#Broken Mirrors is very heavily mirror based I swear

[soliverse]

cinderella and the mystery of the red lipstick (sfw version) - d.sc

reader x roommate!winwin

genre: fluff, humor, (optional smut below)

warnings: a bunch of swearing, mean insults and a bit of gaslighting

word count: 2972

synopsis: this is another Cinderella fic, except for the fact that she left lipstick stains instead of glass slippers

tags:

@byutafy for the short notice beta reading. love you!

networks:

@nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape @kwritersworld @culture-cafe @neowritingsnet @neoswitchnet @czennienet @nct-writers

prompt:

The song it was based on was Lips by NCT 127 (although it leaned towards the demo version more)

It was also a bit upbeat because the song Cinderella by CNBLUE (the Youth With You version) has been stuck on my head for ages now.

Enjoy reading!

Love, Ellie.

It was already two in the afternoon but Winwin still stayed lying in bed, clutching his blanket close to his body in an attempt to prevent the chill of the afternoon breeze from coming in contact with his bare skin.

The plan was to stay in bed until all remnants of the vodka and last night's shenanigans have washed away. Or until he dies from starvation. But his roommates have other things in mind.

"WINWIN HYUNG!"

He was jolted awake by the loud noise coming from his bedroom window. Half-awake, he peeked through the sheets to see what the commotion was about.

The first thing he saw was Lucas holding his now broken doorknob in one hand, happily waving it around like a lightstick. Hendery was happily mumbling some bullshit that he didn't care enough to comprehend. Xiaojun was holding a tube-like contraption that he assumed was confetti, Ten and Yangyang were on the side, dancing like the game show girls while holding up each side of a handmade banner stating "Congrats on getting laid!" badly written with a green crayon. Meanwhile, Kun at the end of the line, leaning back at the door frame with his arms crossed while watching all of the chaos unfold right before him.

"Fuck off..."

Winwin grunted and grabbed the pillow under his head, throwing it with full force so that it ended up hitting Xiaojun on his chest.

They seem to have taken the hint because they all scrambled outside, laughing their asses off as they try to get away and avoid getting their asses kicked by a martial artist.

Meanwhile, Winwin buried his face under the thick sheets, trying his best to block the light coming from outside from reaching his eyes, heightening his already throbbing headache. He was planning to stay in bed no matter how loud his stomach grumbled, but his resolve is weaker than he expected. Begrudgingly, he dragged his tired ass out of bed to take a cold shower, hoping that will shake his hangover out.

///

“Holy shit.”

This wasn’t the usual statement that he says to himself whenever he would look at himself in the morning. However, as soon as he lifted his head in the mirror to wash his face, he might as well be an extra for a horror movie.

All over his upper body, especially the neck and chest area, was filled with red smudges. He also found tiny hints of it at the corners of his lips. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was lipstick.

Whoever he made out with (or had sex with) last night must’ve gone wild and tried to mark every part of him that she could place her lips on.

Winwin felt his heart sink. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember who he was last night. Just like his body, the memories of her red lips lingered on his mind. But that’s about it.

It took him a long time to squint his eyes and try to recall the moments leading up to him getting on the bed with someone, but it only made his headache worse. Defeated, he chose to let everything go and proceeded to hop in the shower just like he initially intended.

He opened the shower, letting it get to his desired temperature before he stepped in and let the water flow from his hair to the rest of his body. He didn’t move, instead of leaning one of his hands on the wall for support as he closed his eyes and tried to soothe himself with the water pressure from the showerhead. He took a deep breath, letting the air come out slowly of his lips, eyes still heavily shut.

That’s when the memories kicked in.

He finally remembered being in that same position, in a familiar corner of their dorm, as he leaned over to kiss the girl with the red lips. He also remembered the heat, the intensity of the kiss as his subconscious made him remember that he was gasping for air afterward. And so, he resorted to kissing her jaws instead. She willingly returned the favor, which is probably where he’d gotten the smudges that he found that morning, and how her red lips formed a proud smile as she kept on going, painting his fair skin with her rouge.

He sucked in another lungful of air before opening his eyes and hopping back into reality. He’s still clueless as to how the girl looked like, but he was determined to find out who’s the owner of those red luscious lips, and he would love it all over him again.

///

Sicheng came out of his room already dressed up, water still dripping from his hair to the towel that he placed on his neck. He made his way to the kitchen and he found the rest of his friends sitting around the table, smiling like idiots.

“What?”

He asked, already annoyed about how they’ve been acting all day, or at least, for the past two hours.

“Yangyang saw you enter your room last night. With a girl,” says Kun.

“Uhh, duh?” Ten replied, raising an eyebrow at the older as he grabbed the butter knife and spread peanut butter over a piece of bread.

“How sure is everyone that it was a girl?” Hendery squinted his eyes, trying to look intimidating as he interrogated his friend for further details about last night.

“Why is everyone so concerned if I fucked a girl or not? Or if I fucked at all?” Winwin replied in annoyance, coming out almost whiney, hoping that they would cut the questions out and leave him and his breakfast alone.

“You don’t know either, do you?” Xiaojun tried not to laugh as he stuffed a sunny-side-up egg in his mouth, failing at the last minute to the point that he almost spat some of it out.

Winwin sighed. He knows they will plague him with questions until next week and will do anything to squeeze it out of him at the best of their abilities. Him getting laid feels like some event to be celebrated because out of all the guys, he was the least interested in women. Not that he doesn’t like them, it’s that he just refused to do it unless he’s genuinely interested in the girl.

Or guy.

Was it a guy?

Winwin resorted to stuffing his mouth with as much food as he can because it would give him an excuse to not speak further and answer their questions. For how long he can keep it up is a question that he’ll have to face once his plate full of food is decimated.

///

By the time you get into your brother’s dorm, the whole place was so trashed that you even hesitated to proceed inside. However, your mother asked you that morning to come over to your brother’s dorm as he refuses to reply to her texts and respond to her calls that morning.

“Ssup, nerd.”

You always cringe whenever Hendery calls you that nickname. Not that it affects you or anything. It was just so… old-school. You’re a big fan of insults and you would certainly be happier if the nickname was a bit more creative.

“Ssup, failure.” You replied, sitting right beside him as you grabbed a plate and helped yourself with the food served at the table, courtesy of Kun. He’s the only one that’s competent enough to fry eggs that beautifully.

“Mom’s been calling non-stop since last night. I didn’t tell her I wasn’t with you. I couldn’t come up with an excuse so I just told her you slept early because of morning classes.”

Hendery snickered.

You and he have very different lifestyles. He was supposed to be two years ahead of you in college, but he’s always caught up in partying and having fun that he missed some subjects that he had to retake that year. One more fuck up and you’ll be joining him in classes next year. And as your parents’ only hope, you feel compelled to stay away from all the fun stuff until you graduate. That is also the reason why Hendery felt it was his moral obligation to shoo you away from last night’s party, despite sharing the same room as him.

At least that's what he told you. You have a reason to believe that he shooed you away last night just so he can do whatever he wanted without you around to snitch on him.

“Everything’s fine, kid. I already told her the same thing last night. You and I share the same brain.”

“Yes, except one of us has his brain fried by substance abuse and the other has a perfectly functioning human brain capable of making future science discoveries.”

Your eyes then diverted to the guy sitting right across you. He looked sickly and pale, his organs probably screaming inside asking to die.

“What’s up with him?” You asked your brother.

“He had done the deed with a guy last night.” Winwin, with an expressionless face, was quick to throw a flying spoon in Hendery’s direction. The milk splattered everywhere, but Hendery was able to evade it, laughing maniacally as he wiped the milk off of his arms.

“Hey, you’re good with this investigation stuff, right? Maybe you can help prince charming over here find his Cinderella?”

///

"Tell me what you can remember."

Winwin thought you looked ridiculous when you grabbed a pen and a notepad, looking like some low-budget investigator in the movie. He wasn't in the mood to play along, but he might as well humor you and find out what happened last night.

"This may not help at all, but I can't remember jack shit except for one thing," He paused. You raised both eyebrows expectantly, signaling him to answer faster. "Red lips. That's the one thing I haven't forgotten about."

You scribbled the word, red lips in your notepad.

You scribbled a few more words and nodded as if you understood its implication.

"Well, that doesn't narrow down the suspects at all."

You placed your notepad in your pocket and stood up from your seat.

"We shall now go and investigate the crime scene."

///

You decided that the crime scene was Winwin's bedroom since this is where he found himself last.

Winwin saw that you're very detail-oriented, looking at every nook at cranny to see traces of the mystery person around and aid in the investigation.

His room was cleaner than you'd expected, so finding things that stick out or are out of place will be a clear sign of the perpetrator.

You searched high and low, from the shelves to the bed, but you're only able to find two things that might help his case.

As soon as you lifted one of his pillowcases, you saw traces of red smeared across its white surface. Some of it even transferred in the bedsheets.

"Your story checks out. It is red lipstick." You lifted the pillow and walked towards Winwin, who's just sitting at one of his bean bags and mostly just observing you doing your stuff.

You pointed out the smudges to him and he nodded. You then proceeded to grab one of your magnifiers from your backpack and looked at the stains for closer inspection.

"Seeing its transferability, I can say that the lipstick in question has a satin finish. The shade, as far as I can see, is somewhere in between orange and bright red." You grabbed your notepad once again and listed down your observations.

"Know anyone who wears that often?" He proceeded to shake his head.

"Alright then. Now, we ask the witnesses."

You were about to leave the room when Winwin called you out to call your attention.

"Hmm?"

"I think there's something under the bed."

He stood up from his seat and proceeded to walk towards his bed, kneeling as he tried to reach for something below.

You were surprised to see what he found, though. In between his fingers is a piece of thin, lace material, glowing red just like the lipstick shade. It was someone's underwear.

"Yeah… I think we should keep that from the witnesses."

///

"Where were you at the time of the incident?"

As it turns out, the rest of the boys are no more helpful than Winwin. You just finished interviewing Kun, Ten, Yangyang, Xiaojun, and Lucas. The boys themselves barely remember what they did last night, let alone whatever their friend was doing. Meanwhile, the victim (aka Dong Sicheng) sat there right alongside you while you asked the questions. You asked them if they were helpful at all, but alas, nothing resonates to him.

"Hey, aren't you going to ask me about last night?"

Hendery popped out in the makeshift interrogation room (aka the living room) and sat down right beside you, peeking in at your notes.

"Nope. I only interview reliable sources. You can barely remember your stuff sober." You stuffed your notepad back again at your backpack, hugging it close to your body to keep it from your brother.

"I saw Winwin with someone though. He was making out with someone right just a few meters away from his bedroom."

"Go on…"

"I didn't see her well though. She was pinned across the wall and Sicheng hyung's body was blocking the view."

You sighed.

"See. It was pretty useless information."

He was about to say something else, but you cut him off.

"I'll keep them in mind, thank you very much."

///

You’ve finally sat down back again in the kitchen to give yourself a moment of peace to piece the things you found together. Winwin is just right beside you, just quietly observing just as usual.

Everything is laid out across the kitchen table, your notepad, the pillowcase, the underwear (which is kept in a ziplock bag for hygienic purposes).

“You still don’t remember anything?”

“I do remember seeing those before, but nothing is still coming out. I still can’t remember who she is.”

You can tell that Sicheng was getting a bit frustrated. He was trying his best to remember as he once again shut his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows, seeing if there is anything that he is missing.

As he did this, Hendery popped in again in the kitchen, this time holding a full laundry basket.

“I would just like to let you know that I am being a good brother and roommate by doing your laundry.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you Hendery. You did well." You smiled at your brother to acknowledge him, but you mostly did it just to shoo him away from the investigation room. He seems to have gotten the idea and left as soon as he showed the basket to you for one last time.

He shut the door and you were met with a deafening silence once again. This time though, you felt weird energy coming from the guy right in front of you. He stared at you for a long time, specifically your lips, and then he started to break down right in front of you.

"Shit."

"Hmm?"

You asked him what the problem was, but all that came out of his mouth are grunts and a string of curses.

"You alright?"

He was now going between laughing and frustration, rubbing his hands on his face as he lets out all emotions.

"It was you all along. You're red lips girl."

You smiled as you looked at your phone to check the time.

"Five hours. I'm impressed. If that was my brother, it would've taken him a week or two."

"Why didn't you just tell me? I feel stupid."

"And take the fun out of it? Nope."

You then watch him react, different kinds of emotions flooding in at the same time. You laughed as you stood from your seat and patted his back.

"What gave it away?"

He stopped reacting for a while, composing himself as he relayed his deductions to you.

"I had my suspicions when you opened your bag to get the magnifying glass. I saw a red lipstick tube scattered across but I dismissed it since any girl would have lipstick on her bag. I was also confused when you refused to acknowledge the underwear. I saw it from my point of view, but it's like you purposely didn't look under the bed just so you won't find it. You know it was there, didn't you?"

You finally grabbed a seat right beside him, interested to hear what he has to say next.

"And then there's Hendery's story. You didn't ask him to mess with him. It's because he did see us. I remember now, it's what got us in this mess in the first place…"

You nodded to acknowledge him. You've always known that he's a bit smarter than the other guys, but he was very observant as well. That's why he was quiet all the time.

"Lastly, when Hendery came in with your laundry, there was something sticking out," He picked up the ziplock and held it across your face. "The bra that came with this, it was sandwiched along with your other clothing, but the bright color stuck out to me."

"Mhm… " You nodded in approval. You didn't even notice that last one, but he was able to pick that as well.

"And then I stared at your lips for a while. That's when it hit me. It was the same lips that I claimed last night. The red lips that drove me crazy…"

You gave him a small round of applause as he finished his spiel.

"Honestly, you were on point on everything. I'm just sad that you can't remember anything."

His moment of clarity was shut down and he smiled apologetically.

"Want me to tell you what happened?"

He nodded profusely.

It was already two in the afternoon but Winwin still stayed lying in bed, clutching his blanket close to his body in an attempt to prevent the chill of the afternoon breeze from coming in contact with his bare skin.

The plan was to stay in bed until all remnants of the vodka and last night's shenanigans have washed away. Or until he dies from starvation. But his roommates have other things in mind.

"WINWIN HYUNG!"

He was jolted awake by the loud noise coming from his bedroom window. Half-awake, he peeked through the sheets to see what the commotion was about.

The first thing he saw was Lucas holding his now broken doorknob in one hand, happily waving it around like a lightstick. Hendery was happily mumbling some bullshit that he didn't care enough to comprehend. Xiaojun was holding a tube-like contraption that he assumed was confetti, Ten and Yangyang were on the side, dancing like the game show girls while holding up each side of a handmade banner stating "Congrats on getting laid!" badly written with a green crayon. Meanwhile, Kun at the end of the line, leaning back at the door frame with his arms crossed while watching all of the chaos unfold right before him.

"Fuck off..."

Winwin grunted and grabbed the pillow under his head, throwing it with full force so that it ended up hitting Xiaojun on his chest.

They seem to have taken the hint because they all scrambled outside, laughing their asses off as they try to get away and avoid getting their asses kicked by a martial artist.

Meanwhile, Winwin buried his face under the thick sheets, trying his best to block the light coming from outside from reaching his eyes, heightening his already throbbing headache. He was planning to stay in bed no matter how loud his stomach grumbled, but his resolve is weaker than he expected. Begrudgingly, he dragged his tired ass out of bed to take a cold shower, hoping that will shake his hangover out.

///

“Holy shit.”

This wasn’t the usual statement that he says to himself whenever he would look at himself in the morning. However, as soon as he lifted his head in the mirror to wash his face, he might as well be an extra for a horror movie.

All over his upper body, especially the neck and chest area, was filled with red smudges. He also found tiny hints of it at the corners of his lips. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was lipstick.

Whoever he made out with (or had sex with) last night must’ve gone wild and tried to mark every part of him that she could place her lips on.

Winwin felt his heart sink. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember who he was last night. Just like his body, the memories of her red lips lingered on his mind. But that’s about it.

It took him a long time to squint his eyes and try to recall the moments leading up to him getting on the bed with someone, but it only made his headache worse. Defeated, he chose to let everything go and proceeded to hop in the shower just like he initially intended.

He opened the shower, letting it get to his desired temperature before he stepped in and let the water flow from his hair to the rest of his body. He didn’t move, instead of leaning one of his hands on the wall for support as he closed his eyes and tried to soothe himself with the water pressure from the showerhead. He took a deep breath, letting the air come out slowly of his lips, eyes still heavily shut.

That’s when the memories kicked in.

He finally remembered being in that same position, in a familiar corner of their dorm, as he leaned over to kiss the girl with the red lips. He also remembered the heat, the intensity of the kiss as his subconscious made him remember that he was gasping for air afterward. And so, he resorted to kissing her jaws instead. She willingly returned the favor, which is probably where he’d gotten the smudges that he found that morning, and how her red lips formed a proud smile as she kept on going, painting his fair skin with her rouge.

He sucked in another lungful of air before opening his eyes and hopping back into reality. He’s still clueless as to how the girl looked like, but he was determined to find out who’s the owner of those red luscious lips, and he would love it all over him again.

///

Sicheng came out of his room already dressed up, water still dripping from his hair to the towel that he placed on his neck. He made his way to the kitchen and he found the rest of his friends sitting around the table, smiling like idiots.

“What?”

He asked, already annoyed about how they’ve been acting all day, or at least, for the past two hours.

“Hendery saw you enter your room last night. With a girl,” says Kun.

“Uhh, duh?” Ten replied, raising an eyebrow at the older as he grabbed the butter knife and spread peanut butter over a piece of bread.

“How sure is everyone that it was a girl?” Yangyang squinted his eyes, trying to look intimidating as he interrogated his friend for further details about last night.

“Why is everyone so concerned if I fucked a girl or not? Or if I fucked someone at all?” Winwin replied in annoyance, coming out almost whiney, hoping that they would cut the questions out and leave him and his breakfast alone.

“You don’t know either, do you?” Xiaojun tried not to laugh as he stuffed a sunny-side-up egg in his mouth, failing at the last minute to the point that he almost spat some of it out.

Winwin sighed. He knows they will plague him with questions until next week and will do anything to squeeze it out of him at the best of their abilities. Him getting laid feels like some event to be celebrated because out of all the guys, he was the least interested in women. Not that he doesn’t like them, it’s that he just refused to do it unless he’s genuinely interested in the girl.

