouldn’t be any blame culture of pointing fingers. As a group it is always important to realize when a wrong direction has been taken and how to come back from it.

Are there any changes in the sport that you struggle to adapt to? If so, what did you do to help you overcome these difficulties?

The greatest challenge we had to face was Covid and having to adapt to all the new procedures, the new travelling restrictions, the use of masks etc. This was the biggest change I suffered in Formula 1 and in life in general. What is interesting to see is how everyone got used to it super quickly, and how resilient the human species is to suddenly adapt to a completely different situation. I struggled with it, but I also got used to it. This said, I cannot wait to go back to normal life.

Change isn’t only limited to Formula 1. Do you believe that dealing with change so often in racing helped you also tackle changes in your normal life?

I guess so. Since in Formula 1 you’re always exposed to changes and development, you are probably also keener to see all the challenges the world is facing. It makes you maybe a more resilient and open to change outside Formula 1.

Is there something that despite all the changes, remained a constant in your life? If so, how important is it to retain some sort of constant during a period of change?

I have always had some pillars in my life: keeping my family as close to me as possible, first of all; doing everything I can in order to stay healthy and keep the people I love as healthy as possible. Once you have those two things covered everything else is less important. I obviously have my Formula 1 career, where I’m trying to be as successful as I can, but my priorities are quite clear.

You have won over a lot of fans during your racing career, do you feel like their support has changed over the years?

Definitely, in particular since the Netflix documentary came out. I think it opened the eyes of a lot of non-Formula 1 fans, also in the US, who suddenly realized that they can enjoy the sport not only on track but also off track. They can see how the athlete, the driver, behaves off track to perform at such a high intensity in such a high-pressure environment. It has given us a lot more fans, a lot more following and it has opened up Formula 1 to a complete new fanbase.

Hearing him talk, there is no doubt that Sainz’s approach to change is a positive one, and special brand of discipline has helped him evolve in his career and opened his mind to become more resilient and more perceptive, both in and out of the track.

#carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz

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fairyoftbz · 3 years

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amour inscouciant | m. kevin

pairing: kevin x fem!reader word count: 1.8k genre: mostly fluff, attempts at making jokes, suggestive, mention of sex synopsis: you’re watching a movie with your boyfriend, but a special scene fires things up... a/n: Happy Valentine’s day to everyone!! 💐💕 I really tried my best for this one, even though I’m not really proud of it! Special thanks to @violethhj for requesting it, I hope it’ll be good enough!! 🙃 (the title means ‘carefree love’ if you are curious, i thought it’d suit Kev’ well!)

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” you heard the familiar voice of your boyfriend entering the room, stirring you awake. You groaned as you kept your eyes closed, not exactly ready to wake up yet. A louder grunt escaped your mouth when Kevin started playing with the curtains, drawing only one to let the sunlight hit you in the face. He laughed, proud of his little joke as you turned around to face the wall, trying to desperately go back to sleep.

Your stomach said otherwise when your man balanced a plate of pancakes under your nostrils, the sweet aroma forcing your eyes to flutter open.

“There we go, I knew I could get you to wake up with food,” he proudly said as he rested the plate on the bedside table, giving you a glass of orange juice instead. Half-hoisted on your elbow, you downed the drink in a few seconds, Kevin smiling at your enthusiasm. “Yes, love, the oranges were freshly pressed, by me,” he said when you frowned, getting a few seeds out of your mouth. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice still laced with sleep. You slightly rolled your eyes as your phone screen lit up, the digits showing 07:49.

“Why would you wake me up so early, though?” you asked with a pout, and Kevin laughed. “So we get to spend the entire day together!” he answered, gently slapping your hand when it was about to take the blueberry pancakes, looking delicious and appetising. “Give me a number between 1 and 5, quick!” he said, snapping his fingers while he waited for your answer. “Uh, I don’t know? 3?” you said, caught unawares. Kevin opened Netflix on his phone and sighed, showing you the film you randomly chose.

“Oh, nice! Starting the day by watching Top Gun, I couldn’t have asked for a better morning!” you said as you grabbed your boyfriend, forcing him to fall back in bed with you. He sighed but still managed to grab the remote before collapsing next to you, an arm wrapping around your shoulders. “The things I’d go through for you,” he sighed before laughing as you playfully nudged him in the ribs. “But you love me, right?” you asked, eyes glued to the screen as Tom Cruise appeared in your field of vision. “Of course I do,” he smiled, seeing you already deep in the movie when it had barely started. Your love for this film was unconditional, Kevin was willing to get through it, just to see a smile on your face.

You cuddled further into his chest as he radiated a comforting warmth, only to have him kiss the crown of your head. You smiled as you felt at peace, arm wrapped around his middle with your legs tangled together. Kevin slightly grimaced when your cold hand went under his t-shirt to innocently caress his abs, fingers lingering on his warm skin. He paid no mind to your actions since it was your way to show affection, but he couldn’t deny that your touch didn’t leave him unbothered.

You let out an excited gasp and giggled when your favourite scene appeared on the screen, laughing as Pete Mitchell was purposefully making his motor roar to block Charlie’s words. You clutched your boyfriend’s shirt, excited to see that scene, despite having seen it a thousand times already. It just gave you butterflies every single damn time, and you loved the feeling of your heart hammering in your chest, pulsating adrenaline in your entire body.

Kevin smirked as he noticed your hand grasping his top even tighter, eyes rising to the TV. His hand started caressing your thigh, your body subconsciously snuggling up closer to him.

“I didn’t remember that-“ “Shut up, Kev,” you interrupted him, and his mouth fell open at your words, feeling him laugh as you increased the volume of the television. You squealed like a schoolgirl when Charlie confessed, Mitchell kissing her in the following seconds. Biting your lips as they started making out on the slow song that you cherished so much, you felt your boyfriend’s chest moving at your foolish behaviour.

“You wish that were you, uh?” he whispered in your ear and you slapped his chest. “For the love of God, Kevin, keep it quiet,” you mumbled without even looking at him, eyes detailing every single scene.

Your boyfriend had to admit that this part was pretty hot, his heart beating faster as he started imagining you two making out, just like the actors. He grabbed your hand that was resting on his stomach and brought it to his mouth, laying soft kisses on your wrist. He progressively got lower, soon arriving at your elbow, following your limb up to kiss your upper arm. His head sank in your neck and kept on operating there, his caresses disturbing your attention from the film.

“Kevin, I’m trying to watch the film,” you uttered as you held the hand that was about to lift the bottom of your top. “And I want you. Right now,” he whispered against your neck, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin at his words. Your hand slowly went up and met the back of his head, slowly pulling on his dark locks. You earned a low grunt from the man, knowing that it was one of his favourite things for you to do.

He patted the covers and grabbed the remote, pausing the TV right here. You were kind of frustrated, but he changed positions so quickly that you didn’t even have time to protest. He was hovering above you, hands finding your hips, slowly caressing the soft, warm flesh of your sides. You tugged on the edge of his t-shirt, a smile decorating his face as he pulled away from your mouth. Taking it off, he gently threw it at your face, softly giggling together before capturing your lips, hand wrapping around your throat to keep you from moving too much. That new sensation of light choking triggered a wave of warmth rushing south. You forced yourself to bit your inner cheek to stifle a moan, knowing that Kevin would be too content to have you wrapped around his fingers so quickly.

Hands travelling down to his stomach, you caressed his toned abs and happy trail, feeling all excited and giddy at the sensation. Kevin slightly moved the two of you around, sitting up on his side of the bed, head and back resting against the frame. You were straddling him, one of his favourite positions, tongues dancing together it was his turn to tug on your top.

"You're so beautiful," he said in a husky voice, some warmth of happiness travelling in your body. Your naked torsos touched the other as you were trying to take your time, but Kevin had another plan in mind. He never missed the opportunity to display hickeys all over your neck, earning beautiful moans as he licked and gently sucked on the sensitive skin. Mouth lingering on your collarbone, you softly gasped as his teeth grazed against your bone, grabbing the back of his head to push him further into your chest. He teased the skin right above your breasts, feeling your heart pounding against his mouth as things were spicing up.

Sorry, no smut part because a) I don’t know how to write that and b) I’m already a blushing mess because of the make-out scene, I’m limiting the damage.

Kevin collapsed next to you, forehead pearling with sweat, the plate that was once filled with pancake now empty. You caught your breath back for a short instant and looked for your t-shirt, only to lazily rest your head back on the pillow as you noticed it magically hanging off the television.

“You’re something when you want to,” your boyfriend said as he pushed his front pieces of hair back, hand then falling on his stomach while looking at you. You smirked as you noticed the hickeys in between his abs, shaking your head at his words. “You can talk! I don’t even have to see my neck to know how it looks like. The amount of time you spent down there, I probably look like I got into a fight,” you curled up to the side and stared at your boyfriend in the eyes, his touch lingering on your mind.

“But you look so pretty like that,” he replied, and you shook your head with an amused smile on your face. “Proud of your art?” you teased, and he nodded, suddenly becoming all serious. “Of course I am. Out of all my artworks, this one is the prettiest. The canvas was already so gorgeous, I just added a personal touch,” he sat up and put on his sweatpants back on before getting up. He hissed when you delicately touched the scratches you had left in his upper back, feeling kind of proud yet guilty. You watched him get up, grabbing his wrist so he could kiss you. He obliged, gently pushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“I’m coming back in a minute, love. Just rest for a while,” he kissed your cheek before walking out of the bedroom while you grabbed the remote and turned the TV back on, continuing the film where Kevin had paused it. Noticing your boyfriend's t-shirt lying around at the far end of the bed, you wiggled under the covers to get to it and wore it, feeling all pretty and loved when his body and laundry scent invaded your nose.

Your lover came back a few minutes later, a warm cup of tea in one hand for the aftercare, and a bouquet of roses in the other. You cooed at his reddened cheeks, taking the flowers from him after kissing his lips.

“I wanted to give them to you when you would have gotten up, but it got delayed for some reason,” you giggled at his words and sniffled the roses, a rush of warmness invading your heart, making you fall for your lover even more. “They smelled amazing, thank you so much, Kev’,” you said, and he smiled, sitting down next to you. “Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as he caught your earlobe between his teeth, gently tugging on it. Grabbing his chin to make him look at you, you stared at him in the eyes for a moment before kissing him, again.

“I love you,” you said, and he caressed your cheek. “I love you too, baby, a lot.” You lost yourself in his eyes for a quick minute, your mouths stretched into smiles, blissfully happy to be with the other on this special day.

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heroesandlovers · 2 years

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Nancy Drew 1x18 "The Clue in the Captain's Painting"

We've arrived at the finale. I will admit life is coming at me fast these days. I hope to continue to be able to post these daily but I suspect I may fall behind soon. I fully intend to continue to get through all of them and fully intend to be caught up by the time Season 4 begins.

Nancy is at police station, being questioned about Owen’s murder. It’s been days but Nancy still appears in shock. Flashbacks of her and Owen, of the Aglaeca, or their curse, are playing through her mind. Obviously she is heartbroken over losing Owen and this is mixed in with a lot of feelings of guilt because she feels like she has brought this on him…and possibly the rest of the Drew Crew.

(I realize now I have probably been misspelling Aglaeca for the past several posts 🤷‍♀️)

The Drew Crew’s solution to protecting themself is…another séance to try and reach Owen. Maybe he can tell them how he died and they can do something to protect themselves.

Bess: “We have got pretty good at this ghost thing”

Nick “Have we?”

(I love Nick’s line delivery here- the group' skeptic)

Nick calls out George for pulling away from him. George claims she’s just not into PDA but Nick suspects it’s something more.

Ryan stops in. Even though last episode he had little concern for Owen’s life, he DOES have concern for Nancy now. Ryan is throwing around words like “daughter”. Nancy is NOT ready to let Ryan into her life.

Their séance is waylaid by…The Aglaeca. They aren’t able to get ahold of Owen.

George and Nick go with Bess to the Marvin's to provide some moral support while she goes to be with her family for Owen's wake (?).

Nick asks Ace to stay with Nancy.

Ace and Nancy decide to learn more about the Aglaeca’s history to help them figure out a way to break the curse. They go to Hannah and the Historical Society. Hannah casts some doubt on their theory that The Aglaeca was the one who killed Owen since the Aglaeca tends to take all souls at once…and the Drew Crew is still alive.

So who killed Owen? They start looking other Marvin family members while Nancy and Ace go to Owen’s apartment to look for clues.

And my favorite #Nace scene!

“If I find the words I will share them with you”. I don’t think this is Nancy being closed off…like she repeatedly was with Nick. I think this is genuinely Nancy saying “thank you for just being here for me. I don’t know how to process this right now but thank you”.

This is so huge for Nancy. Even though she doesn't have the words to share yet, by simply saying that, she is already more open and vulnerable with Ace than she has been with Nick, or frankly anyone else that we have seen. Ace is her safe space whether she or he knows it or not.