Or guy.

Was it a guy?

Winwin resorted to stuffing his mouth with as much food as he can because it would give him an excuse to not speak further and answer their questions. For how long he can keep it up is a question that he’ll have to face once his plate full of food is decimated.

///

By the time you get into your brother’s dorm, the whole place was so trashed that you even hesitated to proceed inside. However, your mother asked you that morning to come over to your brother’s dorm as he refuses to reply to her texts and respond to her calls that morning.

“Ssup, nerd.”

You always cringe whenever Hendery calls you that nickname. Not that it affects you or anything. It was just so… old-school. You’re a big fan of insults and you would certainly be happier if the nickname was a bit more creative.

“Ssup, failure.” You replied, sitting right beside him as you grabbed a plate and helped yourself with the food served at the table, courtesy of Kun. He’s the only one that’s competent enough to fry eggs that beautifully.

“Mom’s been calling non-stop since last night. I didn’t tell her I wasn’t with you. I couldn’t come up with an excuse so I just told her you slept early because of morning classes.”

Hendery snickered.

You and he have very different lifestyles. He was supposed to be two years ahead of you in college, but he’s always caught up in partying and having fun that he missed some subjects that he had to retake that year. One more fuck up and you’ll be joining him in classes next year. And as your parents’ only hope, you feel compelled to stay away from all the fun stuff until you graduate. That is also the reason why Hendery felt it was his moral obligation to shoo you away from last night’s party, despite sharing the same room as him.

At least that's what he told you. You have a reason to believe that he shooed you away last night just so he can do whatever he wanted without you around to snitch on him.

“Everything’s fine, kid. I already told her the same thing last night. You and I share the same brain.”

“Yes, except one of us has his brain fried by substance abuse and the other has a perfectly functioning human brain capable of making future science discoveries.”

Your eyes then diverted to the guy sitting right across you. He looked sickly and pale, his organs probably screaming inside asking to die.

“What’s up with him?” You asked your brother.

“He had done the deed with a guy last night.” Winwin, with an expressionless face, was quick to throw a flying spoon in Hendery’s direction. The milk splattered everywhere, but Hendery was able to evade it, laughing maniacally as he wiped the milk off of his arms.

“Hey, you’re good with this investigation stuff, right? Maybe you can help prince charming over here find his Cinderella?”

///

"Tell me what you can remember."

Winwin thought you looked ridiculous when you grabbed a pen and a notepad, looking like some low-budget investigator in the movie. He wasn't in the mood to play along, but he might as well humor you and find out what happened last night.

"This may not help at all, but I can't remember jack shit except for one thing," He paused. You raised both eyebrows expectantly, signaling him to answer faster. "Red lips. That's the one thing I haven't forgotten about."

You scribbled the word, red lips in your notepad.

You scribbled a few more words and nodded as if you understood its implication.

"Well, that doesn't narrow down the suspects at all."

You placed your notepad in your pocket and stood up from your seat.

"We shall now go and investigate the crime scene."

///

You decided that the crime scene was Winwin's bedroom since this is where he found himself last.

Winwin saw that you're very detail-oriented, looking at every nook at cranny to see traces of the mystery person around and aid in the investigation.

His room was cleaner than you'd expected, so finding things that stick out or are out of place will be a clear sign of the perpetrator.

You searched high and low, from the shelves to the bed, but you're only able to find two things that might help his case.

As soon as you lifted one of his pillowcases, you saw traces of red smeared across its white surface. Some of it even transferred in the bedsheets.

"Your story checks out. It is red lipstick." You lifted the pillow and walked towards Winwin, who's just sitting at one of his bean bags and mostly just observing you doing your stuff.

You pointed out the smudges to him and he nodded. You then proceeded to grab one of your magnifiers from your backpack and looked at the stains for closer inspection.

"Seeing its transferability, I can say that the lipstick in question has a satin finish. The shade, as far as I can see, is somewhere in between orange and bright red." You grabbed your notepad once again and listed down your observations.

"Know anyone who wears that often?" He proceeded to shake his head.

"Alright then. Now, we ask the witnesses."

You were about to leave the room when Winwin called you out to call your attention.

"Hmm?"

"I think there's something under the bed."

He stood up from his seat and proceeded to walk towards his bed, kneeling as he tried to reach for something below.

You were surprised to see what he found, though. In between his fingers is a piece of thin, lace material, glowing red just like the lipstick shade. It was someone's underwear.

"Yeah… I think we should keep that from the witnesses."

///

"Where were you at the time of the incident?"

As it turns out, the rest of the boys are no more helpful than Winwin. You just finished interviewing Kun, Ten, Yangyang, Xiaojun, and Lucas. The boys themselves barely remember what they did last night, let alone whatever their friend was doing. Meanwhile, the victim (aka Dong Sicheng) sat there right alongside you while you asked the questions. You asked them if they were helpful at all, but alas, nothing resonates to him.

"Hey, aren't you going to ask me about last night?"

Hendery popped out in the makeshift interrogation room (aka the living room) and sat down right beside you, peeking in at your notes.

"Nope. I only interview reliable sources. You can barely remember your stuff sober." You stuffed your notepad back again at your backpack, hugging it close to your body to keep it from your brother.

"I saw Winwin with someone though. He was making out with someone right just a few meters away from his bedroom."

"Go on…"

"I didn't see her well though. She was pinned across the wall and Sicheng hyung's body was blocking the view."

You sighed.

"See. It was pretty useless information."

He was about to say something else, but you cut him off.

"I'll keep them in mind, thank you very much."

///

You’ve finally sat down back again in the kitchen to give yourself a moment of peace to piece the things you found together. Winwin is just right beside you, just quietly observing just as usual.

Everything is laid out across the kitchen table, your notepad, the pillowcase, the underwear (which is kept in a ziplock bag for hygienic purposes).

“You still don’t remember anything?”

“I do remember seeing those before, but nothing is still coming out. I still can’t remember who she is.”

You can tell that Sicheng was getting a bit frustrated. He was trying his best to remember as he once again shut his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows, seeing if there is anything that he is missing.

As he did this, Hendery popped in again in the kitchen, this time holding a full laundry basket.

“I would just like to let you know that I am being a good brother and roommate by doing your laundry.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you Hendery. You did well." You smiled at your brother to acknowledge him, but you mostly did it just to shoo him away from the investigation room. He seems to have gotten the idea and left as soon as he showed the basket to you for one last time.

He shut the door and you were met with a deafening silence once again. This time though, you felt weird energy coming from the guy right in front of you. He stared at you for a long time, specifically your lips, and then he started to break down right in front of you.

"Shit."

"Hmm?"

You asked him what the problem was, but all that came out of his mouth are grunts and a string of curses.

"You alright?"

He was now going between laughing and frustration, rubbing his hands on his face as he lets out all emotions.

"It was you all along. You're red lips girl."

You smiled as you looked at your phone to check the time.

"Five hours. I'm impressed. If that was my brother, it would've taken him a week or two."

"Why didn't you just tell me? I feel stupid."

"And take the fun out of it? Nope."

You then watch him react, different kinds of emotions flooding in at the same time. You laughed as you stood from your seat and patted his back.

"What gave it away?"

He stopped reacting for a while, composing himself as he relayed his deductions to you.

"I had my suspicions when you opened your bag to get the magnifying glass. I saw a red lipstick tube scattered across but I dismissed it since any girl would have lipstick on her bag. I was also confused when you refused to acknowledge the underwear. I saw it from my point of view, but it's like you purposely didn't look under the bed just so you won't find it. You know it was there, didn't you?"

You finally grabbed a seat right beside him, interested to hear what he has to say next.

"And then there's Hendery's story. You didn't ask him to mess with him. It's because he did see us. I remember now, it's what got us in this mess in the first place…"

You nodded to acknowledge him. You've always known that he's a bit smarter than the other guys, but he was very observant as well. That's why he was quiet all the time.

"Lastly, when Hendery came in with your laundry, there was something sticking out," He picked up the ziplock and held it across your face. "The bra that came with this, it was sandwiched along with your other clothing, but the bright color stuck out to me."

"Mhm… " You nodded in approval. You didn't even notice that last one, but he was able to pick that as well.

"And then I stared at your lips for a while. That's when it hit me. It was the same lips that I claimed last night. The red lips that drove me crazy…"

You gave him a small round of applause as he finished his spiel.

"Honestly, you were on point on everything. I'm just sad that you can't remember anything."

His moment of clarity was shut down and he smiled apologetically.

"Want me to tell you what happened?"

He nodded profusely.

(link to the optional smut right here)

#nctcreations #kdiarynet #kpopscape #kwritersworldnet #neoculturecafe #neoswitch #neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct-writers #nct #wayv #wayv smut #wayv fluff #wayv imagines #wayv humor #dong sicheng #winwin #winwin smut #winwin fluff #winwin fanfic #winwin au #winwin x reader #winwin wayv

[ambertea]

together

(read on AO3)

Day two of the Doctorrose Fic Marathon! Based on the prompt "holding hands".

“I want a job.” He announced one morning. Rose was hovering over a mirror as she lined her eyes with dark pencil. “I was thinking Torchwood.”

She stayed silent, her eyebrows furrowing as she rubbed at the mascara that had fallen under her eyes. His feet lead him to stand behind her, and he watched his nervous face reflected back at him.

“Is that okay?”

She nodded at herself in the mirror and straightened. “Talk to Pete.”

“Well, actually, I was thinking your department sounded more interesting.”

She turned and stared at him flatly.

“Tell me what my department does.”

“Alien…stuff.” He replied, rubbing at the back of his neck.

She brushed past him and his hands snatched at her wrists, quickly dropping them at the look on her face.

“Rose, please.”

Her eyes flicked to the clock behind him. “I’m running late.”

“Tomorrow, then?” He asked eagerly. She nodded.

“Tomorrow, yeah. Sure.”

The door banged behind her, and he collapsed onto the bed and let the silence taunt him once more.

It was nice, being stuck in one place, nice in a way that made his muscles tense and his fingers curl. The next-door neighbours always smiled at him when he put out the bins, and the girl at the coffee shop didn’t even ask for his order anymore, just thrust it at him with her usual dreary rage. The kids on the street all knew his name – well, one of his names – and called out to him to play football with them or help them with their homework.

Rose enjoyed it less. Everywhere she went, whispers followed. People eyed her nervously in the supermarket, would press themselves against the shelves as though she was an elephant thundering past, rather than a small human woman trying to buy milk.

Everyone he asked about it had just shrugged. Rose herself had ignored him entirely, but whether that was due to the question itself or just his presence was unclear.

He had spent three long years away from her, yet he had never missed her quite like this. She slept beside him—apparently, the only proof he had was slightly creased sheets and makeup stains on her pillows—and then would disappear with a cursory “Torchwood” thrown over her shoulder. Her phone, that was literally always in her hand, was apparently incapable of picking up his calls or answering texts, and his own only mocked him with read receipts.

He had thought she would understand this new him. He had changed his entire body before, and it was less than a day after that she had been holding his hand and snuggling into his side. It had been four months now, in this universe, four long and agonising months of sitting indoors and waiting for something to happen. Every time he looked at her, he hoped for some flood of recognition, a moment where she realised he was still him and so they ought to just get on with it.

Every day that passed brought less and less hope that that would ever happen.

“Wake up. Hey, wake up.”

He opened his eyes, blinking against the bleariness of sleep. A fan of blonde hair tickled the sides of his face, and brown eyes watched him blankly.

“Rose?”

“Come on.”

He sat up, stretching out his arms and working the kinks out of his back. The windows were dark, and the traffic outside was only loud, rather than its usual deafening. Rose folded her arms and stared down at him, and he fidgeted slightly under her gaze.

“What’s going on?”

“You wanted Torchwood. It’s time for Torchwood. Put these on,” she ordered, throwing some boots on the floor. “We need to go.”

“Right.” He said, limbs failing in his haste to stand. The room flickered with darkness for a second and he cursed stupid human blood pressure. “Where are we going?”

“Coast.”

“Which coast?” He asked, wrestling the boots onto his bare feet. Rose rolled her eyes and threw a jacket at him.

“The one next to the sea. Now come on, hurry up.”

He thrust his arms into the jacket and hurried after her retreating form. A blast of cold hair hit him like a bucket of cold water, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his sides as he shuffled forwards. Rose’s phone was at her ear, her voice hard as she barked out her instructions.

“Solomon street. Now.”

A green SUV whizzed round the corner, skidding to a stop perfectly in front of them. A young man stepped out, ginger and pale, and immediately saluted.

“Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Stewart. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The boy turned and marched down the street, picking his direction seemingly at random. Rose jumped into the drivers’ side and looked at him impatiently. He gawked at her through the window.

“What’s going on?”

“Later. C’mon.”

Her hands were white around the steering wheel, and he stared at them, feeling dread settle in his gut. The engine started up with a groan and he quickly ran around and jumped into the passenger side.

Before he could even reach for his seatbelt, the car lurched into action, and his head slapped into the headrest.

“Sorry,” Rose mumbled, her eyes not moving from the road as the speed only went up. He nodded frantically, quickly securing himself and then gripping tightly at the edges of the chair.

“Where are we going?” He asked, voice unnaturally high. For a moment, he thought he saw her mouth curve upwards, but within a second it was back to the same flat mask.

“Where do you think?” She scoffed. “Where else? Bad Wolf Bay.”

Their journey to Norway passed in heavy silences that were only occasionally broken by questions that Rose only ignored. He fiddled relentlessly with the cuffs of his shirt and tried to calm his stupid single heart, that pounded and screamed in his ears.

This, more than anything else, was what he hated about this world – he was never in control here, never understood what he should be doing, or what he should say. He never used to care about that stuff before. His life had always been spontaneous, he had prided himself on it in some sick, sad way, but all he could long for now was a sliver of certainty.

Was this how she would finally dump him? On the very beach they were headed towards, she had kissed him, and at the time it had felt like a hello. It seemed now it had been more of a goodbye. He had always known Rose, could always reliably understand what was going through her head at any given point. The woman he had been left with seemed like someone else entirely. A stranger, with the face of the woman he loved the most.

His whole species had died – all his family, all his friends. But this loneliness was far more insidious and hung heavily in the space between his bones.

“We’re here,” Rose said, and he startled. She jumped out of her seat and walked round to his door, flinging it open. He watched her eyes staring carefully at the space between his eyebrows. “Come on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“What, you think I’m going to drown you?”

“Well, I do now.”

She sighed. "I’m not. I promise you’re going to want to see this.”

He gazed at her, trying to understand what was behind the tense line of her mouth and her unwavering stare. Nothing revealed itself.

Unclipping his belt, he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Rose reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled him towards the beach.

It was hushed, only the angry crash of the waves breaking the idyllic landscape. His eyes flickered towards where it happened – where the TARDIS had landed and stranded him in this world of mystifying social cues and angry faces.

Her hand was clasped around his own tightly, as though trying to stop him from running away, but that was the last thing on his mind. It had been so long since he had held her hand. It was as comforting as it was devastating.

“Before the stars started going out,” Rose whispered, her soft voice carrying through the wind. “I was working on a way to get back.”

“The dimension canon.”

“Yeah, but other things too. We dumped them all when the canon started working.”

Her face was sad, wistful even and he squeezed her hand tightly. She startled, looking up at him, and he was alarmed by the wetness of her eyes.

“And?”

“And I’ve been working on one of them. Since…since we came back.”

His heart had literally leapt into the back of his throat. It was the only plausible explanation for the lack of air, for the way his whole body was screaming at him to go, to get out now. He hung his head and kicked at the sand.

“This is where the walls are weakest. We made a sort of, um, portal. You can just step through, see.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. With a tap of a key, a bright swirl opened around them, wind whipping around it angrily. He stepped back and pulled her with him.

“It’s not possible.”

“Same phone you gave me. Energy source from the original universe. Battery never runs out, so—”

“—so it has the power to send you back.” He finished darkly. She shook her head.

“No. Enough power to send you back.”

He thrust away from her hand and stared at her. She had tears running down her cheeks, and her eyes were wide and sad.

“No.”

“You’re not happy here.” She whispered, pulling on her earring.

“Neither are you.”

“No.” She agreed with a half-hearted chuckle.

“Rose,” he said desperately, clutching at her hands again, pressing his body as closely to hers as he could. “Rose, no. Please. I’m still the Doctor. I swear—the exact same man. I want to be here with you.”

Her hand came up and rested lightly on his cheek. He leaned into it, kissing her palm, greedily clutching at this small token of affection.

“I know,” she whispered. “Exact same man.”

“Yes! I’m him; I am exactly him—”

“The same man who left me on this beach.”

The wind from the portal settled. The sea calmed. Silence reigned.

“I stayed with you.”

“But left, as well.”

He was still clutching at her. His hands snaked around the back of her neck, pulling her forehead to his. Rose’s eyes were tightly shut. His were wide and searching.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered to her, and she only squeezed her eyes tighter, mascara leaking from her eyelashes.

“You left me, again. You didn’t even say goodbye. Why do you never say goodbye?”

“Rose—”

“I did everything I could do get back to you. Everything. Terrible things. But—” She opened her eyes and stared at him with open devastation. “You didn’t want me.”

“Of course, I did, I do.” he whispered. She ignored him.

“You just—left you here. To deal with me. To stop me trying to come back again, or whatever.” She cleared her throat and stepped out of his embrace and rubbed angrily at her eyes. “But it’s okay. I’ll stay here. I want you to be happy.”

“Rose, please.” He begged, voice breaking. He tried to grab her hand again, but she was stepping away from his embrace, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I want to be with you. I told you, didn’t I?”

“You said you could spend your life with me.”

“Yes—yes—please. I want that. I swear I want that. He had to go; you know he had to. But I,” his face broke into a tiny, happy smile. ��I got to stay.”

She stepped forwards cautiously, her hands shaking. He stayed as still as he could, resisting the urge to pull her tightly into his arms.

“You were dumped here too. You didn’t get a choice, either.” She whispered. He smiled and gently took her hand.

“I didn’t need a choice. My answer will always be you.”

She flung herself into his arms, and he clung to her desperately, nuzzling his face into her hair. Her hands were everywhere – along his back, down his arms, his neck. They clutched at his jaw and he pulled back, just a little, so he could take her in properly. There was still pain splashed across her face, but a cautious hope lit up her eyes.

“I love you.” He whispered. “Please let me.”

“Okay.” She whispered back.

She untangled herself from his embrace, and pulled out her phone, closing the portal as quickly as she’d opened it.

He offered out his hand, and she took it, a smile playing across her face.

“Together?”

“Together.” She nodded.

He pulled her away from the beach, feeling, for the first time in months, that they might just be okay.

#ive written something two days in a row.......this is how athletes must feel #fic #tentoo x rose #rose tyler #doctor who

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

#if you ask I will write a whole goddamn essay on Boromir #and why his death means more to us as we get older *whispers* babe I want the essay

Why must you always enable me I love it never stop. So. Wow. Where to even start. I rant through my tears about how much I love Boromir every time I watch Lord of the Rings, which I do about once a year with @captainofthefallen. Every time I watch it, his death means more to me, hits me harder, and I think that’s because the older we get, the more we identify with Boromir.

Here’s the thing. In all honesty, as a kid (I first read LotR when I was eleven, first watched the films at that age as well), I wasn’t too fond of Boromir. Oh I liked him all right, he was fine I suppose, but I didn’t connect with him. I was angry when he tried to take the One Ring from Frodo, and I cried a little at his death because death is sad and I was a kid, but it didn’t devastate me.

Because as a kid? I wanted to be Aragorn. The reluctant king who rises up and does the right thing, always. The guy who gets the amazing (be still my bi heart) Arwen, the Evenstar, fairest of the elves. The guy who literally kicks ass. The man who is noble, honorable, thoughtful, good with his words, humble, knows the burdens of leadership, who stands up and says there will be a day when the courage of men fails, but this is not that day.

I wanted to be the hero.

I noticed this trend among my peers growing up. We all loved Aragorn and wanted to be him. Boromir was sort of dismissed.

But then a funny thing happened, called getting older.

I got older, and I fucked up.

I got older, and depression hit.

I got older, and the weight of societal expectations, of being an older sibling, of adult responsibilities, of legacy, of family secrets, of family history, all settled on my shoulders.

I got older, and I learned that men are not always honorable, or kind, or humble, or the leaders they should be. And I learned how hard and desperate it is to continue to believe in the strength of men.

I got older, and I learned how temptation comes for us all, in different forms, and how we hurt people without meaning to, and how sometimes for all our regret and tears and apologies, we cannot mend what we broke.

I got older, and I leaned what it is to be forced into a role I didn’t want, to feel I’d hit a dead end, to struggle against those who had different views, to feel like people could look into my heart and see the anger and fear that I tried so hard to hide.

I got older, and I realized: I’m Boromir.

We’re all Boromir.

Tolkien was very deliberate with his characters. They aren’t just characters, flawed and wonderful though they might be. They also each represent something very specific. Aragorn represents the Ideal. The hero that we all can be, the hero that we should strive to be, the vision of mankind as we are supposed to be, if only we can let ourselves shed our hubris and our doubts. Aragorn represents who we should be.

Boromir represents who we are.

Flawed, frustrated, burdened, tempted, struggling, setback, good intentioned, afraid, angry, kindhearted, noble, loyal, and painfully, beautifully human.

Boromir went to the Council of Elrond reluctantly. He shouldn’t have gone. Boromir is a war leader, as we learn after his death. He successfully fought for and defended Gondor from Mordor for years. That’s where he belongs. Faramir is the quiet one, the diplomat, the “wizard’s pupil,” the soft-spoken and patient one. Note that even in the film version, which shows a differently characterized Faramir than in the books (Tolkien heavily based Faramir on himself), Faramir only wants the One Ring in order to give it to his father and win his father’s pride and affection–he doesn’t want it for himself.

If Faramir had been at the Council and Boromir had stayed in Gondor, everything would have gone differently, and possibly for the better.

But the Steward of Fuckwits aka Boromir and Faramir’s father decides he wants Boromir to go, to represent their family, because Boromir is the son he values and is the “face” of Gondor. So Boromir sets aside what he wants, and he goes. And the whole time he feels out of place, feels like a fish out of water, feels second to Aragorn, feels lost, feels terrified his city will fall while he is gone, feels like the race of Men is being mocked and looked down on as weak.

How many of us as we grow up are stuck like that? We can’t fix our family (although we try), we can’t fix our broken country (although we try), we can’t get rid of the doubts and fears that whisper to us (although we try), and we can’t stop feeling like we’re constantly second best, constantly failing, looked down on, especially the millennial generation.

(Given what’s happening in the world right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tolkien found himself surprisingly similar in outlook and feeling to our generation. But that’s another topic.)

And of course that’s the key. Boromir–darling, frustrated, stuck, fatally flawed Boromir–is so very relatable because he tries. He tries to teach Merry and Pippin to protect themselves and then tries to save them and dies for it. He tries to convince Aragorn (who at that point is more elf than man in his outlook) that there is no reason to give up on his people, their people–and he succeeds in that, although he dies before he gets to see it. He tries to make his father proud. He tries to apologize when he fucks up. He tries and he fails, and he tries and he succeeds. And the most important things he does, the biggest seeds he plants, he never sees them flower.

Like my God, the man’s last words are I failed. I failed you, I failed Frodo, I tried to take the Ring. I’m sorry, I failed. That hits me so goddamn hard in my mid20s and it’ll hit me even harder when I’m older, I’m sure. How many times have we said that to people? “I tried to help him.” “I tried to reach out.” “I tried to apologize.” “I tried to stop them.” “I tried so hard.” I tried, I tried, I tried. For the job, for the friend, for everything, I tried.

And I failed.

I have a laundry list of things I tried and failed at, and God, do they hurt. Sometimes it was something out of my control, sometimes it was my own behavior. And that scene with Boromir, the flawed man, staring up at Aragorn, the ideal hero, and begging him, begging him, “save them, they took the little ones, find Frodo,” begging him for forgiveness, apologizing for his failures?

Talk about a fucking metaphor.

We make our ideals in literature so that we have something to look up to and strive for, for others to strive for. Boromir falls prey to the ring, but Aragorn does not. You did what I could not. Of course Aragorn did. He’s the ideal. And we beg our ideals to be better so they can show us the way and hopefully, maybe, someday, we can be like them.

I had so many heroes growing up, real and literary. Sara from A Little Princess. Aragorn. Lucy from Narnia. Nancy Drew. Harry Potter. And so many times I would look at myself in the mirror and cry because I knew, I knew if I stood in front of them they would be disappointed in me. I knew I wasn’t being the person I could be. I tried, I failed, I tried, I failed, but my God I swear, I tried.

As a kid or even a teenager, we still see mainly who we want to be. Our ideal. And I hope that we never lose sight of that. I love Aragorn and my God am I going to keep trying to be like him, and like all of my other literary heroes. We need those heroes, we need them so badly, and the darker the world gets the brighter we have to make them shine.

As an adult, though–as an adult, we start to see not only who we want to be, but who we are, and who we could’ve been, and how we failed to be, and the paths not taken and the paths that were lost. And that’s important too. Because Boromir died convinced he was a failure. Convinced he was, truly, the weakness we find in men.

And he was… but he wasn’t.

Without Boromir, Aragorn wouldn’t know what happened to Merry and Pippin or where they went. Without Boromir, Aragorn would’ve had no hope in the race of men. Without Boromir, who would have carried the hobbits up the cold mountain, or taught them how to fight, or said give them a moment, for pity’s sake! Who would have defended Gondor for so long, or loved his brother with a ferocity that Denethor’s abuse couldn’t knock loose, and inspired that brother to keep fighting even as the light faded and the night grew cold and long?

Aragorn carries Boromir’s bracers throughout the rest of the trilogy, right up to his coronation, where he is still wearing them as he is made King. Because Boromir might not have seen it–we might not see it–but we tried and we failed but we didn’t fail at everything. Lives are made brighter for our presence. The world is better for our gifts and our convictions. And no fight, even a fight lost, is done in vain.

The remains of the Fellowship ride to Gondor not just because it’s the Right Thing to Do, but because it is the city of their fallen brother, it’s Boromir’s home, the home that above all he gave everything to defend. Boromir doesn’t want the Ring for power, he wants it so his home will be safe, his family will be safe, and God who can’t relate to that, as we grow older and we see our families and friends attacked and scarred, as we have children and want them out of harm’s way. Who wouldn’t be tempted to seize the chance to keep them safe?

I see so much of myself in Boromir. And I take hope. I take inspiration. I cheer through my tears as he is hit again and again with arrows and each time he gets back up on his feet and grits his teeth and you can see him thinking not today. As a child I thought Boromir was selfish but as an adult I hear him use his last breath to apologize to Aragorn and call him his brother and his king and I see he’s more selfless than he ever gave himself credit for being. Boromir sees only his faults, but we can see what he doesn’t, we see his positive impact and we see his virtues, too.

Because as an adult I’ve failed, and I want to believe that like Boromir, I’ve also succeeded, I’ve also been more than just my faults–even if I can’t see that yet.

Aragorn is who we should be. But Boromir is who we are.

And my God, we should be proud of that. Because Boromir is a damn good person to be.

#mads answers things #Lord of the Rings #LotR Meta #Boromir #Boromir meta #I cried just thinking about Boromir while writing this #Boromir is a goddamn hero #a tragic one but a hero all the same #and I will hear no different #extasiswings #I'M A FUCKING IDIOT WHO SAID MORIA INSTEAD OF MORDER #FUCKING FUCK #I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP

[bon-nii]

my opinion on the tpn adopted siblings, we dont know how the other kids grew up together. Emma constantly calls them her siblings, so we know her view. But when isabella grew up on her farm, we dont know if they were raised to think of the others as their siblings aswell, same about lucas and yuugo.

Romantic feelings between characters is not a foreign concept in TPN, and it really annoys me when people get genuinely angry at fans who ship characters together. If shipping these characters isn’t something you feel comfortable with or want to do that’s totally fine! But there is a reason why so many people ship different characters in the series, and it’s not because they like incest ships--they genuinely don’t interpret certain character’s relationships that way. Below the cut, I’ve attempted to highlight why I think shipping these characters is largely a nonissue.

Canonically, we know that Norman loves Emma in a romantic way and there is a good amount of contextual and subtextual clues which point towards Emma feeling the same way about Norman (even if she is not aware of it yet). For me personally, I cannot view the relationship between these two as simply sibling love. Norman does not view Emma as a sister. 

You would have to write an entire meta in order to accurately cover the scope of their relationship because it is quite central to the story (or, at least, Norman’s character, as it dictates the actions he makes) but here are some other, quick examples I wanted to include.

The way they cling to each other:

Norman is also very fond of cradling Emma’s face:

Norman being the one to drag Emma back to life after Leuvis impales her. She sees Isabella and her family as well, but Norman is separate from them which seems to suggest that she, at least subconsciously, views him differently:

This panel of the trio sleeping (poor Ray getting the Mike Wazowski treatment) which mirrors the Norman Rockwell painting of the married couple with their son:

To me it is very evident that they are not “siblings”, y’know?

I think you could make a case for Ray and Emma being just sibling love, but I also think you could make just as strong of a case for it not being sibling love. This one is very much up to the reader’s interpretation as it is not explicitly stated as being either, and is heavily based on subtext.

We also know that Yuugo loved Dina romantically 

In addition to it being explicitly stated, we also see that Dina’s name is the only name underlined on Yuugo’s wall, showing that she was more significant than the others in some way. Also, when the Glory Bell gang is finally reunited in the afterlife, Dina cradles Yuugo in her arms and he grasps onto her like a lifeline.

As for the ship of Yuugo and Lucas, I don’t think there is really much canonical basis for it, but it is my favorite ship of the series regardless simply because I am a sucker for ships between two completely broken people who learn how to love again through each other and the “Team Mom, Team Dad” dynamic T.T I think there is so much potential for exploration between these two characters and endless fanon content to be created.

As for how the Glory Bell kids view each other, this might just be a translation thing, but Yuugo exclusively (or nearly, exclusively) refers to the group as his “friends”, though I do think the GB kids felt like they were a family.

Isabella likely loved Leslie romantically. 

I say likely because it isn’t explicitly clear what kind of love it is, but I’m highly banking on it being a romantic love, because 1.) She refers to Leslie separately than her home/family in these panels. 2.) the two character’s for Ray’s name ( レイ ) are made of the first characters of Leslie and Isabella’s names (Leslie: レスリ , Isabella: イザベラ)  3.) She carries Leslie with her everyday through his song and lives on for his sake

The editor of the manga ships Anna and Ray, and Shirai and Posuka say that they purposefully left Ray/Emma and Norman/Emma ambiguous and up to interpretation. (I don’t have the receipts for this unfortunately because I was stupid and didn’t think to save them but I swear I’ve seen this confirmed, if someone has screenshots pls send them to me so I can add them here c: )

The point stands though that none of these characters are blood related, some of them view the others as siblings and some of them view them not as siblings. Plus, it’s fiction and, as Shirai and Posuka have said, it’s up to interpretation. Again, ship what you want or don’t ship at all. I just wanted to explain a bit about why I don’t understand why people think it is weird for others to romantically ship these characters together (not saying that you do this, of course, you sent a very polite message thank you :> )

#tpn #the promised neverland #promised neverland #ynn #yakusoku no neverland #noremma #tpn norman #tpn ray #tpn emma

[megamanxfanfics]

Looking back at the 1st Nightmare Arc

Well folks, here we are.  It’s the end of the year and I successfully completed Season VI’s first arc!  Today, it’s all about celebrating with an honest take on how I feel it all went down. No backstories on what took so long this time.  Just all Mega lore and analyzing whatever I’ve managed to create in the Fanon.  So let’s dive into it.  This was an interesting one:

tl;dr?  -  Ep. 1: Boring Beginning, Exciting Middle Ep. 2: Steady Solid Stage! Ep. 3: Long Stage, Big Payoff Ep. 4: Strong Start, Very Expository Ep. 5: Another Long Stage, but not Draining Ep. 6: Reverse Pacing Ep. 7: Epic. As. Fuck.

Ep. 1:  I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Boring Beginning. I wanted it to start just like the game with the exciting narrative intro, except.. written out, it’s not all that exciting, but instead - expected.  The same goes for Gate’s immediate monologue when you press start.  I took the safe, easy route and just added stage directions to his discovery of Zero’s “piece”.  Regardless, this was “A Broken World”, and I loved that title for a new Season #1.  Honestly, I feel like this one really picks up from the middle, onward.  Once we get into X’s first mission, the addition of the new reploids from the X5 ending didn’t really help at all.  I got rid of them almost as soon as I introduced them, but it was supposed to serve a purpose.  It was supposed to show us just how dangerous it is out there for noobies - especially the ones who think they know it all, like Cody.  Once X fights High Max though, we almost mirrored the X1 feeling, which is exactly what I wanted.  From here on, it’s pretty exciting and interesting to me.  Because now X is all intrigued and worried about these new “Investigators” that have sprouted up.  Giving X someone to fear again with High Max made for a really refreshing touch, too.  Once he gets home to learn about them from Alia, the episode heavily leans on flashbacks from Xtreme 2, but they serve as a nice re-introduction to our 8 Investigators. I also really liked their Re-activation scene.  That mirrored the vibe from Mega Missions when Doppler revived his select batch of Mavericks.  Once they pinpoint their locations and X finds out that 3 of the Investigators are in Brazil, he wants to go there first.  I feel such a hyped jolt of excitement at that Cliffhanger.

Ep. 2:  Steady Solid Stage! It took forever to write out, but upon reading it, the pacing is surprisingly smooth as X explores the Amazon Forest. Calling it “The Nightmare Is Real” based on a random Rescued Reploid’s words was a little weak at first, but it comes back around to get real meaning by the end. During the stage, X’s dialogue with Iso kept things interesting, while he pursued that near-impossible sub-tank. [I swear, you can only acquire this with a jump part equipped, or exposing AI with the fire blade or something...]. I really really didn’t want X to use his Ultimate Armor so soon, for nothing, because I’ve added stakes to such a game-breaking power up.  If he uses it, he blows out all of his stamina and needs to rest.  Period.  Using this to rescue Iso was not only a waste, but things probably would’ve gone down very differently, later.  Anyway, that fight with Commander Yammark was perfect. At first, I thought it was a little short, but looking back on it, I love how they both get solid blows in, but then come to a standstill when they realize they’re on the same side. Having Nightmare Zero intervene was absolutely the right choice!!  It gave us a new hook for something to come back to, as yet again, X had someone new to fear, like in X1.  Since it’s an evil Zero, I’ll even say like X2.  This is where the title “The Nightmare is Real” works, because... the Zero Nightmare was absolutely a sentient problem.  And it wasn’t going away any time soon.  X had to retreat and get out of there.  Thank God for Alia’s force-teleporting. Pushing Alia's Love Interest during the debrief was also a very exciting development.  I knew I wanted to do this, but at first I wasn’t sure if it was too soon to happen right here.  Now, I feel like it was just right. 

 Ep. 3:  Long stage, big payoff. Starting with Isoc’s report to Gate was actually not as boring as the 1st episode canon scenes. I made more of an effort to wake the scene up with stage directions or dialogue that makes more sense...  Them talking about the possibility of Zero still being alive also sets up mysterious intrigue.  Is he still out there??  And if so, how???  Will we see him???? Naming the entire episode, “The Outlier”, however is misleading.  I suppose that could connect to Ground Scaravich, who wasn’t one of Gate’s original creations (in my Fanon).  Still, giving X & Alia that slice of life romantic wake up scene at the near-beginning was absolutely refreshing.  Not only that, but I think it was very necessary. Things are all Doom and Gloom this Season, which is my forte, but this shows that at Home you can still find happiness in Loved ones.  The actual stage itself was an absolute pain in the ass and I knew it was going to be. I'm just glad it didn't completely burn me out.  His fight with Ground Scaravich was bad ass though.  X had the rare upper hand from the get-go as the menacer that Scaravich was afraid of.  So he came in with confident energy and tried to beat him down for information.  Of course, Scaravich didn’t let up and only revealed worse information, that those Reploids were being used for DNA Data.  But that cliffhanger I left at the end, with Zero Nightmare applauding X for his kill...!  It definitely helped me pursue a much sooner Chapter 4. 