“How great is it that I can avoid talking about my two Dads by avoiding talking about my dead boyfriend”.

Nancy and Ace find a print on the window at Owen’s apartment, meaning someone was watching him. Nancy finds out from Lisbeth that they found DNA under Owen’s fingernails, meaning he fought back.

Finding out Ryan is Nancy’s father is hitting George hard too. George confronts Ryan and

“What you did to me was wrong”. I am so proud of George here.

“I was 17. I thought it was something more because I didn’t know any better. You did”.

“Ryan you are not the victim here”

I am so glad they put this scene here. George needed this. The audience needed it too.

Lisbeth asks for Ace (not Nancy’s) help. He is able to figure out what the substance was on Owen’s phone, an oil used in motor boats. Nancy immediately suspects Josh and that SHE was the intended victim. She goes to visit Patrice to look for Josh. Patrice is lucid enough to at least for a moment understand that Nancy is her granddaughter. I think was just as important for Nancy as for Patrice. They can't get closure with Lucy but maybe they can begin to get some healing from each other.

Ace in the hallway follows some flashing lights calling SOS. (DON’T FOLLOW THE LIGHT). He gets trapped in a room. Nancy meanwhile goes up on the roof of the nursing home to look for Josh (WHY ARE YOU BY YOURSELF LOOKING FOR A MAN WHO WANTS TO KILL YOU?!)

When confronted by Josh, Nancy tries to appeal to him by telling him she is actually his niece. Ace has somehow gotten out of the room (I guess it was Josh who lured Ace there?) and called the cops. When Josh slips and almost falls off the building, Nancy has a moment where she considers letting him fall. But she ultimately helps pull him up (with Ace’s help).

Back at The Claw, Ace is bragging about Nancy’s heroics.

Bess and Lisbeth have an honest discussion about where their relationship ranks for Bess compared to her family.

George and Nick have an honest discussion about George’s relationship issues.

While the discussion brings George and Nick closer together, Bess and Lisbeth don’t come out so lucky.

AND the episode season ends with each member of the Drew Crew receiving previews of their deaths.

George and Nick drown in his truck

Ace is speared by a meat hook

Bess is burnt while tied in a chair

And Nancy falls off the same cliffs her mother jumped from.

WHAT A CLIFFHANGER ENDING

I don't really have much more to add regarding relationship breakdowns other than what I have put above so I will leave it here. On to season 2!

#nancy drew #nancy drew season 1 #nancy drew reviews #nancy x ace #nace #nancydrew #ace nancy drew #nancy drew 1x18

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dragonheadskilax · 2 years

Audio

YT link, and lyrics:

The psychology of a New York lady on how to hold your man. Now Miss Harlow says to hold your man you must give him attention, you must be meek and sweet and put slippers on his feet; but I for one am here to say with every clean intention that I've a different plan, and I've never lost a man (so she said). You just keep an eye on his business that's all a girl has to do. Tell him you know when the market is low and he will worship you. They'll come a day when you'll try something new, help him to put the thing through; and you'll not find a man who won't give you all he can if his business interests you. Now never sit at home and pout if he says the office keeps him out. You'll quickly learn what its all about by watching his business. Don't be nasty and don't be mean. When he says," no," don't make a scene. The reason you can quickly glean by watching his business. Don't ever make him feel that he is not as good as you. Don't ever smile sarcastically at something he can't do. Why you'll hold your man forever and it's better for you too if you take a human interest in his business. Now by a human interest, Ladies and Gentlemen, I mean just this: before you married your husband you were perhaps too timid to really inquire into his business; but you were terribly interested weren't you? And while he didn't want to say too much about it, he was proud of what he had and anxious to show you his stock and tell you about his seat on the exchange. On your honeymoon or if you didn't sanctify your trade union and just moved into a duplex apartment as so many of us have, you told him you were terribly eager to keep his business going build it up and make it really stand for something in your community. So, after all, a man's business is the thing that provides you with a well filled larder. Don't peck, and don't pull, don't squeeze and don't back him up against the wall. When things go well, let him know that you are as pleased as he. And if some ass-et seems more compatible, remember that your husband has a secretary and she probably knows his true feeling even better than you do and can put her finger on it the minute you turn him away. A man with a big business and a man with a small business are both trying to make the most of what they own. Share, Ladies, give; don't expect him to do everything. Put a hand on the tiller yourselves and push forward. Ladies, if you please, you'll have yachts and lovely things: motor cars and diamond rings, if you let him know his business interests you.

✍︎︎ Notes: “Miss Harlow says to hold your man” is a reference to Jean Harlow who starred in ‘Hold Your Man’ 1933.

#bruz fletcher #1930s #audio #music #pansy craze #gay artist

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

The Last Toll

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3865

Part One; Part Two

Summary: Trying to protect the boys from having to witness your death, you leave the bunker to die alone. Dean and Sam desperately try to find you before time runs out.

Notes: Here it is. The final part in this trilogy of twists and lots of angst. I am super proud of how this series turned out and I hope you guys enjoyed the ride. As always, let me know what you think! (But hey, keep an eye out in the future for possible continuations)

Warnings: Death, gore, sacrifice, lots of angst and tears

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

Monday 6:00 A.M.

You had exactly 18 hours left on Earth. 18 hours until a big invisible dog carries you in its mouth down to the eternal Big House. After arguing with Dean last night, it was finally hitting you. You were going to hell. An endless circle of torment that you had no escape from. Beside you, Dean turned over, still fast asleep. You smiled to yourself. You were going for him.

Carefully lifting the blanket, you silently got out of the bed. You grabbed some clothes and stuffed them into your bag. It would be easier to change in the car. You couldn’t risk waking anyone up.

You snuck out into the kitchen, quickly ducking behind the wall when you saw a trench coat laid over one of the chairs, it’s owner flipping through a book. Why can’t angels take naps? You tiptoed towards the entrance, making as little noise as possible.

“You won’t get far.” Cas scolded, not even looking up from his cookbook. You sighed heavily. Busted.

“I can’t stay.” You stepped into the kitchen, putting your bag on the table. “I’ve put them through enough. I have to do this alone.”

“You know what Dean would say?” Cas inquired. You hated when he tried to guilt trip you. “He would say,” the angel lowered his voice to impersonate your boyfriend, “‘You’re one of us. And none of us goes down alone.’ Don’t you want to be with the people who love you? With the man you love so much you sold your soul?” It was odd to hear him speak so emotionally. You could feel tears welling, but you forced them back. If you cried one more time, you’d scream.

“I got to see him one last time. I got to see those eyes bright with life again. I got to kiss him again.” He looked ready to rebuttal so you stopped him. “This isn’t the first time this has happened, Cas. I can’t make Sam watch that again. And Dean…” You sighed, “The only thing that would come from them being there when the bitch comes is more trauma for them to carry around.” You put a hand on his shoulder, urging him to understand. “Let their last memory of me be a good one.” Cas was silent for a moment.

“Alright.” You exhaled a breath of relief. You knew he would understand. Cas stood and grabbed his trench coat. “But I’m driving.” Your relief was replaced with frustration.

“Cas, no-”

“Spare the Winchesters if that’s really what you want. There may not be a way out of this, but you will not go alone.” He was using his angel voice and there was no fighting him on this one. With a huff, you conceded.

“Fine, but I am picking the music.”

9:34 A.M.

You’d kept your phone on silent, ignoring all of the calls you had anticipated. If you heard his voice, you would make Cas turn the car around. You did, however, try and read the avalanche of text messages you were receiving from both brothers.

Don’t do this.

You don’t have to face this on your own.

Please baby, answer the phone.

One of Sam’s messages in particular sent a pang of guilt through your heart.

Dean’s going nuts over here. We both are. Please just come home. If only to say goodbye.

“Regretting your decision?” Cas wondered gruffly. You shot him a look and turned on the radio. Cas changed the channel quickly as ‘Highway to Hell’ played, muttering that it was inappropriate given the circumstances. Instead, he found a station playing Night Ranger’s ‘Sister Christian’. You felt that ache in your chest come back.

“Now what?” Cas read your expression.

“Nothing, it’s just this song.” You had to laugh at how sentimental you were being. “Dean played it all the time when we first became a couple. He liked to joke that he was the ‘Mr. Right’ I’d been so desperately looking for.” The memory made you smile and you imagined being in the impala with Dean singing from the driver’s side.

“Motoring!” He would belt. “What’s your price for flight? You’ve got him in your sight. And driving through the night.” You would both sing the guitar part and laugh.

“Y/N… Y/N.” Cas broke you out of the memory, seeing the sadness in your eyes. You hadn’t even realized that he had stopped the car. “I figured you would want some coffee.” You looked out the window and saw the gas station he had parked in front of.

“You’re a saint, Cas,” You exclaimed, the grumbling in your stomach finally getting your attention. The angle looked very confused.

“Y/N, I can’t be a saint. I’m an angel.”

“It’s just an expression.” You laughed, opening the car door. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Cas knew that if you were anything like your boyfriend, you’d pursue the aisle for some pre-packaged junk food for a while before checking out. Which gave him about ten minutes to return a very angry call.

“Where are you? Is she with you? What the hell Cas?” Dean yelled into the receiver. Sam sat at the table, still trying to find you, but you must have turned the tracker on your phone off.

“She’s okay, Dean.”

“Bring her back. Now.”

“I can’t. She’ll run if she thinks I’m taking her to you.” Cas explained, keeping an eye on you as you moved through the candies. “We’re stopped at a gas station in Topeka.”

“Where are you headed?”

“She won’t say.” Cas sighed. “She just tells me what turns to make and what roads to follow. Although, she did mention something about ‘seeing the old place again’, whatever that means.” Cas watched you pay for your items and head for the exit. “I’ve got to go.”

“Cas, wait!” Dean said, but the line was already dead. “Damn it!” He tossed the phone across the table. Sam caught it before it could slide off.

“He wouldn’t tell you?”

“He doesn’t know!” The older Winchester exclaimed in frustration. “He said Y/N is just telling him as they go. The only clue she’s given him is ‘seeing the old place again.’”

“Did he say where they were stopped at least?”

“Some gas station in Topeka, so they could be heading anywhere.” Dean paced back and forth. He should have known you would pull something like this. You thought you were protecting him by facing this alone. Hell, you’d been doing it since you were a kid. Dean stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” Sam asked and his brother grabbed the keys to his car.

“I know where she’s going.”

2:14 P.M.

You hadn’t seen the house in about twenty years. Then, it was a family home- bikes left on the lawn, your mother’s tulips overtaking the garden, your terrible chalk drawings covering the driveway. Now, the wood was rotting and a tall chain link fence surrounded the premises.

“What are we doing here?” Cas wondered, turning off the truck as you hopped out. The bottle of anger liquid practically glowed in the afternoon sun. You took a swig.

“This, my friend, is where I grew up.” You surveyed the house and nodded. “And it’s where I want to die.” You tucked the bottle in your bag and climbed the fence, landing on the other side with a dramatic flare. Cas let out an exasperated sigh.

“What happened here?” He asked, reading all of the ‘Condemned Building’, ‘Do Not Enter’ signs. He followed you over the fence, clumsily tumbling onto the other side.

“When I was fifteen, my brother came home from college for the weekend. Only, it wasn’t my brother.” The old wounds didn’t hurt as much anymore, but being here again certainly made them sting a little. “It was a shifter. Now, my parents were hunters before they had us, so they figured out something was wrong…just not fast enough.” It all felt so far away now. “After he killed them, he came after me. Somehow, I got the upper hand and sent a silver kitchen knife through his heart. That’s how I started hunting.” Cas put a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” You just shrugged sadly.

“It was a long time ago.” You were able to pick the lock on the front door, the smell of mold and dirt filling your nostrils. Home sweet home.

Somehow, the kitchen table was still standing and the sliding glass door leading to the back porch was intact. Your father always used to joke that it was bulletproof. The last time you were in this room, you stabbed a creature that looked like your big brother. And that was shockingly the least complicated your life had been in twenty years.

“Make yourself at home Cas. I’ve got about,” You looked down at your watch, “nine hours and forty minutes until I become a chew toy and I’m going to spend it reminiscing and getting very, very drunk.” Cas gave you a look of disdain. “Hey, I didn’t ask you to be here.”

“You are handling your impending damnation remarkably well.” He sat down in a creaky chair as you started to empty out your bag.

“I’m not going to spend my last few hours cowering in the corner, Cas.” You opened the small tin box that you had brought. “I can’t fight what’s going to happen to me. The most I can do is stay here, away from Sam and Dean, and wait.” You repeated it over and over in your head as if you could convince yourself. Every bone in your body wanted to fight. It’s just who you were. You survived. But now, you were staring down the gaping mouth of hell for the man who taught you to live.

4:36 P.M.