 Ep. 4:  Strong Start with the Zero Nightmare fight. I had a big challenge here, because I didn’t want X to win yet.  We needed to build this feud and drag it out as much as possible. Zero Nightmare was gaining new motivation. He apparently knows about Zero’s existence, but thinks of him as a Fake.  And thus we have the title “Where Is The Fake?”. Having X get weakened and willingly teleport away was a really mature choice. I think it shows growth.  He could’ve done that plenty of times in the past.  But here we go, X is wounded again.. I didn't want this to become a trope or slow us down, but it brought upon some very necessary world building and character development for the new reploids. Very much, the expository episode, this was an important chapter, because it set up things for future episodes and kept me on track, months later when it was time to think about the bigger picture. Kassy & Hal went to the Magma Area while Tack checked out the Laser Institute.  The Nightmare System was in full effect now, and the goal was to show how dangerous the Nightmare actually is to some red shirts, before X goes in there.  How effective that actually was in my execution, remains to be seen.  At this point the episode title remains prominent, because X expresses sincere interest in finding the Real Zero, but they have... zero leads. (Sorry, I had to.)  The Villains even had an interesting follow-up about Scaravich’s death and there was an interaction, which vaguely eluded to something new happening, from Metal Shark.  So that will be something fun to look forward to.  Ending at the beginning of a new stage is always a cool cliffhanger. Believe it or not, I wanted this to go all the way through the Rainy Turtloid stage, which would have given the title prominence for a 3rd time.  But that’s okay.

 Ep. 5:  Another Long Stage, but its not half as draining as the Central Museum. In fact, all of the Reploid Interactions kept it really lively. Especially by the end. The Inami Temple was the first stage that I could hint at our location with the episode title - “Nightmare Rain”.  I wish I could’ve done that for the previous episodes, but it’s alright.  I took some interesting risks, during this stage write-through.  I almost forgot about that frickin Monbando Reploid unit. I took a real risk by giving him an AI, but he keeps things interesting, giving X someone to talk to, which actually added levity to the situation where appropriate. That Nightmare Zero encounter mid-stage was what it was all about for me, though. I'm really proud of that one, using the stage layout to my advantage in an innovative way. All of that Levy stuff with Rescue Reploid 6 was another interesting choice. I have more in store for her, but I'm really hoping there will be more of a payoff, than just an Easter Egg Cameo. We’ll see. I’m looking forward to seeing what else I can do with her in the next arc.  Need I bring up X’s Reploid rescues in the Gaia Armor!??  That was a bright idea that I came up with after post-planning.  The original plan was to have X revisit the stage later, but I thought about how this Acid Rain was killing them, so...  time to settle the issue of an unused Armor. [X6 granting us the gift of using a modified Fifth Armor was nice, but it made me wonder, why can’t he access the Gaia anymore?]. The answer was just that he doesn’t really like it.  But he used it to his advantage here, and now I had a new challenge ahead of me. I had to get rid of it. Another challenge was posed when X discovered a fucking portal in one of the tunnels.  I wasn’t prepared for that!  But thankfully, I was able to come up with a viable excuse rather than just X being scared of the portal.  He ran out of teleporter rings!!!!  This gave me new Fanon Mega-science to add to the stakes.  Teleporter Rings now need a day to recharge, and it was clear that plenty more needed to be made.  This gave Alia & Douglas something to do, so in the end, this was all good.  But now it was time for X to face off against Rainy Turtloid.  He’d have to come back for the others later. [Time will tell, how well or poorly that is handled, depending on how long it takes X to actually get back there.]

 Ep. 6:  This one basically had Reverse Pacing, but I liked it. It started with a Climactic, Rainy Turtloid fight. I mean, this was Epic and fucking Brutal.  Thanks to my brilliant bring-back of the Gaia Armor, now Turtloid had to take it away and break the shit out of it. This is where “The Fight Becomes Dire” and I thought it was amazing.  In my planning phase, that was never remotely on the table, but it worked out wonderfully.  What was on the table was X possibly using his Ultimate Armor if the battle got too brutal, but I wanted to avoid that.  [I had done practice playthroughs where I managed to get X to win in Normal Armor and definitely in Falcon Armor with some select weapon spamming and pattern memorizing.  I was open to keeping it simple, I really was.]. But after X got smacked around like a bitch, it was time for payback.  Especially considering Turtloid’s motivation to fight was “But I have to listen to Master...”  Here we had the interesting case that both Men respected each other and didn’t want to fight, but they had to. {Even though X thought the Reploid Trapping and Nightmare acceptance was reprehensible}. X primarily focussed on that and tried to change Turtloid’s mind, but once his Gaia Armor was destroyed and X nearly died, it was time for some Ultimate payback.  I’m really surprised by how epic and dark it got. I’m very proud of it.  After the mission, due to some very necessary stakes and power limiters, X had to sit out for a day again, once again slowing our pacing down to a screeching halt. This one hurt me, I think.  At least he wasn't injured this time... As I stated before, when I made the decision to include the Ultimate Armor into this Season, I did so knowing that there needed to be a price. It comes with him using up all his stamina. Therefore, he can't spam it with every mission or battle. The same rules applied to his shotokan moves in Season I & II, which have basically been replaced by the Ultimate Armor at this point. With more opportunity at exposition, however, I was able to follow up on the new reploids, who were now in trouble at their respective missions. [This is the stuff I needed to give X motivation for his mission choices during the planning phase, but it just wasn’t there]. And yet, one was debatably set up too soon. I had a new dilemma, where X was forced to sit out, while Kassy & Hal are stuck at the Magma Area, hurt.  The choice to show X training the recruits in the meantime was a fun risk to take though. It showed productivity and progress in the downtime, hopefully eluding to the idea that these newbies can fend for themselves, while it inevitably takes X a while to save them in the future. I also got to develop Levy more and even create some juicy tension between her and Alia, which wasn’t originally planned. I had intended for a 2nd sex scene with Alia to happen at some point, but I didn't want it to be forced. Just more of an implied - ‘this is what’s happening while we wait’.  But the addition of Levy’s flirting played into Alia’s insecurities, which gave it more of a purpose.  And poor Douglas! Hahahaha.  I was so tickled when I put that in out of nowhere.  We got some much needed levity when he wanted to show X a new part, but instead he overheard them having sex and walked away with a “Nope!” lol!!! Its becoming very clear that I enjoy the in-between mission slice of life stuff Way more than the missions themselves. But then, when we get back to it... after X gave it a night, he and Signas found every excuse not to save Kassy & Hal yet, because my Stage Order plan still needed to be in play...  At least Tack discovered that Portal at Sheldon’s stage. This saved my Stage Order Motivation, but it was still weak.  If only Zero was around, then they could split the difference.  But what I liked about this was that it showed just how bad of shape that X and co. were in.  Yet again, the episode title remained prominent.  “The Fight Becomes Dire”!  The truth is, they were all over the place and X didn't know where to go first. For the first time in a while, our Hunters are overwhelmed and understaffed. And that was really noticeable here.  I still think the ending is kinda weak though. There's no real cliffhanger other than knowing that X will pursue Shield Sheldon next. But overall, I liked the flow of this. There's a lot of forced slow downs in the momentum to have us sit with the characters and their decisions. It makes for a very different, sort of dismal pacing, which adds to the atmosphere of this looming Nightmare that won’t go away.  One noticeable thing, however is that I failed to follow up on the Villains this time around. I had an ample opportunity to follow up on Gate’s thoughts for losing Turtloid again, who was debatably his favorite creation.  I really botched that up, but I simply didn’t think of it at the time before posting.  So who knows?  That could be possible room for improvement in a future edit.  Either way, the Villains are sure to be due for a check in soon. 

 Ep. 7:  Epic. As. Fuck. But it took a minute to get there. Shield Sheldon's stage was more complicated to write through than I originally thought. Its the shortest stage in the game and yet all those damn lasers and their angles made for quite the challenge. This in itself, was a “Laser Light Phenomena”. Another immense challenge that I wasn't expecting was Sheldon's battle completely Flipping the Narrative on X. Admittedly, I really had a hard time finding motivation for those 2 to feud. Especially since he wasn't holding a grudge based on the past. I noticed a while ago, all of Gate's creations are so very willing to sacrifice themselves for Gate's cause. Like, to a nonsensical degree. Maybe that's their degree of Maverickism. They're just crazy... Anyway, this Deadlock Standstill might really play into my favor, since this recent Portal Experience is going to change X's motivations. I... don't want X to take a backseat, but... Rescuing the Reploids is going to be his 1st Priority from here on in. Especially since he wasn't able to save Tack and the bunch. Again, thats where stakes come into play. I didn't come into this episode knowing I was going to make that decision. But when I saw the layout of the "Pocket Dimension" as I'm calling it, and I factored in the time Tack spent in there, trying to rescue the Reploids by himself, there was no way I could have them all just hang out at a narrow ledge by the gate, or stuck in the gateway, scared. I wasn't gonna pull a lame idea that they managed to somehow unlock the gate, like I did with Data. (That can be the one trait that makes Data special and could play into his advantage in the future. But no one else's). Nightmare Zero wouldn't spare them either. He'd absolutely kill them in bloodlust. So... stakes were created. X took too long to catch up to him and thats what he gets. That last battle with ZN though... I'm really proud of where it went. I had some obvious limits this time compared to past Zero fights. That could be an analysis for another time.. But, I was happy to get pretty gorey by the end, there. And that pay off Cliff Hanger was so satisfying! It gives me all the feels. 

The 2nd Arc is going to feel very different. But we ain't out of the woods yet. Rereading the 1st Arc served as a dual purpose. Not only could I gush about my favorite moments or be open about my choices and how things came out, but it is starting to reveal where else it's going. Kassy & Hal still need rescuing at the Magma Area. Cody & Data are at the North Pole! Tekk is at the Weapon Center. X still needs to save whoever is in the portal at Inami Temple!  Let alone revisiting the Amazon and Central Museum again.  Exposition is just waiting to happen, and now that Zero is back?? Things are going to get easier, but also a little bit harder for X. One thing I can definitely say is that seeing him will bring back some Unwanted Memories. And its gonna be very interesting to see how he deals with that. I'm definitely looking forward to writing the 2nd Arc out in the New Year.

Until then, folks.  I hope you enjoyed reliving this with me.  See you in 2021, which should hopefully prove to be a far more stable year than 2020. [God, I hope I didn’t just jinx everything...]

#Season VI Diaries #Looking back at the 1st Nightmare Arc #Ep. 1-7 #writing wins #writing woes #X #Alia #Investigators #New Reploids #Zero Nightmare #unexpected dilemmas #writing out of pitfalls #stakes #limits #forced slowdowns #dismal atmosphere #navigating dystopian writing

[bubblepop-32]

If Bruce was De-aged and the only one who could make him stop screaming is Jason. (Part 2)

Bruce gets de-aged, but his memories aren’t as young (but not as old) as what they’re supposed to be. And he desperately needs Jason.

I wanted to read de-aged Bruce with our man Jay but I literally can’t find any ;A; So I sacrificed sleep and wrote this. 

There’s going to be good ol’ fluff and bonding between Jason and small Bruce, but there’s also going to be angst and suffering, and more angst. And swearing (mostly from Jay) 

Here’s >> Part 1 << (Visit me before u keep on going cos I was born first! D:<)

~~~

Jason rolled up at the looming front gates of the manor, feeling somewhat chilled after taking blasts of high winds as he sped through Gotham’s bare streets. Even with his thick gloves and high-grade clothes that are designed to keep the wind out, mother nature always has ways to intervene. The gates opened, opening their long metal arms to welcome him in.

He rode his bike up to the front door, where he hopped off and had a moment to think about what he was getting himself into. Do I really need to do this? He considers the events that could happen after Bruce returns to normal. He’ll probably banish Jason from ever setting foot in Gotham ever again, probably for seeing him in such a vulnerable state. He'll probably still hate him, even more so since Jason would be the reminder of both his failure and his recent embarrassment.

Ha. Why was he even here when everyone could’ve waited for Zatanna to do her magic and everything would be back to normal again. Zatanna could probably solve everything with her backward spells and her sheer black pantyhose and the black top hat.

So when the large, heavy grand doors opened to reveal Zatanna and Dick on the other side, he did a double take, which gave Dick the chance to speak first.

“I’ve heard that Prince Charmings always arrive fashionably late to parties… and well, I’m glad you’re here.” Dick flashes a small, tired smile that didn’t really stretch as far as his usual signature smiles.

“If this is a party, then this is the lamest one I’ve been at through my entire lives.” Jason fires back mirthlessly. He watches with spiteful satisfaction as Dick’s eyes widened the slightest bit as he processed what Jason said.

Jason’s eyes slid from Dick’s blue eyes to the ugly scab that was forming on his chin. Maybe it hurts for him to smile with the cut. He’s trying really hard to believe that it’s the cut rather than anything else.

Dick noticed the subtle change in eye contact but doesn’t choose to say anything more. He doesn’t want to scare Jason off before Bruce has a chance of letting Zatanna work her magic.

Jason lifts an eyebrow at Dick, clearly wanting answers. The quick glance Jason shot at Zatanna behind him proved to him that Jason was hoping for the same thing he was when he called her in.

“Zatanna’s magic isn’t working.” Dick supplies.

Jason’s entire frame heaved heavily for a moment as he took in a slow breath and exhaled deeply.

“Well…shit.” Jason murmurs. He was hoping that all this was fixed and he that wouldn’t need to hear such agonising screams ever again. He was hoping for a lot of things but none of them was coming true. I should better start hoping that this is dragged out for the longest time possible so that doesn’t come true either.

“I’ll explain the rest inside.” Dick steps to the side, allowing Jason a clear passageway into the house, but he doesn’t miss the reluctance in Jason’s stride as they made their way to the kitchen.

So far so good. Even better than what Dick thought it would turn out. He had imagined that he would have to go knocking on every one of Jason’s safehouses in Gotham, then try and drag him to the mansion.

Jason noticed something was odd the instant he stepped in, though soon realised that it was because Alfred wasn’t the one who opened the door to let him in. Even now, Alfred who was most definitely most attentive to offering ‘guests’ tea was not here to do so either. (Jason knows he’s not a regular, not anymore.)

Dick, now somewhat upholding Alfred’s spot as the butler, asked, “Do you want tea?”

“I want tea, but not yours. Alf’s going to murder you in your sleep if you touch his fine chinas.” Jason stepped between Dick and the glass display case, retrieving three cups with foreign gentleness.

“Damn, you just got rejected.” Zatanna mused as she moved to watch Jason handle tea leaves with care. But Dick seemed almost happy that Jason started brewing tea. Alfred seemed to have taught Jason a whole lot more things than either Dick or Bruce knew about because his muffins were second to the ones Alfred made. But that was all back then.

Soon enough, they were all gathered around the counter each with a cup of tea in hand. Silence enveloped as Jason took a sip, his gaze somewhat distant as he did. Dick took advantage of this moment to gather his thoughts, and how he was going to present everything to Jason.

He knows he has to ease the facts in as gently as possible. A shocked Jason can soon become a frustrated Jason, who will soon turn into an angry Jason. But Jason beat him to it.

“So, tell me that Bruce isn’t de-aged into some fucking ten year old and that phone call I got wasn’t real.” Jason eyed Dick, daring him to say ‘yes all this was just to prank your gullible ass.’

Dick sighed, blowing steam away from his tea. “Bruce is ten. He still is, and still will be unless we figure something out.”

“And, Jason, if what I think about this little situation with Bruce is correct, then you will play a huge role. Just to let you know, it’s not my magic that isn’t working,” at this, she sends Dick a look. “Bruce himself is the one who’s unconsciously refusing to let me to temporarily lock away his memories. Most of the memories anyway. I’ve sealed away what I can.”

“Wait, so you haven’t tried changing him back yet?” Jason growled, somewhat annoyed.

“I was getting to that. You see, space-time continuum must have been broken for Bruce to be ten years younger. In fact, I don’t think this is as simple as ‘de-aging.’ I’ve tapped into his energy signature and it’s slightly different from Bruce’s usual one.” Zatanna says, now clearly shedding new light onto the case since Dick’s face became even more contorted into confusion.

Jason gathered that this was the first time Dick was hearing this too. “You’re saying that time travel is involved in this shit and this Bruce is really him from long ago.”

“Yes, but the thing is, energy signatures remain the same no matter what age,” Zatanna adds as she tucks a dark lock of hair behind her ear. Dick’s face went a little paler and his dark eye bags seemed to have become even bigger. “Some exchange must’ve happened between this universe and another universe. Messing around the space-time continuum is a messy thing, and I’m guessing the memory mix-up is a result of it being ripped.”

Jason concentrated on the aroma of freshly brewed tea rather than on the shock that was about to be hitting him right about…now.

“That sounds like a…rather complicated deduction.” Was what managed to come out of Dick before he laced his fingers and pressed them to his lips.

“And that’s why I haven’t tried re-aging Bruce. The only thing I can do for him at the moment would be to lock away some of his memories, otherwise, he would practically break,” Zatanna concluded. “Whenever I tried to speak with him, he began screaming. He was screaming your name, Jason.”

Jason looked back at the reflection of him that rippled in the tea. “Still doesn’t explain why I’m here.” He murmured.

This time, Dick was the one who answered. “You’re the one who’ll be able to calm him down. I’ve tried, Zatanna’s tried, even Alfred’s tried.” He eyed Jason with his fervent blue eyes hooded behind his long, dark eyelashes. Jason’s eyes never left his tea. “But he keeps calling for you.”

A loud, pensive silence overtook them. The magician added something more in a smaller voice. “…I believe that there is a high possibility that this little Bruce, still has his parents back in his world.” That would be like rubbing salt into a bleeding wound, no doubt making all the memories that flooded into Bruce mind that much harsher and crueller.

That was another shock to Jason because if Bruce never lost his parents, Batman would never have come to be…and Jason would never have to be who he is. He might’ve been able to go to Uni, get a degree and not needing to cringe every time he sees a crowbar or bury bullets into heads.

He imagines standing in front of a mirror, seeing himself but standing straight, his shoulders light without burden. He imagines staring into calm blue eyes, like the ones he once had, and black hair brushing at just the tips of his lashes. No white. However, the image was nothing more than a mirage; a soft haze that would linger at the very back of his mind but never leave or step into the light.

If there was ever an even bigger shock, Jason felt betrayed by his own emotions. He fucking feel peeved about how he wasn’t angry about the fact that he was called here for reasons that are only based on theories or for Bruce.

Alfred’s paced footsteps arrived at the boundary between the kitchen and the hallway. “Master Jason, it is wonderful to see you here. I am glad to see that the chinaware has remained, for the moment, intact.”

Maybe the one thing he would miss if Bruce never became Batman would be Alfred. So something in his heart twinged when Jason saw Alfred standing by the doorway with the most forlornly expressed face Jason has ever seen him show. Jason feels the ache in his chest worsen as Alfred walks closer, allowing Jason to really pick up the subtle changes in the way his body glided across the open space. Alfred’s frame was slightly bent over, his back not as straight and his nose held just a little bit lower. As long as ‘Batman’ exists, Alfred’s ongoing exposure to all the suffering and the shit that goes on will never cease. Jason feels the anger inside of him being boiling once more – but he felt immediately because Jason was one extra thing Alfred had to deal with.

Jason loves the guy and he hates the things he’s done to the butler, taking years off his life for worrying over him when he didn’t need to. He’s done nothing to deserve his care.

“How’s Bruce?” Dick lifts his head and asks. The weariness they both shared seemed to have established a mutual sense of understanding. Dick knows that Alfred has personally stepped up to take the responsibility of taking care of Bruce – like he always has. Alfred understands that Dick feels useless about not being able to do anything, but he also understands that Dick understands that he’s doing what he can as best as he can.

“He has worn himself out to the point of exhaustion. I must say that it is for the best right now. I’ve removed all things that a young boy like him can break and throw. It was quite the feat to stop him from breaking multiple bones in his body.” Alfred’s expression melted into collected despondence. No one knows how he can pull off such conflicting emotions with calm professionalism. But then, people learn from experiences and this wasn’t the first time Alfred has seen something like this.

Dick could only imagine what Alfred had to struggle with when Dick rushed into the bat cave carrying a glassy-eyed Bruce who was swimming in the swaddles of his Batman costume. Dick thought that it was just shock and a terrible concussion.

He first called Damian down to the cave. Damian had a grey hoodie on with tight black jeans, with his growing fringe bobby-pinned back. That kid has been too busy acing school to get a haircut, much to Alfred’s constant reminders. Damian sarcastically commented on how delinquent-like DIck looked with the newly healing cut to the chin.

Dick briefed him over what had happened (though, leaving out how everything about how reckless he got). A villain wannabe, real name Jeremy Fritzleburg, or less commonly known as “the InventorDoc,” (Damian snorted at the name), de-aged Bruce (to which Damian snorted at again before an ear-shattering scream rang from somewhere within the cave – that was when they both knew something was wrong).

Dick told Damian to go check on Bruce whilst he called Tim and told him to come in as soon as he can. He wanted to get the broken pieces of whatever the InventorDoc invented to be analysed and hopefully understood so that they’ll be able to do something.

After more than ten minutes of pacing around, biting his thumb, he thought that calling in Zatanna would be a good option. His thoughts were confirmed when Damian came running back to him, eyes wide and undoubtedly shaken, but refused to admit what had shaken him so bad. He immediately dialled the famed magician, telling her the important point to convey the severity of the situation.

On the way to Bruce, Damian lagged slightly behind Dick.

“What’s wrong Dami?” Dick had asked but didn’t get a reply. It was only until Dick was nearing the place that Damian grabbed Dick’s arm.

“He doesn’t remember me.” Damian had whispered.

Dick paused abruptly, heart suddenly shuddering in his chest. “Go back up and wait for Timmy and Zatanna, yeah? I’ll…I’ll talk to him.”

Damian held on for a bit longer before letting go. He glanced up at Dick, “Father is barely able to talk in his state,” and then swiftly left.

Dick continued walking and swallowed thickly as he drew ever nearer. Soon, he was face to face with a small, fragile-looking Bruce writhing on the ground with blood trailing from his bloody hand and smearing onto the floor for he had dug his nails into his palms. Bruce’s skin was sheen with cold sweat. His small body trembled as he took in shallow, rattling breaths, but found that he lacked the ability to stand back up.

Dick rushed to help as Alfred must have disappeared to brew hot chocolate. Alfred would never leave Bruce alone like this, nor would Damian. Memories must’ve had rushed in sometime between Damian leaving and Dick arriving. Except Dick didn’t know that memories were what was putting Bruce through such an ordeal.

When Dick’s hand touched Bruce’s small shoulder blades, the child flinched and fell sidewards. Dick saw a face that resembled Bruces’s, but rounder, softer, younger but contorted by distress and fear. Bruce’s blue eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. Dick thought that it may actually be a new kind of toxin that could take the form of a ray. He doesn't know what he’s thinking anymore! Bruce was in a bad shape, and Damian was right. There was no way Dick could get through to the Bruce that was shaking in front of him. There was absolutely no flicker of recognition in Bruce’s eyes. To him, Dick was a stranger.

Dick had drawn his hand back, feeling unexpectedly hurt by Bruce’s reaction. He couldn’t really help that, despite telling him that it was unjustified to feel hurt when he shouldn’t be.

“Master Dick?” Alfred had called as he appeared with bandages.

At that, Bruce’s eyes intently bore into Dick’s face, cataloguing every detail, every bump and wrinkle. His wide eyes paused at the cut on his chin before shakily meeting Dick’s gaze.

“Dick?” The voice was small, shaken and weak, like a candle flame diminishing by the second. But a small flame of recognition was there.

“Y-Yeah that’s me, B.” Dick reached out to touch Bruce, but he still recoiled from his hand. Recognising Dick must’ve triggered something else in Bruce, because he clutched tightly at his own head and curled in on himself, letting out a pained groan.

Dick was torn between putting his hands on Bruce’s small back and not touching him at all, but chose to close it into a fist instead. “Tim will be here soon, ok? Hang in there.”

After several strenuous breaths of air, Bruce replied with something that froze Dick to the spot.

“W…who’s Tim? W-where’s…” Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed, creating crinkles in his youthful skin as he began recalling the one name that he wanted to say. “…Where’s Jason?”

“He’s not here.” Dick rushed back with a reply. Maybe Bruce just didn’t see Damian’s face properly. Dick thought that Bruce must have temporary amnesia due to the sudden changes done to his body. “But Tim, he’s your son. Lives on coffee, and Damian, he’s your current robin-”

Bruce seemed especially insistent about Jason, rather than about Tim or about Damian. “…not here?” This time his voice was slightly clearer but still as disjointed.

Cogs were turning in 10-year-old Bruce’s head as the memories started gushing in, turning so fast that they were burning. Pieces upon pieces of his memory rained down and he was drowning.

“Where’s Jason?!” Bruce was pleading now, eyes blown wide once again. He tried pushing himself up to search the cave with his sporadic gaze that was glowing with a feverish need to know where Jason was. Bruce’s breathing became hard and fast, which was quickly going to spiral into hyperventilation.

“Master Dick, it is not an apt time for you to be here.” Alfred shooed Dick gently out of the way so that he could as quickly and softly unfurl Bruce’s hand to bandage. “Master Bruce, you must control your breathing.”

Dick stumbled to stand up and back away. This…This wasn’t right. Something’s off. At that moment, the fear of not knowing what was affecting Bruce overtook him. He had to fix this. Otherwise, Bruce would never be the same and he wasn’t prepared for that.

Dick squeezed the mug of warm tea in his hands. Right now isn’t the time to think back. They need to think forward; think of ways to fix all this and make sure Bruce is going to be ok.

Jason placed down his empty cup of tea. It was still warm to the touch.

“Where is he right now?” Jason murmured dourly. Dick looked at Jason with a newfound sense of hope, despite how little it was.

--

I was going to end this a bit earlier, but I had to get Dick’s flashback in before I ended it. 

I have a headcanon (something where one as an individual, you think/want to be canon) that Jason’s eyes used to be blue, but turned aquary-green after he got tossed into the pit (despite the fact that he’s shown to have aquary eyes before he died - I sorta like the ���change’ he undergoes pre to post-resurrection).

Maybe I’ll post the next part sometime :) been hella stressed cos of tests and due dates for my major work ,><,

Take care, fellow readers~

Next part: >> Part 3 << 

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanwork #bruce wayne #de aging #de-aged bruce #jason todd #dick grayson #robin #red hood #nightwing #dc #dc universe #dc fanfic #jason and bruce #dick and jason #dick and bruce #angst #batman and robin #fluff #death in the family #batman #batfam #hurt jason #bromance #alfred #bonding #zatanna #au #dc au

[diinofayce]

Shadows on the Horizon - 11

Pairing: Winter Soldier! Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 2k | Warnings: no Bucky this chapter, minor swearing| A/N: This is a sequel to my story Like a Whisper in the Night | Shadows on the Horizon Masterlist

“Why weren’t we told that there was an Amber Alert out for our niece?” Layne asked the room of men.

“It looks like it flew under our radars entirely,” Tony answered, his nose buried in his tablet.

Danny and Layne stood in front of Director Fury, Tony, Natasha, and a hologram of Charles Xavier. Layne watched as a hulking man in a too-tight black shirt and black jeans pace back and forth out of image behind Professor Xavier, his pacing and heavy footfalls made her anxious.

“Logan, you’re making the live feed glitch,” Danny quipped having felt his sister’s underlying distress and the large man looked at the camera, blinked twice in realization, and then moved off screen.

Tony flipped through digital pages on his glass tablet as he read through the reports on Layne and Danny’s seventeen-year-old niece, Madeline. “It looks like she ran away from your brother’s care. He and his ex have seventy-five, twenty-five split custody with him getting the kids every weekend. She and her father got into a disagreement, which the younger kids didn’t know what it was about but reporting quite a bit of fighting, and then she took off in the middle of the night after he grounded her to her room. Apparently.”

Layne and Danny looked at each other with quirked eyebrows. Madeline had only been six when they last saw her and Lucas had to have been two or three, they didn’t even know Michael and Cheryl had a third child - a little girl by the name of Rosaline. Lucas was now fourteen and Rosaline was twelve, so while their reports had been coherent enough they still weren’t much help.

“I already talked to Cheryl,” Layne said with a slight wince. Her ex-sister-in-law had always been much more kind than Michael but having always been almost thirty years her elder, the two women were far from close. “She’s very sorry to hear of your passing,” Layne added with a smirk, looking at Danny.

“That’s very kind of her,” Daniel murmured with a roll of his eyes. To everyone outside of the immediate Avengers Initiative and the X-Men Force, Daniel had died in the line of duty while performing an undercover mission. It made his job of infiltration and espionage much easier. His persona of Specter was kept extremely classified and when he was required to attend briefings outside of the need to knows he wore a full hooded gas mask like covering that had a bit in vocal distorter.

“Apparently,” Layne continued, “When Tony held the press conference confirming my official place with the Avengers she had a bunch of questions. Cheryl made sure to press to not bring any of them to Michael and that she would try to get a hold of me. Cheryl was afraid that Madeline was exhibiting powers but apparently, after the initial round of questions she didn’t have anymore and Cheryl dropped the subject entirely.”

“So, what do we know?” Natasha asked, propping one hip up on Fury’s desk despite his scathing glare and crossing her arms over her chest.

“We know she does, in fact, have powers, powers that hide even from Cerebro,” the Professor spoke up, his fingers laced under his chin as he ran his fingertips back and forth over his bottom lip.

“That doesn’t surprise me seeing as she’s basically a blind spot and a dampener to us,” Daniel quipped, running his fingers through his chocolate curls.

“So how did Hydra find her first?” Layne asked looking between the spy and the genius.

“Well, the two of you threw a major wrench into their operation. Taking out Ava List and a handful of bases. Daniel has a very solid lead on Colonel Stryker,” Natasha listed, ticking the items off on her finger. At the mention of Stryker’s name a low growl was heard from the Professor’s side of the feed just off the view of the camera. Natasha paused, casting a glance at the outburst before continuing. “Even though Daniel is listed as dead I’m sure someone over on Hydra side doesn’t believe it. You’re actively and publicly dating Hydra’s best and favorite weapon, who they got back for all of thirty seconds before you stomped on that again. I’m sure they’ve been watching your families for a very long time.”

“I think, if I may, that if young Madeline was asking for Agent Hardin to begin with that maybe we’ll only get anything further than speculation by having them speak,” the Professor offered carefully.

Layne had known it was the next logical step and she had been fully prepared for having to go and speak to her niece, but there was a niggling habit that she had formed of separating herself from her family. She reminded herself again that Madeline was still just a teenager and that she had been picked up from wherever and then tortured, she was scared and alone and Layne was probably the only one that could make her feel a little better at this point.

“Do you have a room for her, Charles, when we’re done?” Daniel asked the hologram and the elderly man smiled.

“I always have rooms, Specter. I’ll have Rogue set one up for her arrival.” With that, the hologram closed and Fury stood up.

“And who gave you the go-ahead to send her upstate?” Fury asked calmly, staring Daniel dead in the eyes.

“Her mother,” Daniel growled protectively. “She’s still a minor, Fury, it’s not your call. It’ll also be good for you to remember that I don’t work for you, I work for them.” Daniel smirked at Fury’s impassive face, noting the seething hatred in his good eye, before spinning on his heel and exiting the conference room.

“What do you think?” Fury asked rounding on Layne.

Layne shrugged and kept her face neutral. “It’s her and her mother’s choice, not ours. I could have chosen to stay down in the labs full time if I had really wanted, but at the end of the day they’re an academy whose sole focus is teaching and strengthening those kids. When she gets a grip on her powers fully and comes of age, she can decide what she wants to do. I know you think we’re pawns in your chess game, Director, but until you take away our free will you can’t force us to do anything.”

Natasha’s expression glowed with disguised pride, while Tony openly beamed - he loved when the Hardin’s snarked at people that weren’t him.

“You will keep in mind, Agent Hardin, that unlike your brother - you do work for me,” Fury scolded.

Layne quirked her head to the side and furrowed her brows. “Funny. I feel like Ms. Potts signs my paychecks. If that’s all then,” Layne smiled brightly and gave a little wave as she turned and strutted out of the director’s office.

Fury sighed heavily and tilted his head towards Natasha. “She’s around you too much,” he bemoaned as he sunk back down into his chair.

~*~

Twenty minutes later Layne entered interrogation room six with a few sodas and a box of pizza from her favorite pizzeria down the block. Madeline was still sitting stoically at the table and staring at herself in the one way mirror. Layne looked at the glass and frowned, taking her key card and swiping it along the frame causing a set of shutters to slide down and block the reflective surface.

“When Hydra took me, I couldn’t look at myself for months, every time I did I just relived it all,” Layne said softly setting down the pizza and drinks on the table.

Madeline looked slightly relieved as the shutters slid down and looked up at Layne for the first time.

“When?” she asked, her voice thick and raspy.

“A little over a year ago,” Layne answered sitting down across from her niece.

“Did you hurt people?”

“I thought I did, but your Uncle Daniel was protecting me. I didn’t know about it for a while, though.”

“Mom said he died,” Madeline commented, looking up at Layne with fiery amber eyes. “But I see him.”

Layne reached out slowly and wrapped her hand around Madeline’s wrist, rubbing the skin soothingly with her thumb until the girl’s gaze cooled.

“We don’t want to let people know that he isn’t. Did you tell anyone that you could see him?” Layne asked carefully and Madeline shook her head, pulling her wrist out of Layne’s grip.

“No, they were too focused on you and the man that they put in the chair. That’s your boyfriend, right?” Madeline questioned and Layne nodded.

“Yeah, he is.”

“He’s kind of scary.”

Layne smiled softly and folded her hands in her lap. “Sometimes, when he has to be. He’s actually a giant teddy bear though.”

Madeline picked at the broken skin around her fingernails nervously so Layne just sat and watched, not wanting to press her too hard and too quick. “They…they said they were going to make me use my powers to hold you back so that you couldn’t use yours. Then they were going to make him kill you so that he would listen to them again.”

Layne nodded slowly and swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. “Yeah, yeah that sounds like them.”

“Why didn’t you call Mom back?” Madeline asked suddenly.

Layne shook her head slowly, “I never got a call from your mom.”

Madeline pursed her lips and picked at the skin around her nails, Layne ran her hand over her mouth to cover the quirk in her lips at the familiar mannerism.

“Your mom filed a missing person’s report on you. Lucas said in the report that you were fighting with your dad, can you tell me about it?”

Tears swam up and surfaced on the girl's eyes but she blinked them back and swallowed heavily. She stalled momentarily by pulling one of the boxes of pizza to herself and inspecting the inside. Simple five cheese blend which seemed to satisfy the need for distraction as she pulled a piece off of the pie and took a large bite. Layne waited patiently, grabbing one of the diet sodas and cracking it open.

“I told Dad I wanted to call you myself. I saw you on another news conference, it was with the Black Widow, I told him about my powers. I told him I wanted to see if you could teach me how to use them so that I could help save the world too. He got really mad, screamed about how you were a disgrace to the family and how you were dating a monster because of everything,” Madeline’s voice was barely above a whisper as she chewed at her pizza.

Layne nodded and sighed, that definitely sounded like her eldest brother. “Do you remember where they found you?”

Madeline looked up from the soda she had just opened with confusion. “They came and got me from the house. Dad grounded me to my room, but I heard him on the phone calling one of those…conversion camps? The ones where they take your powers away. I tried to call Mom to come and get me, but my phone wasn’t working.”

Layne tried to keep her face neutral despite the burning anger she felt in her gut. Her brother, possibly knowingly, called Hydra to his front door. But whether out of ignorance or not she knew she would have to step in. Fishing her phone out of her pocket she slid it across the table to her niece.

“I told your mom you were safe, you should give her a call and then we’ll get you to a real room so you can get some sleep,” Layne said softly and pushed her chair back to stand up.

“What about Lucas and Rosie? What happens when Dad finds out they have powers too?” Madeline asked playing with the phone in her hands.

Layne froze with her hand on the door handle and looked back down at her niece. “I’m going to take care of them, don’t you worry. Call your mom, eat, and then I’ll have an agent take you to your bedroom, okay?”

Madeline nodded her head. “Thanks, Aunt Layne.”

“Anytime, kiddo. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Daniel rocketed out of the observation room when Layne closed the door.

“Go bags, now. Wheels in ten,” Daniel barked and him and Layne both ran to the elevators.

#bucky barnes x layne hardin #winter soldier x layne hardin #bucky barnes #winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter soldier fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #avengers #marvel #shadows on the horizon

[ffxvthingies]

Duty of a Shield

Title: Duty of a Shield

Rating: T

Ship(s): None

Warnings: Torture / swearing / blood / graphic depictions of violence / non consensual drug use

Summary: Gladio does his duty to protect Noctis, but now he must survive long enough to be rescued.

Based off of these two drawings done by @kaciart!

Read on AO3 here

Gladio wiped his nose with the back of his hand, staring at the three men coming closer. “Listen up, I’m going to give you an opening. When I do I need you to run as fast as you can.”

“But Gladio-” Noctis pleaded, gripping onto his shield’s sweatshirt.

“Don’t look back. Get help. Got it!?” Gladio spared only a moment to look at his charge, who had tear swelling in his eyes, but was nodding weakly. “I’ll be fine.” He managed his typical smirk and wink, before pushing him away, standing and charging for the three men.

Noctis watched for only a moment, Gladio keeping their attention on him, throwing punches and never letting them get far. Noctis turned and ran, sprinting out of the alleyway and into the brightness. He did not stop, weaved in and out of people as he made his way to the Citadel, but it was so far away, there’s no way he could make it in time!

There! He saw a Crownsguard truck parked before the fountain, guards stationed as they were getting ready for their patrol. He ran to the fountain, tears streaming down his face, unable to call out to the guards and he lunged towards them.

“Highness-” one started, but was quickly silenced by the Prince latching onto his coat.

Noct looked up to him, shouting and pleading, “Th-they’re going to hurt him! G-Gladio told me to run and find help, please!” Instantly another guard was talking into an earpiece, signalling a Code Red and ordering the Citadel to go into lockdown. The guard holding Noctis lifted him, but struggled to take the squirming Prince to the car.

“No! No we gotta save him!” He punched and kicked the guard, who only tightened his grip as he placed the Prince inside the truck.

The guard sat next to him, holding him close. “They will Prince Noctis. We’ll have men go and try to get him, but right now we need to follow your Shield’s orders and get you to safety.”

“I can fight-”

“It’s too dangerous, Highness. Would you want to worry your shield by going back into danger?” Noctis said nothing, he knew Gladio would be mad if he did all that work to get him safe, only for him to go back into danger.

Noctis said nothing as the truck sped off, quickly making its way towards the Citadel.

Two held onto Gladio, but they were quickly losing their grip,Gladio’s struggling was too much for them.

Surely they do not mean to try and drag me to the van?

The thought had barely passed his mind when he felt a prick in his neck, the unmistakable feeling of a needle entering his skin.

Sedative, of course, wouldn't risk a shouting Prince. He pushed the men off him, but the drug was entering his blood stream. His limbs felt heavy, vision blurring and darkening the edges. He vaguely felt hands on him, his body no longer his own as he was dragged to the white van, the door sliding open to reveal the darkness.

At least it’s not Noct, he’s safe, I’ve protected him. That was the last thought to enter his mind before he collapsed in the van.

Clarus and Regis were on their way to the gardens for a break when the lockdown alarm sounded, guards quickly sprinting off to their stations, Clarus leading Regis up to his personal chambers.

“Cor,” Clarus called out to their Marshal and friend, who turned with a tight face. “What’s going on?”

Cor swallowed hard, and even Clarus began to worry. “Majesty I... oh shit. Gladio and Noctis were on their way to Gladio’s tattoo session. Supposedly men came and tried to take the Prince. He’s safe, but he said that Gladio was holding them off for Noctis to escape.”

“Where’s Gladio?” Clarus grounded out, knuckles turning white around his fist.

Cor sighed heavily, hanging his head. “They... the guards went to the location the Prince said they were at, but it appears that they took Gladio...”

Regis went to his friend, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find him Clarus, he is prepared for this.” Clarus said nothing, staring at the black marble floor, the world around him getting dizzier and dizzier.

Finally he turned around, a guiding hand on his Kings back. “We need to get you to safety.” He began walking as he called out. “Bring Iris to me immediately, and Ignis Scientia as well.” He did not bother looking behind him to see if Cor had followed his orders, he trusted that his friend did.

Ignis was escorted to the Kings Chambers by a ‘Glaive, the ‘Glaive knocking on the large door before opening, informing the King that Ignis was there.

Ignis thanked the soldier before stepping inside, seeing Regis sitting on the edge of the large couch, Clarus pacing back and forth, entire body strung tight like a drawn bow.

Regis gave a soft smile to Ignis as he entered, lifting a hand. “Ah, Ignis, come here son.”

Ignis made his way over to the King, bowing before him before straightening, the questioning coming before he could stop himself. “Is the Prince safe?”

“Yes, yes Noctis is on his way in a Crownsguard vehicle.” Regis comforted, patting the space next to him for Ignis to sit. Ignis followed, but his ever perspective eyes lingered on Claurs, who still paced and mumbled in complete worry.

His eyes stayed on Clarus as he questioned. “...Its Gladio, isn’t it?” He turned to King Regis, who’s smile had disappeared, how holding Ignis close to him.

He gave a solemn nod, “Yes, I’m afraid so. It appears that Noct’s hopeful captors did not wish to leave empty handed.”

Ignis’ eyes casted towards the floor, pushing his glasses up his nose, but turned Clarus. “My sincere apologies Lord Amicitia, I feel I could have stopped this if I have gone with them, helped Gladio fend them off-”

“Then we’d just have two kidnapped instead of one,” Clarus sighed, turning to Ignis, who’s green eyes shined with grief. “You’re fine Ignis, you did all that you could.”

“And we will find him,” Regis spoke aloud, focusing on his friend. “We have our best looking into the situation.”

“And Gladio was trained in handling interrogation,” Ignis added, “including torture methods. He is probably more suited to handle this than me or the Prince...”

Clarus stepped towards the young chamberlain, kneeling and taking Ignis’ hand in his own calloused ones. “That is very true Ignis, forgive my worrying, we shall see him returned home.”

“Well of course you’re worrying,” Ignis noted. “He is your son, even if this is his duty as Shield, a father is always protective of his children.”

The two older men laughed, “Indeed Ignis, it is perfectly normal for a father to worry.” Regis noted and gave a pointed look to his Shield, who could only gaze away, lost in his own grief and self-doubt.

“Dad!” A cry took them away, turning towards the door, only for King Regis’ vision to be encompassed by his son.

“Noctis,” Regis sighed in utter relief, wrapping his arms around his son and holding him close, but Noctis fought and wiggled away.

“Dad, we need to get Gladio back!” Noctis ordered, Regis saw the familiar determination behind those deep ocean eyes. “The captors couldn’t have gotten far, I saw a white van, if we send out men to begin a search within a ten mile radius then-”

“My son,” Regis soothed, running a hand through the silk black hair. “We are already on it, there appeared to be a camera pointed just outside the alleyway, we will look at the footage and get the plate number of the van. Right now, you and I both need to stay here so that they do not have to worry about guarding us.”

“But we can fight!” Noctis debated, “I’ve been training every day and you have the weapons of past kings! We could provide more support for them.”

“Highness, are you saying that our men are incapable of conducting a search and rescue mission?” Clarus carefully questioned, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

Noctis huffed, crossing his arms, “No... they’re capable... but this is Gladio! We can’t let anything be at risk!”

“Of course, Highness,” Clarus gave a small bow, a reassuring smile. “That is why I am going personally along with the Marshal to ensure your shield’s safe return.”

Regis sat back, arms crossed, “Oh are you now?”

Clarus turned, shoulders back and eyes daring. “If you will permit me Majesty, but I do believe you and Prince Noctis are rather safe within the Citadel.”

“And if both of our shields become injured?”

“I suppose it is a risk we will have to take.” Regis knew he was not winning this fight, Clarus would jump out of the damned window if it meant making sure he saw his son home safety. Regis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t stop you,” Regis began. “Astrals know I could not stop you, but please, please my friend. Don’t do anything stupid or reckless, I’d rather not have Iris be down both a father and a brother.”

Noctis saw Clarus’ shoulders drop, a sigh releasing him. “Of course, Majesty. Shall I relay this message to Cor?” He added with a cocked smirk that Noctis swore was a mirror to Gladio’s.

Regis huffed a laugh, “He probably needs to hear it, just as a reminder that age is catching up to him.” The King a Shield laughed a little more, Ignis quick to bring Noctis close and comfort him, trying to distract his mind.

“Daddy!” Iris’ voice shattered through the chambers, the small girl running to her father, a moggle plush clutched in her hand. She leaped into his arms, Clarus easily swooped her up and held her close, rubbing a hand along her back.

“W-where’s Gladdy?” Iris questioned, frantically wiping the tears from her eyes.

Clarus hushed her, soothing her hair. “He’s gone right now, but I’m going to bring him back, okay? I’m going to make sure he comes home.”

“I want him back now!”

“I know sweetheart, I know, just wait a little longer, then you’ll get to see him again.” Iris did not respond, only bury her head into her father’s chest, her sobs broken and loud.

After a couple of minutes Iris’ sobs quieted down, the crying exhausting her as she now rested in her father’s arms, face at peace.

“Give her to me,” Regis lifted an arm, allowing Clarus to ease the child into his. “Go, bring your soon back home.” Clarus nodded and turned, existing the room and heading to where the investigation was happening.