You may have had a three hour head start to St. Louis, but Cas couldn’t drive like Dean could. Both brothers continued their attempts to call you but it was still to now avail. It didn’t matter. They knew where to find you.

The exact address of your childhood home was not hard to find. Your parent’s deaths were well publicized so Sam just followed the trail of articles. Sure enough, Cas’ truck was parked in front of the condemned building.

“Why would she pick this place?” Sam asked, taking in the sad sight.

“This is where it all started for her.” Dean answered somberly. “It’s where she wants it to end.”

Inside, a half empty bottle of Jack sat beside the pile of photographs you had been looking through. You told Cas dozens of stories, some through laughter, some tears, and some both. With music playing from your phone, you didn’t hear the new set of footprints until the Winchesters were standing in front of you. You jumped up from the table, the alcohol in your system making you dizzy.

“You told them!” You cast an accusing glare at the angel beside you.

“This isn’t what you want.” He replied in a quiet voice. You turned your panicked face back to the brothers. Sam’s expression held a sad understanding, but you couldn’t read Dean’s. He stepped towards you.

“You have to leave.” You ordered, backing away as he got closer. “I don’t want you here for this. Get back in the impala and leave.” You backed into the corner and Dean towered over you. “Please, Dean.” His eyes searched yours and knew. He pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

You didn’t fight him. You let him hold onto you as your body started to shake. It was another one of your selfish reasons for leaving. If he wasn’t here, if you couldn’t look at his face, you could pretend that you weren’t scared. Now he was here and all of that tough-girl bullcrap was gone.

“I’m right here baby.” He kissed your forehead, taking all of your stress and putting it on his shoulders. You would carry this together.

“Why did you leave?” Sam asked gently. You turned, Dean keeping his arms around you from behind.

“Because you shouldn’t have to see this, Sam. You watched it happen to your brother, I couldn’t make you watch it again. Neither of you should be put through this.” Dean lightly kissed your shoulder.

“You can’t do this alone.” He whispered.

“I had Cas.” You smirked. The three of you laughed, Cas even cracking a smile.

“Why don’t I go to a restaurant with quick service and get food?” Cas suggested.

“Fast food. It’s called fast food.” Dean snickered into your shoulder. You elbowed him.

“That would be great.”

The sound of a clock chiming startled all of you, Dean instinctively pushing you behind him. Sam sighed.

“It’s okay, It’s only five.” You were all so on edge that it felt later. The clock echoed still, connecting a memory in your mind.

“No way.” You broke away from Dean and found the living room. You must not have heard it earlier because of the music. Sure enough, the gigantic Grandfather clock was still ticking. “I can’t believe it still works.” You mused, running your fingers over the dust covered glass. “My dad loved this thing. He never let us play around it because he was scared that my brother and I would break it.” By some cruel irony, it lasted longer than he did.

10:29 P.M.

With stomachs full of fries and mediocre burgers, you had climbed up onto the roof- which was surprisingly still sturdy- to look at the stars. Five hours passed in a blink and you were all getting anxious. Sam and Cas were inside, giving you and Dean time alone.

“I want you to have this.” You began, talking over the music playing from your phone. You handed him the small tin that you kept all your pictures in. Dean raised a brow and you playfully rolled your eyes. “And no, there’s no playboy material in there so you can wipe that smirk off your face.” Dean chuckled and draped around your shoulders to pull you closer.

He opened the box and spilled the contents into his lap. The first image made him laugh. It was of you and Sam, fast asleep on a motel sofa, your head on his shoulder and half of his body dangling over the arm of the couch. Someone- aka Dean- had drawn mustaches on your faces.

“I forgot about this.” Dean put each photo back in the box as he looked at them. Some were from when you were a kid, but most were from your time with them. He paused at one in particular. It was of you hugging him from behind as he worked under the hood of the impala, both of you laughing at something he had said. You were at Bobby’s. Ellen had taken it.

“Damn,” Dean muttered, putting the picture on top of the others. You knew what he was thinking. He’d lost so many people. His parents, Bobby, Ellen and Jo, and countless others. Now he would have to add you to the list.

“When it comes, I’ll need to borrow your gun.” You said suddenly. He gave you a strange look, taking a second to understand. “I figured it would be a better way to go than becoming dog food.” Dean winced. This was not a subject he wanted to address. A part of him still had hope.

“Maybe there’s still a way.”

“Dean,” You sighed, “there would need to be an act of God or the gates of hell closing.” You had a little less than an hour now. Dean’s eyes lit up and he shifted to face you.

“That’s it. That’s how we can fight this.”

“Dean, what are you talking about?”

“When Sam was completing the trails, he was able to kill a hellhound with an angel blade. We can kill it.” His voice had a new sense of determination.

“Dean, there would just be more.” You scoffed. He couldn’t be serious.

“So we kill them!” He said it as if it was simple. “It’ll at least buy us more time to undo the deal.”

“Dean…” You looked at him like he was crazy, but the new found hope on his face made it impossible to rebuke.

“It’ll work.” He said, more to himself than to you. “It has to work.” You both fell silent, listening to the music. You almost laughed. Led Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’. You sang along in your head.

“And it’s whispered that soon, if we call the tune then the piper will lead us to reason. And a new day will dawn for those who stand long and the forests will echo with laughter.”

Surely, somebody up there was laughing. Whoever God was, he sure had a twisted sense of humor.

11:57 P.M.

“We need to get inside.” Dean announced, grabbing the tin and putting it in his jacket pocket. “It’ll be easier to corner the bitch so we can kill it.”

You both climbed down into the back yard. Sam and Cas were waiting, already filled in on the plan. Neither were overly confident, but if there was a chance, they were willing to try.

“You ready?” Sam asked. You gulped and gave the three of them a solemn nod. Each man filed inside, weapons at the ready. As soon as Dean was in, you slid the glass door shut, jamming a metal bar in between the door and the wall.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled, trying to force it open. “Y/N, what are you doing?” The door wouldn’t budge. “Let me out!”

You put your hand against the glass, palm splayed out where Dean’s fist pounded. You gave him a small, sad smile.

“It’s okay.” You mouthed. His hand flattened against yours. “It’s going to be okay.” You exchanged a glance with Sam and he gave you a wordless promise. He would make sure his brother would get through this. You locked your eyes with Dean’s. You never got tired of those emerald irises. Knowing that you put the life back in those perfect green eyes would give you enough courage to face what came next.

You closed your eyes, feeling a lone tear slide down your cheek.

12:00 A.M.

This time, the clock’s chiming didn’t make you jump. The howl did. Both Sam and Dean were desperately trying to get the door open, but Cas knew that this was what you wanted. He turned away.

“Damn it, Y/N! Open the door!” Dean shouted again, hitting the glass as hard as he could. You spoke just loud enough for them to hear you.

“I love you.” You opened your eyes only to find the heartbreak in his. “I love all of you.” You cried out as a set of claws dug deeply into your calf, yanking you backwards onto the concrete.

“No!” Dean screamed. He pulled so hard that the handle of the door snapped off. Sam was frozen now, neither brother able to tear their eyes away.

You tried to hold back your screams, but it was useless. The hellhound flipped you onto your back, claws ripping through your shoulder like paper. Your shrieks were loud enough to fill the kitchen.

“Baby, please.” Dean cried, his efforts in trying to break the glass merely giving him bruises. He was forced to watch the invisible beast create claw marks along your arms and chest. He felt every tear as if it were happening to him all over again. A pool of blood started to pour out beneath you.

Your most agonizing scream came when you felt the dog’s jaws clamp around your side. You looked up at the men above you. Dean’s face was stained with tears, as was his brother’s. They both looked so anguished, so shattered. So you remembered last night. You remembered their laughing faces and off-key singing. You remembered Sam’s comforting embrace and his knowing smile. You remembered the taste of Dean’s lips and the feeling of his body tangled with yours. You remembered their eyes in the sunset, sparkling and alive. And you smiled. Your boys.

“Y/N! No!” Dean screamed in horror as a chunk of your flesh was violently torn away. You stopped moving. “Y/N!” The last toll of the clock echoed throughout the entire house and the old Grandfather clock stopped ticking.

Sam pushed his brother to the side and fired his gun at the glass until it shattered. Dean bolted through, not caring if he got cut. The hound was gone, leaving only carnage in its wake. He fell to his knees.

“Y/N?” His voice was quiet now, hoarse from screaming. Your eyes stared blankly up at the stars, blood splattered across your face. He cradled your head in his hand. “Don’t do this to be, baby. Don’t do this to me.” He pulled you into his lap. “Come on sweetheart, don’t make me lose you too. Please.”

Sam’s chest tightened, watching his brother break down. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Dean cry this hard. Cas had vanished, so it was just the two of them now. After a moment, Sam let out a heavy sigh.

“Why don’t you head out the car? I’ll clean up.”

“No.” Dean growled, head jerking up to look at him. “I have to do this.” Dean straightened and he scooped your body up into his arms. Blood rushed down his clothes like rain, seeping through to his skin. It would stain him for the rest of his life. He pressed a kiss to your forehead one last time and gently closed your eyes.

And she’s buying a stairway to Heaven.

Tuesday 8:33 A.M.

The ride back to the bunker was silent. Even when they got back, Sam knew better than to say anything. Dean went to take a shower, shoving the small tin to the back of his drawer. Sam poured himself a drink. He looked out on an empty library and lifted his glass, as if he were toasting you.

Dean turned the water to a scalding temperature, feeling it burn as it rinsed off the sticky crimson liquid that covered his chest and arms. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your smile going blank as the hellhound tore away your skin. And all he could hear was that stupid clock. Before he even realized it, his hand punched the tiled wall over and over again until it cracked, his knuckles splitting open and oozing blood. He didn’t even feel it. He didn’t feel anything.

It was dark, but you could still see the blade hanging above you, glistening menacingly. Spiked restraints pierced your wrists, holding you down on the table.

“Sam? Cas? Anybody!” You cried. There was no hiding the terror in your voice. The saw screeched to life and slowly lowered down towards you. “Help me! Somebody please!” You struggled, only making the spikes dig further into your skin. There was no escaping this. Your screams filled the darkness. “Dean!”

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87; @mrspeacem1nusone

The Deal Series: @writeroutoftime

#gore warning #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #castiel #supernatural imagines #winchester takeover #october #jensen ackles #Jared Padalecki #to be continued?

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dzamie-oc · 3 years

Text

14 - Sea

I just... I really like that "here there be dragons" thing, okay? It got the imaginations of old timey bards and seafaring boasters going, and it gets me thinking about dragons, too.

Length: 1600 words Rating: G Summary: A sailor goes exploring in what he thinks are uncharted waters. He finds them perfectly charted.

-----

William checked his boat’s navigator against the old map spread on the table. It wasn’t a treasure map, and a lot of the handwriting on it was barely this side of legible, but it was one of his father’s most prized possessions, and he intended to finish it. The old man had always insisted to him that it already had been, but Will was no fool. Written on the space just - he checked his speed - just five minutes away was, in large script, “Here There Be Dragons.” He’d tried to explain to his dad that that was what old cartographers would write in unexplored areas, where the unknown was speculated to have fantastical, unreal beasts, but all that ever got him was a condescending smile and a shake of his head.

He wasn’t going to deface the map, of course; he was raised better than to mistreat old heirlooms. He was, however, going to fill in the region on a copy he’d made. Probably with some little doodles of fish, unless an island popped up real soon. Until then, of course, there was little reason not to enjoy the salty sea air, so Will set the navigation computer and strolled out onto the deck to watch and listen to the waves.

The sun shone splendidly down with only a few clouds in the sky, and its light glittered off the wide, open waters. Will half wished he’d brought some fishing equipment, though admitted to himself that it would mostly be there for habit - an excuse to just sit back and relax while pretending not to be wasting time. After motoring to the middle of the “Here There Be Dragons,” noting the surprisingly shallow depth on the fathometer, and anchoring his vessel, the amateur sailor went around the deck, trying to see anything of note in the area. He thought he caught a glimpse of a fish over one side, but other than that, nothing, after the better part of half an hour.

He made a note of the somewhat shallow water on his map, and went to draw the anchor back up. However, the thought of relaxing in calm waters tugged at his mind, so he stayed his hand and instead settled himself in a chair outside the cabin. After all, he reasoned, he had budgeted ample time to explore an uncharted island or a somehow still-floating derelict, so he might as well use it for a nap. And like that, to the sounds of the waves ebbing and flowing atop the water, and gently slapping against the boat’s hull, he let himself fall asleep.

“...rwater? Captain Bradley? Is that you? Wow, time has been good to you!” a female voice said, rousing William from sleep.

Groggy, the sailor stretched, then squinted towards the voice, shading his eyes with his hand. “Miss? Who... why are you out so far? There’s nothing here.”

The voice made a confused noise. “Hm? I live here, don’t you remember? Oh no, did you somehow lose your memory?”