~~~

Don’t reveal you are awake, his father’s voice was the first to enter his mind. After he drifted back into consciousness. He stayed silent, limp, as his senses awakened and took on his surroundings. He was in a chair, wooden, his hands were tied behind it. He could feel rope digging into his ankle and on his thigh; secured to the front legs of his chair.

“I said the Prince,” a hushed voice hissed. “That doesn't look like the prince!”

A weak voice returned, “He’s the next best thing! His shield probably knows more than the Prince.”

“You better be right, I’ve risked too much for this to fail!” Information, they want information.

He heard steps approach, clicking and echoing nearer.

Warehouse? He heard something being lifted, something metal with something sloshing inside. He had no time to prepare before ice water was tossed over him, his eyes shot open, blinking away the water and fighting the shiver that wrecked his body.

“Wakey wakey!” The leader’s voice was next to him, the hot breath against his ear. Gladio said nothing, staring at his captors with vicious eyes. The leader moved to the stand in front of him, along with one of the man who attacked him and Noctis. The leader had a wide smile, it was surprisingly bright and happy considering what Gladio had heard minutes ago. “Not in a talking mood, huh?” The leader frowned. “Too cold? Yeah cold is a bitch, here, lemme help you.” He picked up another bucket, this one steaming and bubbling. This time Gladio had time to prepare, the scalding heat before it was tossed onto him. Gladio bit his lip to avoid crying out, his skin feeling like it was melting off. He threw the bucket, it bounded off the Shield’s head and crashed to the ground.

“Here’s what's gonna happen,” the Leader bent forward, hands resting on his knees. “You’re going to answer any and all questions we have, you refuse? We get ways for you to talk. Try to escape? We drag you back and make you suffer. Got it?” Gladio said nothing, clenching his jaw to avoid spitting in the man’s face.

Don’t give them reason to torture you, just keep quiet, do nothing.

The man went to a tray to Gladio’s left, tools laid out on the table, what they were Gladio could not tell, but he knew they were used to inflict some type of pain.

“Question one,” the man gazed down at the tools, thinking. “How many people are stationed as the Prince’s guard.” Gladio said nothing, the man turned and smiled. “Well?”

“For King and Crown.” Gladio snapped, reciting the words drilled into his head from a young age. The man gave a laugh, approaching with plyers in hand.

He stopped before Gladio, a bushy brow raised. “Is that your final answer?”

Gladio growled this time. “Go the hell.”

“Wrong answer!” The man shouted and took Gladio’s hand, holding it flat as he took his finger nail in the pliers, pulling and ripping it off of him. Gladio bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood, swallowing the pain as his nail was ripped from him.

“Would you like to guess again?” The man questioned, his smile wicked and cruel.

“For King and Crown.” Gladio spoke again, the man's smile was gone as soon as it came, he took another nail and pulled slowly.

Gladio by the end was shaking from pain, fighting to avoid crying out.

You can scream, Cors lectured echoed in his mind. It’s okay to scream and cry, it’s normal in these situations, it doesn’t make you weak. Still, he fought the urge to follow his instincts, but after his fourth nail was pulled, he felt whimpers escape his throat, and the men laughed cruelly at him.

“Ya know for a shield, I’d expect you to be tougher,” the man circled back to the table. “Can’t even handle a couple of fingernails being pulled? What’re you gonna do when you actually gotta take a bullet for the Prince?” They’ll try to get inside your head, don’t believe a word they say. Gladio tried to believe that, tired to follow the lecture Cor gave him, but he couldn’t help himself but from listening to the man’s words. After all, he was right, how could he handle this little pain when he was responsible for using his body as a shield for the King?

The man approached with Gladio again, this time it was cables connected to a battery, he tapped them together, electricity sparking from them.

“Let’s try this again,” He sneered. “How many guards are stationed for the Prince at one time?”

Don’t fail them now, you might be weak, but no coward.

“For King and Crown.”

The man’s smile sent shivers down his spine. “I’ll have fun breaking you.”

~~~

Clarus and Cor lead the investigation, watching the street cameras carefully, tracking the white van through the streets of Insomnia. It was fairly easy, despite the speed the van went, but eventually they saw it turn down an alley with a warehouse by it, the car suddenly stopping next to it.

“Send me that address, I want a squad of Crownsguards and Glaives ready.” Clarus barked orders as he marched out, Cor in tow, the men hastily saluting and following orders.

“Clarus,” Cor called out, but the Shield kept marching on. “Clarus!” He placed a hand on the armored shoulder, the owner turning with fire in his amber eyes.

“If you even think about telling me to stay here-” Clarus began, but Cor held up his hands in surrender.

“I was simply going to say that we need to be careful and think this through, if they managed to organize this kidnapping this thoroughly, they probably have some other tricks up their sleeves.”

Clarus sighed heavily, turning, calling over his shoulder. “Of course I know that. Now are you going to be helpful and follow or give some more useless advice?” Cor followed his friend, never really remembering the last time he was this shaken up, this short-fused...

Cor drove the car, Clarus in the passenger seat with his eyes glued to the road, as if hoping to find his son running out looking for help, or the white van appearing in front of them. Neither happened, and instead they parked a block from the warehouse, men and women filing out and stalking up to the seemingly abandoned concrete building.

Clarus saw the white van parked outside, where it was when they watched the video, perfect. He turned and began his orders, “Glaives I want you warping to the top floor, take out any long range weaponry and focus on damage control. Crownsguard, you’re with  me and Cor, you’ll be involved in the initial breach and taking care of the men on the ground floor. Remember, the King gave us permission to kill, but only if necessary. If they surrender you do not attack, got it?”

“Yes sir,” hushed voices rang out, determined look on each of those faces. The Glaives warped up to the buildings across the way, staying hidden as they others made their approach.

They went to the door, two guards carrying a battering ram made their way up the stairs. Clarus gave the signal and the guards wound back, letting the battering ram descend on the metal door, it opened instantly.

Men filed in, guns ready, Glaives warped inside and shattered windows, knives ready, only there was no one to attack. The warehouse was empty, completely empty, as if they never even set up in there.

Clarus ground his teeth, scanning the area, looking for a shred of evidence that they were here, that his son was here...

“Search the area,” Cor ordered and the guards went to work, scanning every nook and cranny for anything that could show where they were.

Clarus and Cor approached the table at the center of the warehouse, a single note atop of it.

Oops, looks like someone just missed the party.

Cor took the note carefully, using his bandana to avoid tampering with any prints that could be on it. He took the note just in time for Clarus to smash his fist through the table, the wood cracking and splitting in two.

“Clarus,” Cor soothed. “We’ll find him, they couldn’t have gotten far, and there are camera outside the warehouse.” Clarus said nothing, only staring at the split wood, Cor did not want to know what he was thinking, what dark thoughts were plaguing his mind.

“He’s too young to deal with this.” Clarus mumbled, Cor almost missed what the Shield said as he turned around and stalked out of the warehouse, but he did hear it and stared at his friend with an empathetic gaze.

Gladio will be okay, he’s been trained, they’ll find him.

~~~

Gladio spit out more blood as another blow was struck across his head, he felt blood dribble down the side of his face, sticking to his hair. He was blacking out, missing the questions, not like he would answer them anyway. He could not even tell if he was speaking anymore, what he was speaking.

“F-for King... a-and crown.” He slurred, head lulling to the side, the blackness in his vision threatening to take over.

Another douse of frozen water was launched at him, shattering him awake and shivering violently.

“Don’t know why you’re sayin’ that,” The man smirked. “You’ve already answered most of my questions-” liar. “What you don’t remember? Yeah you were spilling your guts just a second ago, tellin’ me all the juicy secrets. You failed Shield, just give up and tell us what else we need to know and we’ll let you go with most of your bones still in place.” He’s lying, he must be, there’s no way he’d ever tell him a single thing about Noctis or the royal family. Still, he cannot remember the events from just minutes ago, maybe he did tell them? Maybe his brain got the best of him and decided to spill the information in return for a quick death.

I’ve failed.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” The man questioned again, studying the, now mostly bloodied, tray of torture devices. Even knowing he probably spilled secrets, that he might spill more, he’d never willingly say anything. At least I can die knowing I didn’t say anything.