William shook his head. “Gimme a second, here.” He rose from his chair and stumbled slightly, catching himself on what felt like damp leather. “Thanks, but ma’am, you’re soaked!” Finally, he was able to clear his vision and adjust to the sunlight once again, and nearly fainted dead away at the sight.

“Well, SOME of us swim through the water,” said the scaly, blue-green... creature. One forepaw was outstretched to keep William balanced, and her hindlegs were easily a dozen feet past that. She resembled an eel, with her long body and her even longer tail, sporting a single fin down her length, and her head was almost avian with its triangular shape and beak-like muzzle, except she was absolutely covered in scales, and sported a single horn right below her eyes. The shape of her face didn’t lend itself to smiling, and nor do many animals express themselves with a smile, but the tone of her voice told him plainly of her happy, playful attitude.

Will realized he was staring, and tried to figure out whether it was more important that he was staring at a very large, potentially carnivorous creature with claws and what must be a powerful tail, or staring for an awfully long time at someone who thought she was familiar with him. Before he could come to a conclusion, however, the creature drew back and veritably strutted about the deck, striking a pose and showing off the profile of her horned head. “Hey, I hardly blame you for looking, when what you’ve got to look at is a dragoness as beautiful as me. But, seriously, are you okay, Bradley? You’ve hardly said a word.”

“Sorry, who do you think I am? I’ve never been out here,” Will admitted, then took a careful step towards the cabin. “Please don’t kill me.”

“You’re not Captain Bradley Clearwater?” the dragon asked, “then... why do you have his boat? And look just like him?”

“No, I’m William Clearwater,” he replied, half out of habit, “Bradley was my fa-”

The two of them stopped and stared at each other in shocked silence as the pieces clicked into place.

“Bradley had a kid!?” she shouted and rushed towards Will. “And he didn’t TELL me!?”

Will, to his credit, displayed a phenomenal reaction time, diving away from the lunging sea monster. Peering out from the cabin door, he saw her hesitate, then take a step back. “Also, uh,” she said with less energy than earlier, “I’m not going to kill you. Or, well, I’d rather not. Decency aside, Bradley would be pissed if I killed his kid.”

The sailor took a tentative step out of the cabin, though stayed close by and warily eyed the dragon. “Okay, first thing’s first, I’m dreaming, right? Fell asleep on the open ocean, and my mind is making up some sort of benevolent sea monster who knows my dad?”

The creature shook her head. “I don’t think so, unless you’ve been asleep for longer than you’ve been alive. I’m just one of the only dragons who let humans see us. How is Bradl- your dad, anyway? It’s been awhile.”

“He...” Will sighed. “He passed away a few years ago. That’s why I have his boat.”

“Oh. And you came to tell me the news?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t even know you existed - er, no offense. I just came because of a map he made that had been bugging me.”

“Ooh, a treasure map?” She stepped forward, her body lightly wiggling from nose to tail. “Can I see?”

Will looked at her still-wet body, and thought of the aged paper map. “I’ll... here, let me show you the copy I made. It’s not a treasure map.” He ducked in, grabbed his map from the table, and walked over, holding it so they both could see. “See, the only difference was that his map had a “Here There Be Dragons” in this empty spot, so I came to finish exploring.” He blinked, then looked at her. “Also, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Well, if you were your dad, I wouldn’t have needed to tell you, so I haven’t yet. I’m Carol,” Carol said. “If that’s the only difference, I’d say it is a treasure map.”

“Wait, what?” Will stared frantically all over the map, looking for some hint or clue or anything that he might have missed, that Carol had somehow seen immediately. “How?”

“The real one says “Here There Be Dragons,” right?” She stepped back and raised a forepaw to her scaly chest, standing proud. “I’m the treasure!”

“No, it’s a shorthand that medieval cartographers used to represent... ah, nevermind.” Will smiled. “In that case, I think I’d like to get to know this treasure, at least for a couple of hours before I head back.”

“Awesome, I love talking about myself!” Carol chirped. “Plus, you definitely have to catch me up on the last... three hundred moons or so?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Will returned his map to the cabin, then emerged onto the deck once more to pass the time with his unexpected guest.

-----

Dragon and sailor spent the next few hours talking, teaching each other about their cultures, and just hanging out in general. By the time William had to leave, he had grown bold enough to ask if he could feel her scales - on purpose, this time, and Carol was more than happy to show him just where on her head to rub, and then joked that now, he was obligated to do that more, the next time he visited. After he said his goodbyes, Carol dove over the side of the boat and into the water. It surprised William, how little her leap made the boat rock back and forth, and what small splash she made, in spite of being easily four or five times as long as he was tall.

Carol helped lift the anchor, even though William tried to explain that it was an automatic thing now. Once it was all up, they bid farewell one last time, and then William started up the engine. With Carol keeping her neck and one forepaw above the water, the two waved at each other for a bit as they receded into their respective distances, and then the dragon vanished beneath the waves, leaving the man to his thoughts.

William looked at his map, thinking about his original plan for the trip - to prove to himself (and his father’s memory) that the map really was incomplete. He stared at the little mark he made on his map, noting the unexpectedly shallower waters he dropped anchor in. And, with a confident, humorous smile he suspected looked like the one his dad gave him whenever he brought up the old map, William put pen to paper, making sure to write in the correct place, and write legibly:

“Here There Be Dragons”

#dragon #dragons #smaugust #sea serpent #sailing #writing #writers on tumblr #smaugust 2021 #sea #sea dragon #text

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Shuffle playlist - Rewrite - Part of Your World - Harry Hook x Reader - part 5 - the isle.

warning: talk of non-con selling of sex in last bit of chapter

(note: (n/n) means = Nick name)

Mal took a heaving breath as she led her scooter towards the edge of the cliff, facing towards the isle of the lost. Harry repositioned behind her, tightening his grip on the cushion below him.

Mal let out a few sputtering sobs and lifted her goggles off the bridge of her nose and placed them on top of her helmet. she swung her backpack off her shoulders and grabbed her spellbook from her bag, hurriedly shifting through the pages to find the correct spell. There it was. “Noble steed/proud and fair/you will take us/anywhere”

The scooter glowed purple for a moment before it went back to normal, and Harry could swear the barrier had shimmered purple as well.

Mal stuffed her book back in her bag and shrugged it back on, turning to Harry while reshifting her goggles back onto her nose “hang tight, and onto me, I know it'll be uncomfortable but I don’t know if this will work, and I still can't swim” Harry sighed and released the cushions, wrapping is arms around Mal's torso and leaning against her.

“okay, hoo” she took a deep breath again, revving the engine of her scooter “please work”

“Mal if this doesn’t work and we die I am going ta kill yeh!” Harry yelped as Mal suddenly swerved to the right towards the steep slope down towards the beach and lead the bike onto the ocean.

The bike hopped on the surface a couple of times before smoothing out, Mal looked over her and Harry's shoulders back to Auradon and let out a breathy laugh, she was free!!!! Free from the pastel dresses, the invading press, the bobby pins, the painful too small at her toe heels, the rules, everything!

She could finally be herself again.

She and Harry let out a gasp as the barrier shimmered over them, the feeling of her magic draining from her was probably the worst feeling she had ever experienced, yet the scooter was still running atop the water. “odd” she muttered to herself, slapping the handle of her scooter as she remembered FGs explanation of good-intentioned magic being allowed to exist behind the border.

And she was doing everybody a favor by going back to the isle, so it had to be good-intentioned…right?

She took a hard right, making Harry yelp, and rolled into the wharf market that was near the Core fours hideout. Harry finally looked around, fixing the black motor helmet over his head as he passed his fellow isle pirates.

Mal suddenly stopped, looking to her left and taking off her goggles, Harry looked away from the market and towards her, raising his brow as she tore down the defiled poster with her and Ben on it and bunched it up, she threw it over her shoulder and replaced her goggles. She drove the scooter down to the next block and parked it in the slot next to the ascending stairs up to the core fours apartment. Harry quickly slid off the back and ripped the helmet from his head, shaking around to get rid of the squished feeling on his ears.

“I’m never doing tha’ again” Harry growled, his icy blue eyes locking with Mals now dull green ones as she passed by him and walked over to the entrance of her apartment. She picked up a rock and chucked it at the yellow sign with the words ‘danger flying rocks’. the sign swung back and the metal fence door lifted up.

Mal glanced back at Harry and gestured to the hideout, inviting him into the safe space. He shook his head and held his hands up, the weight of the helmet in his left hand shifting a bit “nah, I swore never ta step foot in tha’ place, I’ll be at meh apartment for a bit till I go talk ta Uma” Mal tilted her head at him.

“why do you want to talk to Uma?” she asked, leaning over the railing of the steps. Harry gave her a look.

“I need her ta know I haven’t abandoned her” Mal's mouth made an ‘o’ shape as she nodded, realizing what Harry was talking about.

“I get it….sorry, I know I was part of the distraction that prevented Ben from getting more kids off” she sighed, scratching the back of her head. “I've- I wish I could’ve done something more- I-I just” Harry held his hand up again, shaking his head.

“I know, lemme say this from (y/n)s perspective because from mine I would just blame yeh fully” Mal let out a little snort, if anything her and Harry's distaste of each other hadn’t changed in the last 6 months, which was nice. “yeh were under a lot of stress, and it’s not yer job ta make sure Ben follows through on his promise to bring more vks over” Mal shook her head, pushing up on her toes and pouting at Harry.

“but I could have helped with moving it further along, it was my fault that he kept blowing you and (y/n) off on those meetings for the vks, I could have…I don’t know made him think we were having a date in his office and then you two just make him sit through the meeting or something” Mal sighed, leaning her cheek on her hand.

Harry shrugged again, looking down the alley “aye possibly, I’ll be back at meh apartment if yeh need meh, Jay will know where it is” Mal quirked her brow again.

“huh?” Harry smirked up at Mal, rolling his eyes.

“did yeh really think those three would jus’ leave ye ‘ere? and yeh know once (y/n) finds out I’m ‘ere too she’ll drag me off by meh ear” Mal rolled her eyes.

“I guess….though I was kinda betting on someone coming over and taking me back, I’m really just here to get away from it all” Harry nodded at that.

“aye, once we crossed the barrier yeh regretted this a bit didn’t yeh?” Mal nodded a bit.

“…yeah, that feeling of magic being drained from me it was just….made everything come back, now I remember why we all wanted to leave so bad….I guess the stress from Auradon made this place seem a lot better than it was” Mal sighed, looking up to the dark grey sky.

Harry nodded again and started to back away “aye, when the rest of em get here, just tell (y/n) I’m at meh apartment and Jay can lead ‘er there” Mal waved him off and watched him disappear into the dark alleys towards the wharf. She tapped her heel against the steel stairs nervously as he left her sight.

God, she hoped Hook wouldn’t find out about Harry’s presence on the isle.

She couldn’t bear to hear those sounds again.

You sighed as you leaned back in the cushioned chair in Ben's office, watching him quickly write down on the papers for cotillion. You had bust into his office about an hour ago, waiting until he finally talked about his fight with Mal. He stopped, looking up at you through his lashes before sighing and leaning back against his chair. “I really screwed up didn’t I” he finally muttered, crossing his arms and looking up at the ceiling.

“yep” you popped your lips, smirking as he groaned and rubbed his face in stress.

“but she lied to me! She lied about everything and thought she could get away with it! And-and” you rose your brow as he looked back to you. “-god I was just so angry at her for doing that but then….god I fucking compared her to Audrey” you blinked at that.

“you-I-wow Ben, that’s….alright then” you chuckled, pinching your nose and standing from your chair, walking over to bens desk and leaning on it “alright imma say it straight, and before you ask, I’m from a world where yall are a movie remember?” Ben nodded, slightly confused at the last part, leaning back slightly as (y/n)s disappointed look turned to a glare. “you are valid to be mad at Mal for lying to you about using her magic, you are valid to be mad at her for doing that. But you have to understand, she.is.not.you. she is not Evie, she is not Audrey, and she is not from here.

She is from the isle, where EVERYTHING was different for her, there were no rules, there was no press, there was no dress code, there was no nothing, she could just do whatever she wanted. Going from that, to having a billion rules and demands from everyone, is extremely stressful”

Ben tried to speak up but you silenced him with a glare “you may say ‘but I never asked her to be anything other than herself’ you never told her that, when she started to try being the perfect Auradon girl, you never told her that you liked it, you never told her you didn’t like it, you just let her keep going, which in her head translated it as ‘oh he likes me better this way, I’ll keep going’ I know you have that stained glass window with her in her full isle style self, but that window would have been helpful two months ago when all this shit started. She's having an identity crisis Ben, she needs support and guidance, now I don’t mean she needs her hand held, she needs someone to say that she's doing the right thing, that she's not screwing anything up.

she needed someone to say that she didn’t have to change because she was already perfect, yes, her attitude and shit needed work but as a whole? She was fine, she didn’t need to change the way she spoke, or walked, or dressed, or smiled. She just needs to learn that it's okay not to be okay, and to ask for help. She JUST learned that she wasn’t the only person in the world 6 months ago, and now she needs to learn that it's okay that she's not doing okay.

And you haven’t helped her with that, you have just stood by and acted like nothing was wrong, and that’s what is wrong Ben, you live in this world of lollipops and sunshine, that you don’t see what’s two inches in front of you! And that’s not a bad thing, I love that you’re an optimist, but when It comes to not seeing that something is wrong with your friends, that’s when it becomes a problem.” You sighed, leaning back and cracking your neck.

“again, I will say you being mad at Mal for lying to you about using her magic and…lying to you about how she was doing is completely valid. but you again have to understand, her entire existence, up until 6 months ago, was pleasing her mother.

and when her mother was turned into a mini dragon, her people-pleasing tendencies turned to you, and what she thought would please you most. And that would be a perfect Auradon girl. That’s why she did all that, because she thought you would prefer her that way instead of her actual self. On both sides of your argument, you both are in the wrong, and you both are in the right, but because you both lack communication between the two of you”

you held up your hand again as Ben tried to speak “neither of you truly talk to each other, yes you talk, but not really, you never asked about her boundaries, she never asked you about what you wanted, both of you suffered because you just won't talk to each other like that, you need to talk to each other and find out what is going on with the other to find balance in your relationship. Ben, you can't just rely on the other to come forward, you both have to if you see a problem in the relationship.

And the problem with yours is that you don’t know how to look past the surface and see beneath anything, and Mal doesn’t know how to ask for help. I’m not saying your shallow, I’m saying you’ve lived in a world of everything is perfect and nothing is ever wrong; so it's hard for you to realize that someone is having a hard time, and Mal has lived in a world where asking for help meant weakness or even worse death.” Ben paled at that

“so both of you have to teach the other about yourselves, Mal can teach you how to look beneath the front mask of people and see their true selves and intentions, and you can teach mal to soften up and learn that asking for help is not a bad thing anymore”

You sat back down in your chair and crossed your arms, waiting for Ben’s response as he just stared at you “I know, that was one big ol’ rant but it needed to be said” you laughed, cracking your neck and sighing “I haven’t talked that much in….never” Ben rolled his eyes and leaned forward on his hands.

“I need to talk to her” you nodded, shifting in your chair.

“what you need is to take your relationship slower Ben, it's only been six months, don’t you think that’s a little fast? especially for Mal who’s never done anything like this before? Something like cotillion and her being introduced as Lady of the court would be something that happened in a year, not six months. I think it would be better to celebrate the half-year of the vks being here than all that.” Ben paused for a moment, then groaned, flopping back in his chair.

“I’m an idiot” He muttered, you snorted and rolled your eyes “of course she's not ready for all this….I really should have paid attention to her more instead of just assuming that she was okay with everything changing so fast” he sighed, glancing back at you. You nodded to him, letting him know he was on the right track.

The two of you sat up as the door to Ben’s office opened suddenly and Evie stepped in, knocking rapidly on Ben’s door. “Evie!” Ben sighed, letting a smile bloom on his face. “come in” she quickly stepped into the room and closed the door. She let out a shuddering sigh and looked from you to Ben. You sighed, closing your eyes, right you had forgotten about Mal going back.

“Mal’s gone back to the isle” Evie's voice wavered, looking down at the floor as she quickly walked over to Ben and handed him a note. Before he could read it she said his name, and handed him the golden class ring Ben had given Mal during the coronation.

He stared at it for a few moments before hurriedly unfolding the note and reading it, his eyes shining as his shoulders dropped as he read the note. “this-this is my fault! She had been under so much pressure lately and I-I was the last straw….I shouldn’t have yelled at her like that” he bit his lip, a few tears trailing down his cheeks and hitting the top of his desk “she wasn’t even doing anything bad with her magic she was just taking a few shortcuts….I have to go to the isle and get her back myself! It's dangerous over there and she could get hurt…I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her” he turned to the window, peering out the side where he could see the edge of the ocean.

“Ben you’ll never find her! The isle is huge and she has a million hiding places!” Evie sighed, rubbing her arms as she thought about what she was about to do “you have to take me with you” Ben turned around, looking at Evie with wide eyes.

“I can't let you do that” he muttered, his shoulders dropping “I don’t want anything happening to you” Evie shook her head defiantly.

“I’m going, you don’t even know how to get from the entrance to the market, you need someone who knows the isle sand from stone…and I can't leave her there either, there's no doubt she’s made some enemies over there that are just waiting for a moment to strike, and without her mother's protection…even if it was lousy protection, she could get seriously hurt, or even worse killed…” Ben turned pale again, he didn’t want to think about that. “and she's my best friend Ben, I won't just leave her….and we’ll bring the boys too, because there's safety in numbers and I’m betting none of us are popular over there right now” Evie sighed, rubbing the back of her neck, she stopped, watching as Gil entered the room quickly and slammed the door behind him “Gil?” he looked to you, his face place and his body shaking.

“Gil what's wrong?” you asked, standing up quickly and walking over to him “you look like you’ve seen a ghost” he let out a small whimper and handed you a piece of paper from Harry's journal. “what-“ you felt your world stop.

-Gil, I’m sorry, but I’m going back to the isle with Mal, I’m not planning on staying but I need to make a point to beasty boy. I'll stay out of sight I promise.

-Harry

Harry had gone back to the isle with Mal “he what?!” you half screeched, almost stumbling back into the seats in front of Bens desk if it wasn’t for Gils hands on your shoulders

“(y/n)” Evie gasped, rushing over to you and wrapping her arm around your torso “what’s-oh no” she read the note, her face forming into a look of horror “Harry’s gone back to the isle too” she muttered, covering her mouth with a gasp. Ben furrowed his brows in confusion.

“why-you sound like it's even worse that he went back?” he asked, walking over to the three of you and glancing at the paper.

“because it is” Evie looked up at Ben “Harrys had it a lot worse than Mal, his- his father” you felt a cold chill rush over your skin and you broke from Gil and Evie's grip.

“his father what?” you snapped, the vks flinching from your dark tone. “tell me.”

“his-his dad um…he sold him when he didn’t have money” Gil muttered, his face turning green from the memories.

“or just didn’t feel like spending money” Evie snapped, hand clenching so hard you would hear her knuckles crack.

“…sold him?” Ben asked naively, Evie and Gil looked at him with sad eyes.

“he sold him to others to have….sex with” Gil paused between his words, they were almost too hard to get out “when he bought his rum or whatever he felt like drinking, I don’t remember how long it was happening but if Hook finds out Harry is on the isle….we might not ever see Harry again” you and Ben looked at each other and nodded.

“then it's settled” Ben clenched his fist around Mal's note and his ring, watching you as you grit your teeth and your eyes turn dark “we head to the isle as soon as possible, we can't risk anything happening to Harry or Mal” the three of you nodded and rushed out of Bens office to collect Carlos and Jay.

‘oh Harry’ you felt tears burn in your eyes as you burst into your dorm room and grabbed a change of clothes that suit the isle ‘why didn’t you tell me’ you stopped, seeing a large piece of paper from Harry's journal sitting on your desk. You quickly walked over and grabbed it, unfold it, and start to read.

-to my dear (n/n)

I’m sorry, but I’m going back to the isle. No, we aren’t breaking up, this has nothing to do with you, I’m making a point to Ben.

I know he and the others will stop at nothing to get Mal back from the isle and I needed to make sure Ben would see the isle for what it really is. A place where no child should be and hopefully, he will get a move on for the vk transfer thing.

I also needed to see Uma and my sisters; they need to know I haven’t abandoned them. I know you’ll be coming with Ben and the others to get me, I do not doubt that, so I’ll see you soon.

I know the dangers of me being here, and I’m sorry I never told you about my history with my dad, but I’m sure Evie and Gil filled you in on it. I’m planning to stay out of sight and away from him and anyone who might tell him about me being here.

I promise when we are back in Auradon I’ll tell you everything about my life on the isle, you deserve to know.

I love you; I know I have never said that, but I’m sure of it now, and I wanted to say it just in case.

-Harry

You let out a low sob and collapsed against your desk, holding the now crumpled note against your chest “Harry” you chocked out, feeling droplets of tears hit your hand. “you stupid fucking idiot”

“I love you too”

-end of part 5-

Here it is! Part 5! I hope I made bens side of the argument…better while also still being like “yeah both are wrong both are right in it, but Mal was really having a hard time and ben needs to slow the fuck down” because MAL IS NOT READY FOR ANY OF THE DATING SHIT SHE IS DOING IN D2, COTILLION SHOULD HAVE WAITED FOR AT LEAST ONE YEAR INTO THEIR RELATIONSHIP NOT 6 MONTHS! Anyway, I also hope Mal and Harry's talk at the beginning was also…nice? That’s the best word I can think of right now but I hope im making Mal an actual likable character instead of….ya know *gestures to d2/3* that. Im trying to actually develop her d1 character into something more instead of just making a whole new one each “movie”

And yes, James is just as Bad in this as he was in the OG part of your world, and don’t worry, he does get his ass kicked by reader.

Thank you for reading!

permtaglist

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @remembered-license

@random-thoughts-003 @verboetoperee

@imtryingthisout @rintheemolion @thecaptainsgingersnap

and now the rewrite taglist because im sorry i forgot about yall lol

@thesailbells @beccad10x

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #rewrite #part of your world #shuffle playlist #reprise #encore #an entire two pages went into the rant reader gave ben #in this both mal and ben are at fault in the aurgument #but both are also in the right #ben being mad at mal for lying to him about basically everything is valid #mal getting upset at him yelling at her coping mechanism is valid

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good-rwbyaus · 4 years

Note

Au where Whitley has actually been running the bank accounts since he was young and keeping the group financially viable

#Rising Snow AU - mod lilac - [ next ]

1. Beginning

It started when his father, smelling like expensive liquors and overbearing perfume, shoved a packet of folders at him and stated “You deal with it. Your father has a hang- headache” before staggering off back to his bedroom to sleep off yesterday’s social gathering.

He was ecstatic. His father began to trust him to handle things in the company. Before he was a mere fixture in the company, only present to speak pleasantries and let others know that Jacques Schnee had a well-bred son. But now he had responsibilities and power.

Whitley Schnee, soon-to-be-heir of the Schnee Dust Company since Weiss didn’t seem to care about it and Willow just left to join Atlas, will show everyone his worth, starting with.... a whole lot of complaints about their customer service.

_______________________________________

2. Complaints

“This motor is covered under warranty. I still have the original receipt. You have to take it back.”

“Sorry, but the warranty only covers usage in automobiles. You said you tried installing it in a motorcycle, so your warranty is void.”

“...A motorcycle is an automobile, sir.”

“Look smartass, you’re getting on my nerves. You’re not going to get a refund from the Schnee Dust Company, got it?”

“Excuse me!? I want to talk to your manager. Now.”

“I am the manager. Now stop wasting my time.”

“Wh-”

Click.

Whitley’s eyebrows creased sharply as he closed the Scroll. He took slow deep breaths trying to get rid of the anger trembling through his body. A Schnee is like ice. They do not show their rage unless they can leverage it for their purposes. His teeth gritted once more and relaxed.

Those two-faced bastards. He knew the customer service staff were no good when they started fawning over him, telling him that “of course they got complaints when they couldn’t fulfill their requests” or “we got everything under control.”

In reality, they were all just disgusting liars who couldn’t do their job. If he hadn’t been suspicious of them, they might’ve gotten away with it. Those people had to be removed before they truly caused an incident; he cannot let such unsightly things remain.

He picked up the phone.

________________________________________

3. Fired.

“You can’t do this to us! This is going against our contract.”

“Just because you’re your father’s son doesn’t mean you have any power here.”

“You’re going to speak to my lawyer about unfair dismissal, kid!”

It’s funny. The half-dozen or so people who were fawning over him just hours earlier were now cursing and shaming him. Of course they were angry. He just told them they were all fired a couple minutes ago and stopped saying anything when they started yelling like a mob. His lips trembled, trying to stop himself from smiling.

Gods. He was so angry that he’s finding humor in it. Do they really think they have power here?

Bang.

A bald-headed tall man - the manager he spoke to last - slammed his hands onto his desk, looming over him as if to intimidate him with the threat of physical violence. The noise made him flinch slightly, breaking his facade of calm and causing the other guy to smirk mockingly at him.

Bastard.

This farce has gone on long enough.

“Okay. You can keep your jobs...”

Immediately, the six people leered triumphantly with the one at the head of the pack messing his desk up proudly stood up.

“Good kid, see you know when you’re in the wrong.”