“...For King an-” He didn’t finish as another shock of electricity coursed through his body, muscles seizing and spasming.

~~~

“What do you mean you don’t have anything?!” Clarus shouted into his ear piece, Cor almost felt sorry for the recipients of his anger, almost.

“N-none of the footage showed a car leaving the area... sir.” The guard replied meekly, his voice barely audible through the ear piece.

“They had to have gone somewhere,” Clarus hissed. “You find me my son!” Cor chose to not try and comfort his friend and instead turned to the guard that was telling him the report of the warehouse. Nothing, typical, they found absolutely nothing besides the note he placed in an evidence bag. Clarus was right, they couldn’t have gotten far without the cameras picking them up, which meant they must have still been around this area, but there was only small buildings and shacks, nothing that could be held as a fort for a hostage with the guards that they had.

“Wait,” A female guard spoke up. “I think I have something.” There was a moment of tense silence, filled with Clarus and Cor looking at each other nervously. “Yeah, yeah that’s definitely him. The driver from the white van is the same driver here, a different car, a SUV model. He just turned onto 6th street and is making his way west.”

“That’s two blocks from us,” Cor questioned. “How the hell did they get there without the cameras finding out?”

“Not important,” Clarus shut down his question real quick, going back to the earpiece. “You tell me where that SUV is now.” Another silence, the two could faintly hear keys being pressed on the other side of their ear pieces.

Then, “Okay, the SUV just pulled into another alley on 10th. There’s no cameras in the alley so I can’t see where they went but there’s at least two warehouses there.” Clarus and Cor exchanged similar, stone faced looks, Cor left to gather the men while Clarus ran a hand through his buzzed hair. He prayed to the astrals that they weren’t too late.

~~~

Gladio’s scream echoed off the warehouse walls, his last remaining strength spent struggling against the white hot brand that was currently pressed against palm. A similar burn was on his other hand, which was too accompanied by a painful scream. The man finally let the brand off his skin, he would have collapsed to the floor if the binds digging into his skin had not kept him up.

“Why are you still so stubborn!” The man grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked back, Glado felt more blood fall from his broken nose, the chair tipping back. “You’ve already given us information, just admit you’re a miserable piece of shit who can’t bother protecting his Prince and tell us what we need to know!” That can’t be true, Gladio refused to believe it, he couldn’t have told them anything... and yet he could feel his mind trying to betray him even now.

“F...F-for K-”

“I swear to the Six if you say ‘for king and crown’ one more fucking time I will burn your fucking dick off!” Then I won’t have to produce more future failures to the Crown.