“Yeah, smart like your father,” said the man at his desk about to pat him on the head. Immediately, he swatted the man’s hand away.

“...as I gather the audio logs for our lawyers to peruse and determine how much damage you’ve done to the company’s image.”

That silenced the room better than a dead body being found in it.

“If you didn’t do anything wrong, you’ll have my apologies and a bonus for your troubles. But if you’ve damaged our image... well, a company’s face is priceless - but I can definitely try to get back some recompense.”

He lifted a finger which everyone else in the room followed.

“That’s your first option. The other option is to resign quietly, and I will not pursue this in the future. You can take the time to think about it.

“You can-”

“You’re all dismissed. If you linger around a second longer,” he glared at the group, “I’m going to assume you’re taking the first option and want to be escorted out.”

Immediately, upon realizing who had the actual power in the room, the group of six began to scramble out of the room, but just as the bald-headed manager exited out the door, Whitley spoke up. The words caused the man to stiffen up.

“Except you. You don’t get an option, manager. You're fired. Wait to hear from my lawyers.”

He steepled his fingers together, a vicious satisfied smile on his lips.

________________________________________

4. Security Card

...Okay. That was scary. He honestly thought that baldy was going to hit him at the very end. In the future, he was going to have a bodyguard in the room or Klein just in case. He loosened his vest slightly, the cloth sticking to his back from the cold sweat.

It was weird though. Why did something like customer service go all the way up to the level of the President?

Wasn’t that something for managers or department heads to solve?

“Maybe it’s just a test from father,” Whitley spoke out loud. He shook his head.

Yeah, that was probably it.

----

Little did he know that his carelessly stated statement was caught by a hidden camera in his room.

----

The next day he found a folder on his desk and a white card with the label of 00 on it.

________________________________________

5. Assignment

“Hey, Klein,” Whitley asked cautiously as the loyal man handed him a glass of water, “Did father come into my room yesterday?”

He didn’t know what to make of the butler at times or how to treat him. Father said never to treat the help too kindly or they’ll take advantage of it, but Klein was someone he knew since he was born. He’s never seen him be anything but loyal and attentive. He wasn’t like the people he just dealt with.

Maybe he would’ve just dismissed him as just the help, but after having seen a very recent example of two-faced people, he couldn’t quite agree with his father’s assessment of Klein.

“Your father has gone on va-,” the man paused upon seeing the contents on the desk, particularly the white card on his desk. “That card?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a card like this before,” Whitley replied, “What does it actually do?”

Klein stared at the card quietly before saying, “Only the Master of the House could’ve given you that card. It will open every lock and file in the Schnee Dust Company. It means the Master has given you authority second to them.”

“Father must really trust me after I got results, right?” he proudly stated as he started shuffling through the documents. In doing so, he missed Klein’s smile, both proud and pained at the same time.

The cursory review made his self-praising words die in his throat.

“Wait...He wants me to solve all these?!” Whitley yelled. It wasn’t that the entire packet consisted of a single problem. The entire seventy-two page packet was a large list of overdue problems and documents that required his attention.

“Where’s father?”

“He’s currently on vacation. He won’t be here for a month.”

“Didn’t he just go on vacation two weeks ago? There should be someone to substitute while he’s gone?”

“...No, sir. This is how it always has been.”

“Haha. You’re joking. Or is this part of the test, Klein?” He laughed but it soon died on his throat, seeing the man’s grim face.

“I will not lie to you, young master.” Klein remarked before adding with a nudge of his head, “There’s a note.”

He’s right. There was. The script was in cursive; it would’ve been elegant and soft if it weren’t for the shakiness in it.

‘You have the right idea. Sometimes problems need to find the right people.’

________________________________________

6. Delegation

This was stupid. The purchasing of toilet paper or whether it had to be 2-ply or 3-ply or setting the price of bubble-gum at the employee store did not need to pass through the president’s desk.

Hell. It’s like anything that involved the tiniest amount of money or required the slightest authority needed to make its way to his desk.

This was not a functional solution. He’ll die of exhaustion by the end of the week if that continued.

And the answers from the department heads were incredibly unhelpful.

‘It has always been this way.’

But it hasn’t. Looking through the records only he could access, everything changed when his father inherited the company from his grandfather. His father first fired anyone that disagreed with him and then diverted anything that looked like it involved money up to the very top. Maybe it was important back then, but those measures certainly didn’t need to be used now.

His father ruled with an iron fist when it came to the company. No one dared to challenge his authority now.

His father was smart. Intelligent. These actions didn’t match that. Was this just another one of his tests? He wanted to believe that, but...

‘The only person you can trust is yourself. Everyone else can betray you. Even family. Only trust others if you have power over them, that is trust.’

...It did match what his father would do. And if there was nothing else he learned from all those official dinners and parties, he knew how to read people, especially his father and his mercurial temper.

With how many of these documents have been untouched and unread, what exactly is his father doing?

Come to think of it. When was the last time his father sat in front of a computer instead of going on vacation or to one of his many dinners with his business associates?

He shook his head. Impossible. His father definitely worked hard. How else would this company be standing if he was that neglectful? Maybe these files were just like the 5% of untouched work since he had so much wor-

His screen flickered as he clicked on another file. The pillar of red pointing downwards made him pale.

[ next ]

#honorable-asshole #mod lilac #whitley schnee #willow schnee #rwby au #rwby fic #fwby #rising snow au

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 5: I’ve Lived The Life And Paid For Every Crime]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Some Kind Of Disaster by All Time Low.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to drugs and violence.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @writerxinthedark @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @loveandbeloved29

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Easy Questions, Evasive Answers

“So it was nothing,” Archer said, glancing up from where he was tinkering around beneath the hood of my 1999 Honda Accord, checking hoses and belts and dipsticks. “This is pathetic, by the way. That you can’t change your own windshield wiper fluid. Dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow.”

“I never had my own car in Phoenix!” I objected around a mouthful of a Starbucks pumpkin muffin, my first of the season. And that was true: Renee and I couldn’t afford one. “I didn’t have to learn about car things!”

“No, it’s great, I love it, I have a customer for life.”

“It was totally nothing,” I told him. Meaning the photograph in the newspaper article from 1979. Meaning my paranoia surrounding beautiful, brooding, certifiably lethal Benjamin Lee.

Not Lee, I reminded myself. Benjamin August Hardy, born November 3rd 1893.

“Was it really?” Archer asked, skeptical.

“Uhhh, you were the one who was making fun of me for thinking he might be a time traveler. Or a bigfoot.” Or a vampire.

“Yeah, okay, true...” He let the hood of the Honda fall shut with a bang, then wiped the muddy streaks of motor oil from his hands with a stained rag. “But you were freaked out. Like super freaked out.”

“I was, yeah. But it wasn’t him in the photo. I took another look, there were freckles and, uh, like, uh, some other things that didn’t match up.”

“Huh.” Archer watched me with an expression I couldn’t read. “I didn’t notice that.”

“Ben laughed about it. Probably thinks I’m an idiot. A stalker and an idiot.”

Archer smirked slyly. “He must not have held it against you too much. I’ve never seen that guy laugh in my life.”

I took a moody bite of my muffin, rolled my eyes, feigned shallow schoolgirl angst. “Trust me, he’s not my biggest fan.”

“Ohhhh, and this bothers you?” Archer sauntered over and stole a crumbling hunk out of the pumpkin muffin. “Does someone have a little crush on the gorgeous, grouchiest Lee?”

“Definitely not.” I sipped my chai latte, contemplative, debating telling him more.

“Uh oh. There’s something else, I can see it. Spill the tea, you walking college-chick-who’s-obsessed-with-fall stereotype.”

“I’m so excited! I’m going to get to see changing leaves this year!” Cacti are majestic, ancient, intrepid, and they remind me of home; but they never change. They’re like desert earth that way, like the ocean. Like vampires, actually.

“We’ll have to do all the Instagram-worthy stuff. Pumpkin patches. Hay mazes. Apple picking...you can even bring that Ben guy if you want to. If he promises not to murder me with his mysterious time-travelling demon powers.”

Oh, kid, you have no idea. “So...I am kind of into a Lee guy. But it’s not Ben.”

Archer gasped, inhaled pumpkin muffin morsels, bent over as he hacked them out of his lungs. “Who?!” he rasped, scandalized, and then coughed again.

I couldn’t help but smile as his name spilled out: “Joe.”

“Which one is that? The Middle Eastern Men’s Vogue model one?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, not Rami. He has a girlfriend, by the way.” And has for the past half a century.

Archer wiggled his eyebrows. “Just because there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score.”

“Oh my god, please never say that phrase again.”

“Joe is the...” He closed his eyes as he drummed his fingers against the metal workbench, trying to remember.

“The Italian one,” I finished for him.

“Ahhh. The annoying one.”

“He is not annoying! Why do people keep saying he’s annoying?! He’s hilarious, and sweet, and lowkey wicked smart, and, and, and...”

Archer whistled, grinning, his dark eyes sparkling. “Damn, girl. You do like him. You really like him.”

I sighed in defeat. “Okay. I really, really like him.”

“Like him as in would swipe right on Tinder, or like him as in you want to get married and honeymoon in Hawaii and have twelve pasty, angular babies?”

“Oh wow.” And for the first time, I was confronted with the singular enigma that was a future with Joe. Vampires had relationships with other vampires, obviously, even marriages; but that didn’t mean the same rules applied to humans. Did he like me? Could he like me? What would that even look like? How would it end? And it would have to end, of course, eventually. Unless somehow I stopped aging too. “More than just a right swipe. We’ll see about the twelve kids.”

“Just make sure he wraps it before he taps it. I’m too young to be an uncle.”

“Stop,” I pleaded, gulping down my latte, averting my gaze across Archer’s small garage filled with customers’ vehicles, pretending not to be intrigued and yearning and petrified. I couldn’t imagine hooking up with someone as faultless and—presumably—experienced as Joe and being anything but a disappointment. I’ve never hooked up with anyone. At all. Ever.

“What?” he asked, concerned, thieving another piece of my pumpkin muffin. Powdered sugar dusted his fingers like the snow I’ve only seen two or three times in my life.

“Nothing. I just really wish you went to Calawah too.”

“And give up all this easy money from clueless suburbs people like you?” Archer beamed, wily and proud and affectionate. “Not a fucking chance.”

No More Sad Spaghetti

Joe gawked in horror, chomping noisily on his Big League Chew bubblegum, as I unwrapped the peanut butter sandwich I’d packed for lunch. It was mostly cloudy in the early September sky overhead, but he was still wearing sunglasses. He had traded in his ubiquitous U Chicago apparel for a Cubs t-shirt. Squirrels scurried through the bigleaf maple trees that dotted the campus, snatching up acorns with tiny clawed paws, wriggling whiskered noses in our direction.

“What’s your problem?” I asked, taking a bite. “It’s not sad spaghetti.”

He blew a small pink bubble, then popped it with his teeth. “Yeah, but it’s...like...mangled.”

“It got trapped between my textbooks!” I protested. Admittedly, the accordion-shaped peanut butter sandwich—my vegetarian alternative to fishstick Thursday—kind of sucked.

“You can’t eat that. Oh my god. It’s making me so sad. Give it to the squirrels.” Joe pulled out his iPhone. “What’s your preferred pizza topping?”

“I can’t tell you,” I replied, tossing my sandwich towards the nearest tree. A hoard of squirrels immediately descended upon it and proceeded to battle for dominance, emitting shrill, peanut-butter-crazed shrieks.

His brow furrowed. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because you might not like me anymore.”

“Why would I not like you because of pizza...?” And then he knew. “Oh no, oh god, please don’t say pineapple.”

“I’m a pineapple pizza person.”

“Baby Swan,” Joe said, deadly serious, pressing his palms together. “That is straight up sacrilegious. You can’t put tropical fruit on a pizza. You realize I’m Italian, like an actual Italian. I’m so Italian I’ve killed other Italians for being the wrong kind of Italian. That’s how Italian I am.”

“I feel like maybe I shouldn’t socialize with literal mobsters. It’s unsavory.”

“Settle down, I’m ordering the half-pineapple pizza, you freaking barbarian.”

I watched Joe as he tapped his thumbs against the screen, humming to himself, amused, perpetually buoyant. And I couldn’t picture him as a monster, as a killer: pulling triggers, slitting throats, digging blades into soft vulnerable love handles, feeling for the mortal puncture of a lung or kidney. I asked him, my voice quiet, hesitant, almost lost in the autumn wind: “Did you actually hurt people?”

“Nah. I didn’t have the stomach for it, even back then. I was on the deal-making side of things. The business side. I was a people person, a smooth talker, astronomically charming.”

I smiled, mischievous. “That’s difficult to imagine.”

“Okay, so no cheesy breadsticks for you.”

“I’m sorry, mob guy. Please order the breadsticks. You’re so charming I can’t stand it. My jeans are unzipping all by themselves.”

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “So you’ll sacrifice your dignity for breadsticks. Good to know.” He finished typing and laid his iPhone on the grass. “Alright, next question.”

“Does your hair grow?” Joe’s hair—I couldn’t help but notice—seemed longer than it was the day I met him a week and a half ago, disorderly and auburn-tinted, ruffling in the breeze.

“It does, yeah. Hair and nails still grow. So you have to shave, but you can’t get razor burn. And any nicks close right up.”

“Very cool. How often do you need to eat? You know...actually eat.”

“It varies, but generally twice a week.”

“And what kind of animal has the tastiest blood? Besides...well...” I gestured towards myself. “The upright two-legged kind with opposable thumbs and a partiality for pineapple pizza.”

He blew another bubble, then leaned in towards me. And I realized, for the first time, that he had his own inherent, exclusive, totally Bath-And-Body-Works-worthy scent as well; Dr. Gwilym Lee was sandalwood and campfires and log cabins, Mercy was roses and vanilla...and Joe was pine trees, peppermint, cold night air, like all of that eternally youthful magic of Christmas Eve sieved into a bottle. I popped the sheer pink bubble with the cap of my blue pen. Joe asked: “Do humans like chocolate or vanilla ice cream? Coffee or tea? Baseball or something hella lame?”

“Depends on the human.”

“Exactly. Same deal for vampires. I prefer bears, especially grizzlies. Lucy and Mercy like deer, elk, moose, animals like that. Ones with hooves. Weirdly, Rami’s favorite is crocodile, I think because it was the first thing he ever tried in Egypt. He doesn’t get it very often, but has been known to buy them on the black market on occasion. Scarlett likes mountain lions. Also domestic cats, but you didn’t hear that from me. Gwil is a wolf guy, but he won’t kill the endangered kinds. Such a gentleman.”

“How about Ben?”

“Ben’s still coming around to the whole eating animals thing. I don’t think he has a favorite yet.”

Joe isn’t a killer, and he never was; I could believe that. But Ben... “Why is he so different than the rest of you?”

“That’s...kind of a long story,” Joe replied carefully.

“It wouldn’t be such a long story if people stopped talking about how it’s a long story and actually told it to me.”

He flashed a grin, revealing white canine teeth filed into points; they were subtle, yes, but they were there. Fangs. I envisioned pressing a fingerprint against them and feeling the flesh split in two, the blood dripping down onto his tongue like Washington rain. And unlike Joe’s skin, mine wouldn’t knit back together on its own. “But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of tormenting you with the prospect of incredibly juicy yet confidential information!”

I rolled my eyes, sipped my can of Diet Coke, returned my attention to our lunch plans. “So garlic doesn’t repel you. That part of the lore is completely made up.”

“Yup. Thank god. Eternal life would be worthless without pizza.”

“Can you do drugs? Get drunk?”

“We can’t overdose, but we can get the effects of anything we consume. It’s not a good habit to get into though. If you’re nodding on heroin for like four days at a time, it’s pretty easy for some other vampire to find and murder you.”

“So a vampire can be killed by another vampire.”

“Absolutely. Next question.”

I consulted my mental list. “Do you sleep?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of. We nap for a few hours a day.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“We get bitchy. Really bitchy. We essentially turn into Ben.”

I laughed, chewing absentmindedly on the end of my pen. “So that’s his problem. He hasn’t napped in a century. Now it all makes sense.”

“Something like that,” Joe said. “You gonna come over tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to present The Walruses And Me tomorrow and I still haven’t started the book.”

“What do you know, I can tell you all about The Walruses And Me!”

“Seriously? You’ve read it?”

“No, but I can enthusiastically narrate the Wikipedia article to you while you pet Mercy’s alpacas.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Terrible for your grade in Marine Mammals. Good for your development as an interesting and happy human.”

“Nice try, but I’m already both of those things.”

Joe reached out suddenly, jarringly, and ran the back of his hand across my cheek. My favorite Lee, I thought, thoroughly transfixed but trying to hide it. Oh no. “Interesting, definitely. But I have this gnawing, distressing suspicion that you’re still working on the happy part.”

“I miss the desert,” I confessed. That wasn’t quite all of the problem, but it was accurate: I missed the heat, the sun, the parched prehistoric air I had always called home. Although I was beginning to find reasons to like Forks, Charlie and Archer and the promise of a Pacific Northwestern autumn; and then one big reason in particular. A very old, pale, chatty, Italian reason.

“A bit of a quandary for a future marine biologist,” he replied gently, perhaps apprehensively.

“I always figured I’d live somewhere like San Diego or Los Angeles or Galveston. Someplace on the ocean, but also sunny and hot and with palm trees. The best of both worlds. But you couldn’t go there with me, could you?”

Oh no.

Oh NO.

Oh fuck, this is definitely a crushing-on-Lee-boys zone.

Joe stared at me through his sunglasses, chomping on his Big League Chew, the corners of his mouth turned up and etching lines like parentheses into his face, pleased and nodding slowly and triumphant somehow. Then he struck out his hand again, this time with his pinky raised like a flagpole. “No more pathetic depressing lunches.”

“You got it. No more sad spaghetti. No more sad peanut butter sandwiches. You have my solemn, human vow.”

He smiled as his pinky entwined with mine. “No more sad anything.”

“So this vampire thing sounds like a pretty sweet gig. No dying, no consequences for a hellacious diet or wild condomless orgies, literal superpowers, perfect hair...why doesn’t everyone get to live that way?”

He shrugged; and there was an unfamiliar, meditative tension in his face. Almost sorrow. “It’s not all pizza and orgies and heroin. We have weaknesses too.”

“Like what?”

“Hey, look!” Joe piped cheerfully, twisting around towards the parking lot. “I think our GrubHub guy is here.”

Bad Blood

I was definitely regretting that fourth slice of pineapple pizza as I waddled into Chemistry, navigating sluggishly around the hulking frat boys and giggling sorority girls and mousy bookish types who lugged around colossal backpacks that were always threatening to knock an unsuspecting passerby off their feet at each unthinking turn. But while I was arriving in the classroom—physically, anyway; emotionally I was standing in an empty field somewhere screaming I cannot be falling in love with a hundred-year-old mobster vampire!! into the void—Ben was a countercurrent darting through the crowds and towards the hallway door.

“Where are you rushing off to, old guy?” I asked him. “Bingo? To renew your AARP membership? To walk vigorously around the inside of a mall?”

Ben responded in that deep, low, humorless voice. “They’re doing some kind of blood typing experiment today. I probably shouldn’t be around for that.”

“Oh.” I glanced over at Professor Belvin, who was indeed hunched over the table at the front of the classroom and laying out rows of Q-tips and rectangular paper cards and alcohol swabs and bottles of clear liquid, whistling what sounded like Time Of The Season.

Ben sighed irritably, rubbing his crinkled forehead. “I already used up all my absences. I’m gonna have to make up a compelling last-minute tragedy. Tell Professor Belvin my grandma died or something.”

“I mean, technically, she did at some point.”

“Ugh,” Ben replied, not consoled at all.

“Wait, I got this.”

I gripped my belly, sank into the nearest chair, and groaned dramatically. It really didn’t require all that much acting. Ben watched with huge green eyes, confounded.

“Miss Swan!” Professor Belvin cried, rushing over. He was wearing khaki pants, a white shirt, and suspenders and a matching bowtie patterned with bubbling multicolored test tubes. Belvin had been Charlie’s classmate from kindergarten through high school, and still palled around with him over Bud Lights and low-quality nachos on bowling league nights. Bowling was, evidently, the sport of choice for middle-aged Forks dads. Also for Welsh vampire pseudo-dads born in the 1400s.

I whimpered in reply.

“Are you alright, Miss Swan?” Professor Belvin asked worriedly. A few students had begun to congregate around the scene. I felt a pang of genuine nausea as perspiration beaded at my temples. You better appreciate this, Mr. Hardy.

“I’m okay,” I said, in my most pained and martyrish voice. “I don’t want to miss...today’s lesson...it looks so fascinating...but I didn’t wash my kale thoroughly last night and then I had a salad for dinner and now I might have food poisoning.”

“You poor thing!” Belvin exclaimed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about class. You can just answer some textbook questions or something, no problem. Please go get checked out to make sure you’re alright.”

“Could someone...maybe...help me get to the campus clinic...?” My eyes listed towards Ben. “Maybe...my lab partner?”

“That’s a good idea.” Professor Belvin turned to Ben. “Mr. Lee, would you be willing to escort Miss Swan to the clinic? You can do an alternative assignment as well. If you don’t mind missing the blood typing lab.”

“I’d be delighted to help,” Ben responded, still puzzled. I offered him my hand, and Ben took it, grimacing as he led me out into the hallway. As soon as we were alone, he dropped my hand and opened up several feet of space between us.

“Thanks so much, Miss Swan, you are a lifesaver,” I said, imitating his morose, rumbling British accent. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Ben. You can repay me in basic courteous conversation and Starbucks gift cards and by maybe not killing me.”

“So you’re totally fine?” Ben asked flatly.

“Of course. Nobody with taste eats raw kale.”

Frowning, frustrated, he started puffing on his vape pen. “You need to stop doing nice things for me. It’s extremely disorienting.”

“This may be difficult for you to come to terms with, but you, Ben Hardy, are worth being the recipient of nice things.”

“No, you still don’t get it,” he snapped, grabbing my wrist, spinning me around to face him in the empty hallway. “That’s all I’ve ever done. Kill people like you.”

The Fire

“Who is the cutest little alpaca I’ve ever seen?!” I cooed in a squeaky falsetto, scratching her wooly brown chin. “Who’s going to come home and live with me and Charlie forever?!”

“That’s illegal, ma’am.” Joe was watching me, arms crossed over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, smiling wistfully.

“It is not!”

“It actually is,” Rami added. He was lying on the grass and gazing up into the roiling, grey, late-afternoon clouds with his fingers laced behind his black hair. None of the Lees were wearing sunglasses now. “A house has to be zoned as farmland to have alpacas, which ours is. Yours, tragically, is not.”

“What are you, a lawyer?” I shot back.

Rami grinned. “I was once. And I will be again, in approximately...let me count...five years.”

“That’s what you want to do with your boundless time and energy? Be a corporate shill?”

Joe cackled. “He tried that already. It lasted about five minutes.”

“Manhattan in the 1980s,” Rami reminisced dreamily. “Hundred-hour workweeks. Cocaine everywhere. What a time to be alive. And I hardly ever left the office, so the sunlight thing wasn’t a problem.”

“Okay, so you’re not in it for the Maseratis or the drugs...”

“I’m going to be an immigration attorney,” Rami told me. “Help refugees apply for asylum to come to the United States. Arabic-speaking refugees, in particular.”

“Wow. I stand corrected. That’s wonderful, Rami. I now feel like a total tool for only aspiring to save sea turtles.” But it made sense, of course. What would any good person spend eternity doing? Making the world just a tiny bit better. I glanced at Joe, teasing him. “And you just study how to get rich, huh?”

“I’m a venture capitalist,” he said brightly. “I invest in small businesses, counsel them, encourage them, connect them with other people in the industry, help them grow. And I don’t need the money, so I take a practically microscopic equity stake. I’m basically a professional charitable donor.”

“And you get to put all of those charming mob-guy skills to use.”

Joe winked. “Exactly.”

“Doesn’t it get old?” I asked both of them. “Being college students?”

Rami shrugged. “No really. The world changes, schools of thought evolve, our own interests fluctuate. Every few decades we circle back and go for another round, fresh degrees, maybe new professions entirely. You learn something new every time.”

“And I’ve been waiting for all my old professors to die so I could go back to U Chicago for fifty years!” Joe shouted. “I’m fucking pumped!”

“But...don’t you already know everything...?”

Joe chuckled. “We’re vampires, Baby Swan, we’re not prodigies. We’re sharper than the average person, sure. But it still takes effort to learn. And we all have things we suck at.”

“Like not being obnoxious,” Rami said, nodding to Joe.

“Like not minding our own fucking business,” Joe hurled back.

“I cannot control the fact that I’m a literal mind reader—”

“You boys behave yourselves,” Mercy called in her relaxed, drawling Southern accent, swinging a basket of carrots and zucchinis and cabbages that she’d dug out of her garden, wearing a long flowing yellow dress and her hair tied up in a scarf. She plodded over in her bare feet, handed me a few carrots, then pointed to the chocolate-colored alpaca I was petting. “That lady there is Athens. And the black and white one by Joe is Augusta. Then there’s Norcross, and Alpharetta, and Savannah...and that real chubby grey one heading into the barn is Marietta.”

“I adore them,” I replied, beaming. Mercy had sheep and pigs and a couple of cows too, all ambling contently around the emerald green field as the first threads of fiery, rust-hued sunset were lighting up the horizon.

“We used to have ducks, too,” Mercy mused. “But they disappeared recently...”

Rami passed Joe a knowing smirk. Joe mouthed back menacingly: Do not.

“Hey mom,” Rami piped.

Joe jabbed an index finger at him. “No, don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare—”

“Joe ate the ducks.”

“You bitch!” Joe cried.

“Oh, Joseph,” Mercy sighed mournfully, lifting a brush out of her basket and dragging it down Athens’ fuzzy back.

“I’m sorry! It was one time! I was weak!”

“I’m not angry, sweetheart,” Mercy said. “I’m just disappointed.”

“Mom, that’s worse!”

Rami climbed to his feet and swatted grass and leaves off his cardigan sweater. “Alright folks. My work here is done. Peace out.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do a hit and run like that, hey, Rami, hey, hey, come back here!”

Joe trotted after him, shouting a litany of insults, as Rami laughed hysterically and careened into the house. Lucy and Gwil were in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies; Scarlett was in the garage changing the brakes on Ben’s Vantage; Ben was noticeably absent from the Lee household and presumably out hunting. It was remarkably easy to picture his fingers closing around bloodied flesh, a wolf’s or a bear’s or an elk’s, lowering his fangs to a pulsing jugular.

“So you’re really into this whole farming thing,” I said to Mercy, looking out over the field rimmed by towering western hemlock trees. I didn’t know exactly how many acres of land the Lees owned, but it was a lot. Mercy adopted rescue animals, donated vegetables from the garden to local food pantries, and occasionally rented out the barn as a wedding venue.

“I’ve always loved it. I had a farm, you know. Before I met Gwil.”

Before she died.

“I didn’t know that,” I murmured, wanting to learn more, afraid to ask, never meaning to pry or offend. “I remember you mentioned the Civil War, and a barn...being...well...being trapped in it. When it burned down.”

Mercy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s the polite version of the story, isn’t it?” She set down her basket in the tall grass, tugged distractedly at a dark strand of hair that had escaped her scarf, stared glassily out into the sunset muted with cloud cover as Athens moseyed away. “Do you want to know what happened? I’ll tell you if you do. But I don’t want to upset you, dear.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “I’d like to know.”

“We had a little farm out in the middle of nowhere,” Mercy explained. “My husband Arthur and I.”

And it felt so outlandish to hear her say those words. Husband. She had a husband before Gwil. She had a whole life before this one.

“He had a bullet in one leg and a limp from a hunting accident when he was a boy, so he was never called up to enlist. It was a rich man’s war, but it was the poor men they sent to die in it. That’s how it always goes, I expect. And how it always will. We had two daughters, twelve and fifteen. I won’t tell you their names. Don’t take that personally, dear. I haven’t spoken their names in a hundred and fifty years.”

She turned her murky eyes—like homemade bread crust or coffee or the wood walls of a log cabin—to me.

“When the Union Army came through, they were beasts. Men like that...men who have been killing and looting and burning their way across hundreds of miles...all they want to do is get blood on their hands. That’s all they remember how to do. So that’s exactly what they did. They slaughtered our cattle for meat. They burned the house down. And then they took me and my girls, and they...they...well, you know what they did. What men do when they’re monsters. And when Arthur tried to stop them, they shot him in the chest and spit mouthfuls of chewing tobacco on him as he bled out in the dirt. Called him a coward and a deserter. Told him everything they were planning to do to me and my girls. And when they were done doing all of those things, they locked the three of us in the barn and set it ablaze. I was the only one still alive when Gwilym got there. And believe me, I didn’t want to be.”

“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my throat burning for Mercy, for her family, for this divinely kind and benign and tender woman.

She patted my cheek fondly. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. I got a second chance. Gwilym gave me a second chance. That’s what he does, you know. He finds broken people, fixes them, loves them fiercely. He gave me forever. Two more daughters. And three sons.”

Three sons, I thought. Rami and Joe and Ben. She counted Ben.

“Does someone have to be dying?” I asked her softly. “You know. To become like you.”

“No, honey. That’s just how Gwil does things.”

“But...why? What’s the possible downside? Why not change anyone who wants it?” Why not change someone like me?

And Mercy peered over at me, contemplative, curious, like tiptoeing gingerly over rotted floorboards, like weaving through a minefield. Like she was trying to figure out what I’d already been told.

“Hey Baby Swan,” Joe said, startling me. I whirled to see him waiting with a patient smile and his hands buried in his pockets. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

He led me upstairs to Gwil’s 1960s-style office, where Dr. Lee had cleaned and stitched the tiny gash in my forehead after my misadventure with Ben in the woods outside Calawah University, where the wall above the sturdy oak desk was adorned with a massive painting filled with gorgeous, unfamiliar, inhuman faces. Joe took a deep breath, and then he began.

“This,” he announced, introducing the painting, “is the vampire version of the mob. They can trace their existence back to before the Roman Empire. They find people who they think have potential, have talents. They turn them. And then they offer them a hundred-year contract. You sign it, or they murder you. When your term is up, you get to decide whether to renew or leave. But almost no one ever leaves. After a century of taking orders and guarding and killing, what else do you know how to do?” He pointed to the terrifying woman with long white hair and red eyes. “That’s Liesl. She’s literally Satan, only blonder. The chick with the tattoos is Akari. She can meet a human and tell what powers they’ll have once they’re changed. Very useful, obviously. The dude who looks like Idris Elba is Cato, and he’s actually an okay guy, he’s the one currently assigned to keep tabs on Gwil’s coven...”

I soaked the names in like rain into dark, lush Washington earth as Joe relayed them to me, strange and beautiful names: Aruna, Phelan, Morana, Adair, Zora, Araminta, Honora, Victorien, Rigel, Sahel.

“Who’s that?” I asked, gesturing to the young man standing at the center of the painting, the one with black hair and eyes so light and luminous a brown they were almost gold and a sinister, unmistakable magnetism.

“Very good question,” Joe complimented. “That’s their Al Capone. That’s Larkin.”

“And what’s his vampire superpower?” He has to have one. I know he does.

“How do I even put that into words? It’s more than charisma. It’s slightly less than mind reading. He can see through people, what they want most, what they fear. And he can make them do things.”

I gazed into those omniscient glowing eyes, feeling myself getting caught there, feeling some primal dread swelling in the capillary beds of my heart and lungs and bone marrow. “Joe, I’m thoroughly enjoying this captivating backstory, really, but...why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because you asked why Ben is so different than the rest of us. This is why.” Joe waved broadly at the painting, at the closest thing his world had to a mafia, to unrepentant killers, to actual demons. “This is where he came from.”

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publickoccurances · 3 years

Text

Headcanon: Pipers mum is alive and in the Commonwealth. After Nat was born she got postpartum depression. There was no one to help her overcome this and so she decided it would be best to leave. She’s unaware that her husband was dead and her girls had been fending for themselves for years.

Piper and Sole had decided to end their day in Goodneighbour at The Third Rail. The couple often ended up here at the end of a long day in the crooked place. It was good to unwind. They would usually then spend the night at the hotel close by.

“I’m telling ya Blue, I knew from the start she was gonna double cross you.” Piper shrugged her shoulders, an accomplished smile on her lips.

Sole rolled their eyes, giving Piper a slight nudge. “Oh shut it sweetheart. If you knew that from the beginning why did you come into the tunnel with me?” They countered, watching their lover with curious eyes.

Piper tapped her hat. “I’m a reporter Blue. I saw potential for a story, so I came along. Plus something about you carrying out a heist gets my motor running.” She teased playfully. “Now I’m gonna get us a table. And you get us some drinks.”

Sole smiled and shook their head. “Yeah yeah... see you in a second.” They murmured before heading to the bar.

“Hey Charlie, usual please ol’ boy. Nuka cola and vodka for the missus and a whiskey for me.” Sole nodded as they leaned against the bar. Tapping their fingers against the counter as they waited on Charlie pouring the drinks.

It only took about five minutes and Sole was walking through the joint, drinks in hands. They spotted the back of Pipers head. That was odd, she’d taken her hat off. She usually left it on.

“Here we are lover girl... Nuka Cola and vodka, a double of course.” They murmured as they kissed Pipers cheek.

Suddenly the person Sole just kissed jumped up and turned to face them. “Excuse me? Lover girl?” An older woman demanded.

Sole could barely believe their eyes. This stranger looked almost identical to Piper. Just older. “Oh shit! I am so sorry- you just... I thought you were my girlfriend!”

It was at the commotion that Piper walked on over, trying to figure out what was going on. “Blue did I just see you kiss someone-.” Pipers jaw dropped as she stared at the woman stood in front of them. No. Surely not. “Ma?” Piper breathed, suddenly as pale as a sheet.

The older women matched Pipers expression, going just as pale. “Piper...?” She whispered, pain clear in her voice.

Sole suddenly clicked on to what was happening. Piper hardly ever spoke about her mother. Just said that she had been out of the picture for a long time. For some reason they had assumed that her mother was dead. But here they were. Staring right at her.

In unison Piper and her mother both sat, both women’s mouths were slightly open with shock, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. They were the spitting image of each other.

The silence seemed to go on for a very long time. But it was the older woman that spoke first. “You were just a girl when I last saw you.” She whispered in disbelief as her eyes scanned her daughters face. “Youre all grown up.”

Piper took a moment to process what her mother had just said. She wasn’t sure how she was feeling in that moment. This was the woman that had left her family. Disappeared into the night. Broke her fathers heart and left her and her sister motherless.

“Yeah... well... eleven years has that effect.” Piper muttered, her eyes said it all. She was suddenly feeling angry.

Mrs Wright coughed slightly, rubbing the back of her head. It was strange. Her and Piper seemed to have the exact same mannerisms. “Piper... sweetie. I had every intention of coming home to you girls and your father but I-.”

Piper cut her off before she could finish that sentence. She didn’t want to hear it. “He’s dead Ma. Not long after you left. Murdered.”

Mrs Wright suddenly felt a twinge in her heart. Her husband murdered. That meant the girls had been alone for that long? Oh god.

“Who took care of you?” The older women whispered. Every part of her wanted to reach out and take her daughters hand. But she knew better. She could already tell Piper had taken after her. And that meant somewhere in her was a pretty intense temper.

“No one.” Piper whispered. She was trying not to let on how upset she was. How hurt she was. The young girl her mother had last seen was dying to get out. Dying to throw herself into her mothers arms. But the grown up wouldn’t allow it. “I saved up and brought Nat to the city.”

Mrs Wright nodded her head slowly. Listening intently as her daughter spoke. “You raised your sister?” She asked gently.

Pipers nose scrunched up slightly at that. Yeah. She had. She’d raised her sister. What of it? “I had to. No one else was looking out for her.” She shot back. There it was. The temper.

Sole rested their hands on Pipers shoulder. “Sweetheart... just. Let her speak yeah?” They could tell by the way Pipers mother was shifting about in her seat she had something important to say. Because that’s exactly how Piper would act when she had something important to say.

Piper took a deep breath, leaning into Blues touch. Thank god they were there with her. Who knows how this reunion would have went had she been alone.

“Piper I need you to know- I didn’t just leave you.” Her mother began, reaching out for her daughters hand and praying to God she wouldn’t flinch away. “After Natalie was born... oh Piper I had such awful thoughts.” Mrs Wright explained. Pain clear in her voice. “Looking at her wasn’t like how I looked at you. She wasn’t my sweet little girl to care for. She was a burden.”

Piper pulled her hand away as her mother spoke. How could she say such terrible things about Nat. What kind of mother would say these things.

Mrs Wright let out a sob. “No sweetie... it’s not what you think. I loved your sister. With all my heart. But my brain just couldn’t register that.” She explained. Everything was suddenly becoming very clear. “No one in town could help me. I thought if I could get to the city there would be a doctor who could help me get better. But there wasn’t.”

Piper suddenly felt very guilty. She had spent all these years hating her mother for walking out on them. But in reality she had left seeking help so she could be a better parent. It made sense now. All those memories she had of her mother being around when Nat was first born, they made sense. She had been ill. Not heartless. ill.

Piper quickly wiped away at some tears that were forming in her eyes. “Ma... you should come see her now. She’s grown up. If you could just see her now-.”

Mrs Wright shook her head. A sad smile painted across her lips. “Sweetheart. If I came into her life now it would complicate things. She’d ask questions. She’d blame herself.” She began to explain. Yet again reaching out for her daughters hand. “She doesn’t need me. Not when she’s got you. You raised that little girl. And I bet she has turned out more amazing than had I stuck around.”

Piper sniffled slightly, nodded her head at the compliment. “Yeah... she is pretty amazing Ma. You would be so proud of her. So would dad .”

#fallout #gaming #piper wright #bethesda #fallout 4 #fanfic #fallout headcanons #headcanon #fallout companions react #fallout companions #fallout series

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