He never got the chance to say anything else, shouts erupted from above him, the man let go of his hair and it sent him crashing to the ground, gasping out in pain it had on his body. He caught a glimpse of his father and Cor rushing into the warehouse before blackness took his vision again.

~~~

Cor and the Crownsguards made quick work of the captors, having to take down most as they refused to cooperate, but a few put their weapons down and lifted their hands in surrender. Soon the warehouse was being emptied of all its inhabitants, and him and Clarus made their way to the limp body that laid on the floor.

Cor got the chair upright as gently as possible, but the occupant still groaned in pain, eyes fluttering open. Clarus knelt before his son and laid a hand on his less bloodied shoulder, “Son?” He called out and gave the shoulder a slight shake. The younger shield groaned, eyes tightening, trying to keep the attention away from him. “It’s okay Gladio, it’s me.” Clarus reassured, and he thanked the Astrals as his son shot up his head to stare at his father.

“...Dad?” Gladio gasped, his throat dry and scratchy, and swallowing only made it hurt more. He felt a tug behind him and tried to look back, stopping at the pain that shot through him. Cor got into his eyesight, nodding slowly, eyes gentle.

“It’s alright, son.” Clarus soothed. “We’re getting you out of here.” Gladio breathed heavily, eyes casted downwards, shame filling him. Clarus rested his free hand on cheek, carefully turning him back to face his father.

“What’s wrong, son?” Clarus saw those young eyes filled with pain, pain that he should not have experienced yet. Then he saw silver lining them, and witnessed his son begin sobbing before him.

“I...I blacked out,” He choked out between sobs. “I got h-hit in the h-head pretty ha-hard... I tried dad... I tried to stay q-quiet... but I-I-I think I... Gods-” He broke down, head falling forward and tears escaping him. Clarus brought him close, a hand on the back of his head and the other on his back, bringing his son in close.

Gladio felt the binds loosen on his hands and he brought them forward, clutching onto his father’s uniform.

“I failed.” Clarus nearly missed the comment, but he brought Gladio back, having his son stare into his determined eyes.

Clarus shook his head firmly, “No Gladio. You in no way failed. You tried to keep quiet, tried to avoid saying any information. You could not stop them from beating your head, if your mind betrayed you that is not your fault.” Clarus saw more tears spill down those cheeks, he gripped the back of his son’s neck harder. “Gladio listen to me. I couldn’t give two damns if you spilled all of the secrets of the Citadel. All I care about is that you and the Prince are safe. We got the captures, we’ll figure out if you said any information, but they cannot use it against us.”

“I should have been ready,” Gladio sobbed again. “I-I trained, I did everything y-you said to do, but I still failed.”

“It’s one thing to learn how to handle torture,” Cor’s voice soothed by him. “It’s another to actually put it into practice. Training can only get you ready for so much, if anything it is our fault for letting this happen to you at such a young age.” One job, you had one fucking job and you couldn’t even do that!

“Shh it’s alright son, everything will be alright.” Clarus soothed, betting the damp hair. Gladio had not even noticed he was crying until then, noticing the pinkish drops of tears and blood fall to the floor. He tried to reign in his tears, to stop showing such weakness in front of his father and mentor, but that was easier said than done.

He sobbed into his father’s uniform for a while, clutching onto him and muttering his apologies over and over again. Clarus just held onto him and soothed his hair until he finally went limp from exhaustion, sleep taking him.

Clarus lifted his son into his arms, carrying him from the warehouse and towards the citadel ambulance that awaited for them.

“I’ll question the survivors, see if he did say any information, and see what is was.” Cor spoke, but made no move to leave his friends side.

Clarus set his son down on the gurney, speaking softly. “He didn’t give any information.”

“How do you know?” Cor questioned, “Kid seemed pretty sure he did, I mean given the lack of experience, his age, wouldn’t be much of a suprise of something slipped. They roughed him up pretty bad.” Pretty bad was an understatement, between the burns on his hands, his knees being smashed along with his head, it’ll take at least two months before he’s able to train again.

“He’s an Amicitia,” Clarus explained. “It’s in our blood to keep secrets to our grave, Gladio said nothing.” Clarus leaned in a kissed his sons forehead gently, then climbed into the ambulance, Cor across from him, and they went back to the Citadel where Clarus knew his son would be safe.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #thingy writes thingies #look i wrote something!! #yay! #depression who?? #sorry don't know her #hope you enjoyed! #I actually plan on doing a second chapter abt his recovery and all that #bc Gladio needs love too #gladiolus amiticia #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ignis scientia #regis lucis caelum #clarus amicitia #iris amiticia #kid!gladio #kid!noctis #kid!ignis #kcartist #kcart #cor leonis

[thisweekingundamwing]

TWIGW February 11 - 17th

Happy Sunday Gundam Wing Fandom!

We have some super awesome things for you to check out this week!  Many many thanks to those who submitted and tagged us in content - it makes our job so much easier! Especially with the archiving happening on AO3! If you’ve created something we missed, please feel free to let us know so we can feature you too!

Remember, if you find something you love, please please make sure you let the creator know how much you enjoyed it!  Every little comment/like/reblog goes a long way towards fueling their desire to do more!  

Thank you for all that you do, and keep submitting your great content to us!

-Mod CB

Fanfiction:

A Little Piece of Gundam Wing

The archive is being ported to AO3! Check it out!

@ahsimwithsake

Fickle Faithful

Heero-centric, implied future 1x5x3. This might grow into something more.

Late entry for @gwblockparty Rewrite the Romance

Rated T for swearing

Amberly

Knife in Hand

When Duo learns there's a hit out on him, he turns to the only person in Chicago he believes capable of helping him. But will the cost of the Broker's help be too high?

Pairings: 2x3, past (underage) 6x2, past 1x3

Warnings: Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Consent Issues, Organized Crime, Assassination, child trafficking, Past Abuse, Federal Agents, Abuse of Power, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Gender Issues

Amberly with @yourbloodlikewine​

In This Light

Duo spent the last semester working in his older brother's coffee shop. He's resigned himself to a boring spring when a stranger appears, shaking up his entire life. Eli left home last fall, choosing to spend the last six months living out of his van on his travels from the Midwest to the East Coast. By the time he arrives at Ink's, the novelty of traveling alone has started to wear off. Still, the last thing he's expecting is to meet someone who's going to change all that for him

Pairings: 2xOMC, 3xOMC, Solo x OMC, 

Warnings:  Rape/Noncon, Original Characters - Freeform, Alternate Universe, child abuse mention, Sexual Assault Mention, homophobic parents, Re-Written Characters, Drug Use, Violence, off screen murder, gratuitous author indulgence

@anaranesindanarie​

Cocktail Friday

Cocktail Friday drabbles.

Pairings: 2x3

Warnings: bar, diplomats, Russian accent

Death Unspeaking

What happens when a Gundam Pilot is mute? What happens when the other Pilots look down at him because of it? Will he overcome the odds or will the odds overcome him? For Manny who encouraged me to work on this.

Pairings: 2x3

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage

Designation01

War Tactics

Heero's perception leads to an interesting discovery: Duo Maxwell avoids mirrors. An introspective ficlet that aims to explore using BDSM and possible lack of body autocracy to overcome self-image issues.

Pairings: 1x2

Warnings: Mirrors, Body Image, Body Horror, Hand Jobs, NightmaresComfort, Emotional Discomfort, Control Issues, Complete

@duointherain​

To Be Human is to Love

Duo and Heero are working a damaged part of their new colony, things go wrong.

Pairings: 1x2

Warnings: Spaced

EclipseMage

Broken and Bloodthirsty

Duo is terrible-awful at coping. Quatre gets the brunt end of it after a reckless mission-gone-wrong.

Pairings: none

Warnings: Pilot angst, Physical fight ensues, Underage Drinking

flamingofics (hey @idkmybffflamingo​ is this you? let us know!)

Will You Have Me?

Duo returns from a Preventers mission on the fourteenth of February. Trowa takes the opportunity to attempt to confess his feelings for him.

Pairings: 2x3

Warnings: Fluff and Angst, Confessions, Misunderstandings, Gundam Wing Valentine's Day Fan Exchange

Gift fic for @claraxbarton​ from a GW Valentine’s Day exchange in 2016

Ginnybag

Past Tense

'Milliardo.... I'll be waiting on the other side....' A quarter of a century after the fight at MOII, the Epyon System follows the last command given by its maker, returning him to where he will, once again, be needed. But 25 years is a long time and the world he left behind is not the one he wakes in, and fighting to be more than the ghost that he has become to his friends and family may be one battle Treize Khushrenada really cannot win.

Pairings: 6x13, 3x11, 5xMariemaia, 4xR, 2xDorothy, 13,OMC

Warnings: Newtypes, POLITICS!, Sanc, Past Heero/Relena, Past Treize/OFC, Past Treize/OMC, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, Parents & Children, Discussions of Politics/War/Abuse/Sex, References to Drugs, Romefeller Foundation, Mentions of Past Nastiness, ZERO System, Canon - to a point

Poison Seven - A Thousand Words

Part 7 of Poison

Pairings: 6x13

Warnings:  none listed

Wild Roses: Cold Comfort

December AC 191: Six months after creation, Treize's new Wing is rapidly gathering a reputation as the best of the best. A routine patrol in space cements Zechs's status as an Ace and leaves Treize injured, revealing the depths of his religious beliefs.  As the 10th Anniversary of the Fall of Sanc combines with the fallout, Leia begins to doubt her husband, Lady Une summons the Zodiac to form, and Noin earns her wings. On Christmas Eve, Treize marks his 21st with a mission he did not expect, culminating in professional triumph and personal revelation for both men.

Pairings: 6xOMC, 6xOtto, 13x11, 13xLeia Barton, 6xOttoxOMC, 13x6, 6x9

Warnings: Nuclear-powered suits, The Duchess of Richmond's Ball, Medical Euthanasia

JunaAzumi

Aún existen los príncipes azules

Trowa sabia que habia separado a los 5 pilotos pero no se arrepentia de nada.

4x5

Bailemos hasta que se acabe el mundo

Quién puede tener una cena en medio de una guerra? Quatre y Heero te darán la respuesta

1x4

Quatre vs Duo

Los chicos se van de vacaciones a Playa del Carmen, Quatre y Duo compiten por las atenciones de Heero ¿Quién ganara?

1x4

Quiero Acordarme de ti

Resumen: Quatre encontró a Trowa, estaba preparado para cualquier cosa menos menos para lo que encontró 04x03 escena perdida del capitulo 38

3x4

facetiousfutz

Short Oneshot Requests

Occasionally I open the floor to short fic and drabble requests on my personal Dreamwidth account (same username, if you want access), and these are the fills I've deemed worthy of lurking eyes. I have a ton of fandoms. This will focus heavily on humor pieces and M/M and F/F ships, with some exceptions. If any archive warnings ever apply, I will make a note of it in the beginning.

Multiple fandoms/pairings, please see chapter specific warnings

All characters underage in canon are aged up accordingly in smut fics

@kangofu-cb​

If You Let Me

If Trowa could give the new residents one rule for surviving the ICU, it would be ‘Don’t Touch Anything. (Especially The Patients.)’.  In reality, he’d actually give them a lot of rules, possibly with diagrams for clarity.  But his main rule essentially covered the bases. When you worked in one of the largest ICUs, in the biggest medical center in the country, at a hospital known for taking on unstable patients for the most complex and risky surgeries that were performed no-where else, new residents were a menace. Until he meets Dr. Maxwell, the newest anesthesia resident.

Pairings: 2x3, background HxD

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Medical, Doctor/Patient, Nurses & Nursing, Fluff and Smut, this is literally my feel good thing guys ok, I mean I'm not saying there won't be any angst, but basically this is all WAFF

@ladyjstruth-blog​

Going Home

Quatre has a secret that comes out unexpectedly and now everyone has to deal with the fallout. The news is hardest on Trowa, who still loves him, even after years of breaking up.

Pairings: 3x4

Warnings: Drama and Romance, Post-Canon

Lil_1337

2018 Comment Fic_Feburary

Drabbles and short fics written for the Live Journal community Comment Fics which can be found here: http://comment-fic.livejournal.com

Multiple fandoms/pairings, please see chapter specific warnings

Maldoror

The Source of All Things

Center, a planet where magic and technology blend. Or more accurately, fight tooth and nail. A planet of Sources, holes in our boring dimension letting through arcane power, chaos and pseudo-deities. In this hot-house of myths and very real dangers, Trowa and Quatre find a mysterious man at the end of a shamanic voyage. Portents suggest this Heero Yuy is crucial to Center’s survival. He’s important enough to have some interesting enemies after him, at any rate: a devious killer and thief called ‘Shinigami’, and a very irate Dragon. Beyond them looms an even greater threat. Indeed, the greatest of them all.

Pairings: 3x4, 2x5, eventual 1x2x5

Warnings:  alternative universe, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Plot Twists, fairly graphic depiction of sex, Mild description of self-harm, Mathematical Magic, weird science, crones - Freeform, Magic and Technology brawling and eventually screwing, Eventual Threesome, Kinda, Insanity of arcane origin, The universe is a pile of marbles and other dubious allegories

Two Halves

The two kingdoms of Sanq and Lin were at war for years; a conflagration involving magic, armies and political murder. The conflict left both nations devastated and strewn with refugees. The king of Sanq finds his infant son, lost at birth, among the death and the ruin, a miracle he barely dared to hope for. But there isn't just one boy, there are two, clinging together like two halves of a whole that cannot be separated. Decades later, the truth behind that second child’s existence will put a hole in the world, or possibly save it.

Pairings: 1x2

Warnings: Fantasy AU, medieval setting with magic, starts with our heroes as children, Cousin Incest, sort of, eventually, being royalty this is in fact the norm and rather expected of them, Canon-Typical Violence

Shinohoshi13

By Demons Be Driven

For years she struggled to live, burdened by a long-forgotten past, an unclear present, and a non-existent future. War consumes her life, forcing her to live as if every day is her last. Fate has seen fit to gift her with unnatural abilities far beyond the normal human capacity. With those abilities, she leads a daily game of tag, putting her life on the line over and over again. Will a chance meeting with a young man give this tired young woman the will to keep fighting? And with the war escalating higher and higher, will she have the time to find out who, and what, she really is?

Pairings: 5xOFC, background 1x2, 3x4, 6x13, unrequited Rx1

Warnings: Relena bashing, Adult Content, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Crude Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Strong Language, Torture, Violence, Psychological Horror, Magical Realism

Sol1056

Tetractys

In a reality where Kushrenada won, the five gundam pilots live a half-life, effectively prisoners. An unexpected chance at freedom may let them regain what they'd lost, but it also means a return to battle. Some things, once lost, cannot be regained. | Significant rewrite of original version.

Pairings: 4x5, 1xR

Warnings:  Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multiple Universes Colliding, Post-Canon, Mecha, Alternate Reality, War, Politics, Rebellion, Slow Burn, Accelerated humanity, Paranormal skills, Butchered scientific theory, Global warfare, Significant battle scenes, Mecha reduxes, Multiple Pairings, Female gundam pilots

Thai_Tea_Addict

Wolves and Lambs

On the cusp of war, Remus Lupin discovers he has a son. Facing a prejudiced wizarding world unwilling to believe Voldemort has returned, Remus must now navigate his duties as both a member of the Order and as a father to one Duo Maxwell. Duo doesn't know a lot about families, but he knows war. HP Fifth Year, Post-GW main series

Pairings: 1x2, 2xHP, 3x4, Romione

Warnings: Harry Potter crossover, Family Reconstruction Act, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Politics, Wizarding Politics, War, Disturbing Themes

@vegalume​

Ellion - Book 1

Set in a world where one mad man tries to rule all and destroy the last traces of magic, one young man must overcome a life filled with war and death in order to save those he holds dear.

1x2, 13x11

A/U, Fantasy, Angst, Mpreg, Character Death

Snippets:

@chronicwhimsy

WIP Wednesday - Post-canon 2xR snippet for @gwblockparty Rewrite the Romance

@kangofu-cb

We Won’t - AU RxH snippet for @gwblockparty Rewrite the Romance

@lifeaftermeteor​

LAM!verse snippet featuring Relena on the Warpath

@remsyk-blog

Thrill of the Chaste - AU 2x3, HxR Amish Romance for @gwblockparty Rewrite the Romance

@terrablaze514

Flu Aftermath Writing Prompt

@thefallenstar-treizekhushrenada

Valentine’s Day drabble about cake, 13x11

Photo Edits/Manipulations

@zechs

Incorrect Zechs Quote

Headcanons / Meta / Discussions:

Multiple Contributors

Self-Destruct suit discussion

@gundamwing-ellesmith

Otakon’s Gundam Wing Panel thoughts

Fanart:

@arubees

Heero and Duo

@cree8ions

Dorothy Catalonia

@hainekoken

Heero Yuy

@hasuyawwn

Duo Maxwell

@noelleian​

Quatre Raberba Winner

Trowa Barton

Sally Po

@outofworkshinigami

Duo twin commission for @anaranesindanarie

@oxymoronicidiosyncrasy

Heero Yuy

Duo Maxwell

@rockmandash2

Duo Maxwell

Duo Maxwell sketch

@vegalume​

Taste the Rainbow

@versari-arts

Hilde Schbeiker

@xan-drei

Heero and Duo  from LAM!verse, commission for @lifeaftermeteor

Cosplays:

@18thcenturylove​

Duo Maxwell 

Calendar Events:

Cocktail Friday

https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/

A new prompt every Monday!

Submissions should be posted Fridays between 3 and 5pm EST, and tagged with @gwcocktailfriday

Interview with a Creator by @remsyk-blog @interview-with-a-creator

Remsyk has created an online interview for fandom creators to fill out and then she features one each week so that everyone in the fandom can learn a bit about each other.

If you haven’t filled out her interview, go! do! now!

Honorable Mention:

@kangofu-cb​ was mentioned by AO3 Admin as a winner in the 2018 Feedback Fest Challenge, and won a prize!  Thanks to everyone who recc’d something on their post as part of the challenge! Over 500 fanworks (in total, not just Gundam Wing) were mentioned as part of the challenge! And special thanks to @terrablaze514​ for bringing this to the attention of the mods!

#twigw #this week in gundam wing #february 11th - 17th

[buckywintersoldierbarnes2017]

An Unexpected Reunion.

Request from @purplekitten30​: I'd like to request a Bucky x sister fic if it's not too much trouble. Him and the team raid a hydra base and they find a teenage girl in a cryo tank in a hidden basement room. Bucky remembers her and gets emotional cause they were so close growing up. Once she wakes up they share a moment and he shows her around and he's so happy to have his baby sister back.

Note: Hope you enjoy this! <3

Bucky Barnes x Sister!Reader

Words: 2,373

Warnings: Violence and swearing.

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine. All credit goes to their creators <3

Yet another HYDRA base had been located and the team had been called upon to incapacitate it and gain all knowledge from the systems that lay inside of it. The mood in the meeting room was a sombre one; although they all wanted to eradicate HYDRA from existence but it was proving rather difficult to do so. Each one of them had been affected by the organisation; more so Bucky and Steve and they didn’t want anyone else to suffer.

“The goddamn bastards just keep spawning! Where are they coming from?!”

Bucky’s temper was the first to flare up as he slammed a metal fist down onto the table. A dark look enveloped his eyes as he did.

“There are reports that all those people who have gone missing over the past couple of years have had their minds infiltrated – filled with the HYDRA vision. They essentially have their pick of any innocent civilian wandering the streets.” Agent Hill’s voice mirrored the feelings of the team sat around her but despite the anger she also felt she kept it reeled in so that she was able to relay the information she needed to. “This base is known to be running underneath the guise of a homeless shelter. People have been seen entering the building but never leaving.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched tightly before Steve placed a hand onto his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him.

“The longer we leave this the less chance we have of apprehending the main culprit behind this. We get him and then we may just stand a chance at bringing them down for good.” As usual Steve’s words were all the team needed to rid themselves of the anger they felt and motivate themselves to the mission ahead. Even Bucky himself unclenched his fist as he prepared himself. “Send us the coordinates of its location when we are ready to go in the Quinjet.”

“Good luck everyone. We will have your backs as much as we can.”

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

The team had prepared themselves for an onslaught of HYDRA agents but as Steve kicked the front door of their guise down and the others fanned out into the room there wasn’t a single soul in sight. Natasha searched every corner of the place, pistol loaded and ready to fire in her hands, but frowned when she didn’t see even the smallest trace of anyone who may have been here.

“Agent Hill there’s no one here. I can only assume that they were tipped off somehow about our arrival.” There was no answer on the intercom system. “Maria are you there?”

Bucky, Steve and Clint all looked in her direction, awaiting anything that might come through, but with a small shake of her head they knew they weren’t going to get anything.

“We’re not leaving. Even if they have all gone there wouldn’t have been enough time to remove everything out of here.”

Bucky’s deep voice cut through the silence that had enveloped the team as his eyes searched the floor. This had been a front, an innocent looking building to hide whatever horrors they were up to, which meant that there must have been a door or a hatch somewhere. It was the matter of a few minutes before his sharp blue eyes spotted something.

His metal arm rose up well above his head before he balled up his fist and sent it slamming down into the hatch causing the thing to implode into the tunnel that had now been discovered. With a satisfied smirk edging its way onto his lips he jumped straight down without checking to see if anyone else was following him. His determination to take HYDRA down outweighed any logical thought in regards to having back up with him.

The tunnel system was complex, had been modified to confuse any trespassers, but the way the super soldier navigated them it was almost like he had been here before. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his broken mind there was a faded memory of this very place and so in no time at all he found himself entering the main operation room.

Four heavily built men were currently walking around, rifles hanging by their sides, and unlike the others who would have devised a plan on how to taken them down he went straight in. He did love a good fight. Out of instinct the men fired the second they saw Bucky’s form appearing from the shadows of the room, but their mistake was that they were firing aimlessly, there was no effort put into their actions at all so he easily dodged each bullet that careered towards him.

“Is that all you got?”

Walking up the first man Bucky’s metal hand gripped around the muzzle of his weapon before bending it so out of shape the weapon had now become pretty redundant. He flipped the deformed weapon up to hit the guy in the face hard enough to render him unconscious and then he swiftly turned his attention to the other three who, although they were still shooting, were also backing away from him. He dropped to the ground and swung his leg out underneath two of the men who were stood side by side and laughed as they fell on their arses.

Their heads collided with one another’s which saved him a job given that it knocked them both out. It was such an amusing sight to him that he didn’t notice the guy coming up behind him at all. A large arm wrapped itself around his neck and began to constrict his airways but his advantage over the soldier didn’t last long when an arrow whizzed past and embedded itself into his neck. The guy put up a good fight, trying to succeed in incapacitating Bucky but eventually he succumbed to his injury and fell to the floor.

“About time guys! Where were you? I did most of the work here!”

Steve gave his friend a disapproving glare before signalling for Natasha to start looking into the systems.

“We need as much information as possible Nat. See what you can find.”

Now that the HYDRA men had been dealt with Bucky now searched the vast space they were stood in. There were tanks everywhere in this place, old cryo ones that brought some rather unsettling memories back to him, luckily these ones seemed to be empty. Well….aside from one. Right at the end was one with a light still radiating from inside of it.

“Steve over here.”

Calling his friend over he peered inside the frosted glass for a closer inspection of who lay inside, never expecting it to be anyone he would recognise, but the second his eyes fell upon the sleeping figure his whole face just dropped. It was a young girl, one he had seen so many times in his memories, but he had thought her dead. She had gone missing and was never found so the authorities couldn’t do anything but to declare her dead.

“[y/n]…..”

Panic set in now. For the first time in a very long time he was actually feeling a mix of uncontrollable emotions as he immediately went about trying to open the tank. The seal itself was frozen shut but he repeatedly pulled at the outer handle with all the strength he could muster.

“Bucky what’s going on?”

Having heard his friend call him over Steve was now stood there with a confused look all over his face. He knew his friend had a tendency to be a little strange every now and then but this was something else entirely.

“It’s [y/n]. She-She’s not dead! They had her the whole time the bastards!”

“[y/n]?”

The two soldiers had been friends their whole lives so you were just as much family to Steve as you were Bucky so without another thought he threw his shield over at the controls. As it slammed into them the whole console erupted with sparks as it sliced through all the wires running inside of it. The door to the tank swung open, almost taking Bucky with it, and once the open air began to fill it the process of the individual waking up began.

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

It took hours for the process to complete and although Natasha and Clint had left to hand over the information they had gathered both Bucky and Steve stayed near the cryo tank to make sure that someone was here for you. His little sister was finally coming back into his life and he was ecstatic, nervous but excited at the same time. You weren’t going to know anything of the world you woke up in so he was going to have to protect you He may have failed you all those years ago but he wouldn’t now.

He had been thinking about the time you had sat him down and forced him to help plait the hair of your dolls. It soon became apparent that hairdressing was not his forte at all, a fact that was confirmed by the hysterical laughing that came from his younger sibling. The dolls would have been better off with no hair at all then the attempts at a plait he had given them.

“I’ve got my work cut out with you Buck haven’t I?”

Despite your young age you had always spoken as though you were slightly older and as you took the dolls from in front of him you started to correct the mess he had created. His eyes watched your hands the whole time, taking in each move you made with each section of hair, and he made a mental note of it so that next time he needed to play hairdresser to your dolls he would be a little more prepared.

“I’m afraid you do [y/n]. Can’t say dolls were really my thing before you came along.”

An innocent giggle left your lips as you shook your head and playfully dug your elbow into his arm.

“I guess I will just have to change that then.”

A smile etched itself onto his face as him and Steve continued to sit there in a comfortable silence as they remembered the happy times they had spent with you. Bucky had a lot of happy memories with you as you grew older but this particular one always stood out in his mind.

“You can’t tell Bucky. Please Steve!”

There was a desperation in your eyes as the boy you had just been kissing scarpered. Steve was hardly the most intimidating guy to look at but everyone knew that he could be just as protective as your older brother, last thing any boy in this neighbourhood needed was grief from someone who was training to be in the military.

“[y/n] you do realise that I could just as easily kick the little creep’s arse right?”

“I’m sure you could but the difference between you and my brother is that he would probably land him in the hospital.”

It was true, there was no denying that fact about Bucky, but you were practically a sister to the blonde and he didn’t want you getting your heart broken. He took hold of your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours protectively, before helping you down from the picnic table you had been sitting on top of.

“I promise I won’t tell Bucky if you promise to pick a better guy than that deadbeat.”

“Deal. Thanks Steve.”

Steve didn’t have time to react to the memory that had just come to his mind as a loud gasp for air shook the two of them out of the daze they had been in.

The need for oxygen that hit you as soon as you woke up was like nothing you had ever experienced before. It was so great that your panic increased when you thought that you wouldn’t be able to draw enough in but then someone approached you, your blurred vision couldn’t make out who it was but when you felt a hand cradling your cheek you knew instantly. There had only ever been one person in your life that had managed to calm you down with such a simple gesture.

“B-Buck is that you?”

“Yeah it’s me sweetheart. I have Steve here with me too.”

“Steve?” Your face dropped at that moment. “Oh no. What have I done wrong this time?”

The two men laughed out loud enough for it to echo around the whole room as Steve stepped up to you. In a reflection of the memory he’d just watched play out in his mind he took hold of your hand and helped you out of the tank that had been your prison for so many years.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. Well aside from worrying the hell out of us when you went missing you haven’t anyway.”

It was Steve’s voice, that much you knew, but the hand you felt wrapped around your own wasn’t the same. It was….bigger, stronger even.

“Wow. Steve have you been going to the gym or something?”

Once you were out of the tank Bucky wrapped you up into an embrace, literally sweeping you off your feet, and squeezed you so tight you were convinced you would lose the very air you had just fought to get into your lungs.

“I have missed you so much [y/n].”

“I’ve missed you too Buck…..and mum and dad too….”

His grip on you loosened at your words. He didn’t let go completely but the excitement had certainly dissipated from him and now your vision was slowly beginning to correct itself you could begin to see a frown upon his face.

“What’s wrong? Has something happened to them?”

“Let’s just get out of here yeah? This place gives me the creeps. There’s a lot you need to be caught up on.”

It wasn’t going to be easy, for any of you, but as Bucky took one of your hands and Steve took the other you were just thankful to have them back…..as they were to have you in their lives again.

#an unexpected reunion #bucky x sister #the avengers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #clint barton #hydra #maria hill #james bucky barnes #reader #winter soldier #sebastian stan #chris evans #stark tower #mission #request #answered #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #not my gifs

[paintedface]

Of Beams and Broken Hearts

Summary: You’re a gymnast and your (sort of hot) coach…well let’s just say he hates your guts. All that changes when you make a simple error in your routine. 

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader

Word Count: 3,667 words

Warnings: Swearing, a bit of angst, fluff at the end

Notes: IT IS VERY SAPPY I KNOW, BUT I WRITE LIKE THAT. THINGS DEVELOP FAST IN THIS STORY, I KNOW THAT TOO. THE AGE DIFFERENCE WOULD BE 2-4 YEARS. I also know nothing about gymnastics, forgive me. 

Based off: An anonymous fluffy friday™ ask on the blog @bucky-plums-barnes 

“Y/N! That was terrible!” A voice hollered from the other side of the gym.

You exhaled deeply, and brushed your hand across your forehead, ridding your skin of the sweat that had accumulated there.

“Do it again!”

You slowly moved to the other side of the mat and poised yourself at the start position. Taking a breath, you began running, before planting your hands onto the ground. You pushed off the mat, turning in a round off. Pressured, you moved into a high back hand spring before propelling yourself into a double back sault. You instantly knew that you underestimated your height as you spun. When you landed, your right foot hit the mat at a different time to your left foot, making you stumble a little. You stabilised yourself quickly, but your coach had already seen it.

“Not good enough, Y/N!” He yelled, walking over, with his hands on his hips firmly.

He was wearing the same outfit he wore almost everyday-red jacket, blue tracksuit, sunglasses and brown hair swooped back slightly. To be perfectly honest, you thought he looked pretty hot in that ensemble, but there was no time to think about that because he was criticising you again, loudly.

“You need to jump higher, Y/N, or you’ll keep on landing wrong! You keep on miscalculating how much height it takes for you to do that double sault! You’re always making the same mistake over and over!” He shouted, even though he was only three metres away from you.

You ducked your head, trying to hide the slight prickling of tears that had suddenly decided to show up. You were sometimes surprised by your own mental willpower-to not let your embarrassment show.

“Sorry Coach Tucker.” You mumbled, looking back up once the water has mostly retreated.

You were surprised to see him silent, staring a little at you. Then once he saw you looking back at him, he blinked and snapped, “Session’s over.”

Turning away, you muttered, “Bye…coach.”

You pulled your hair out of your ponytail, your locks falling over your shoulders. You heaved a sigh, shaking your head in a mixture of sadness, annoyance and stress. Sometimes you wished that you had a different coach, but Lance Tucker was, by far, the best gymnastics teacher in your area, so you had to stick with him. He was an absolute asshole but you sort of had a thing for his looks. You had to admit, that body was to die for. If he wasn’t so mean, then you would probably be smitten by him. Before you had your first interaction with him, you actually liked the look of him. But that was almost completely ruled out by his hateful attitude to you.

You felt his eyes on you as you grabbed your gym bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you headed into the change rooms. You didn’t look back though, even though the small hairs on your neck stood up.

You scramble out of the car, almost knocking your head on the top of the doorframe. You’re late to gym class, and you know what Coach Tucker’s reaction was to that. Calling a quick goodbye to your mum, you run into the building, legs working faster than ever. Kicking open the door to the change room, you pull off your singlet and sweat pants, leaving you in your gymnastics leotard. Tying up your hair into a high ponytail swiftly, you enter the gym, panting with exertion. Barely getting a moment to breathe, a sharp voice snaps you out of your tired state.

“You’re late, Y/N! By 10 minutes!” Lance shouts, eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry, coach, the traffic was terrible and…” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Not good enough! 10 minutes late is 10 minutes wasted of crucial practice time!” He fumes, as you slowly approach where he’s standing.

You bite your lip, halting a livid retort from coming out. It was so damn hard to contain yourself. If you open your mouth, the words would never stop.

Instead, you nod glumly, as he glares at you. You feel familiar tears come to your eyes, but you hurriedly blink them back.

“Don’t you dare be late next time.” He snarls, proceeding to crack his knuckles.

“Okay coach.” You murmur quietly, not making eye contact with your coach.

A small silence occurs, and you feel uncomfortable. He’s still looking at you, but is his gaze…softer? In your time of training with him, he has never been one to be nice to you. So it comes as a shock that his normally steely glower is more gentle. It definitely isn’t an entirely warm gaze, but it’s closer to it than it usually was.

Suddenly, he jerks his chin towards the beams sharply, saying severely, “Beams. Now!” His scowl is back on, worse, as if to make up for that strange moment of weakness.

Almost forgetting about his kinder look, you curse under your breath as you make your way over to the beam.

“Do that routine we started yesterday.” He orders, eyes assessing.

You almost swear, because that routine gives you damn nightmares. It is so difficult, and you’re bound to mess it up within seconds. But there is no point in arguing with coach, so you stand next to the balance beam, facing it.

Here goes nothing, you think miserably.

You press your palms onto the leather like material and push up. You swing your right leg over the beam and give a light grunt as you move yourself into a straddle position, your arms keeping you elevated from the surface. With a few more back and forth movements, you’re able to put your feet behind you and rise to a standing position.

You groan inwardly, because you know something is going to go wrong very soon. You had only done the first bit of the routine through once without any major flaws, and there were a lot of pauses and preparation in between each segment.

Taking a step forward, you kick up into a stag split handstand, balancing for a few seconds, before spreading your legs fully to go into a front split handstand. You wait, arms quivering slightly, and then return back to the standing position.

Now comes the part that you can just never get right. You shiver at the mere thought of failing it, and infuriating your coach.

You place your left foot behind your right, readying yourself in a solid enough stance. Keeping your right arm out in front of you and your left arm out to the side, you twist your waist a little. Then, kicking up your left leg so your arms could grab them up in a leg lift, you turn your whole body around. Your right foot goes into a relevé and you can feel it’s unstable. Around three quarters way through the turn, you feel your raised foot wobble. Instantly, you let your left leg go down as quick as possible, but it’s too late. Your sinistral foot catches the edge of the beam before you fall off, in a weak attempt to save your turn. Your ribs bang painfully against the side of the apparatus and you give a short cry. You land on the cushioned ground clumsily, trying to remain steady. Breathing heavily, you remember that someone was watching you.

Oh god. It was coming.

Almost as if he hears your thoughts, he raises his voice and yells in annoyance, “Y/N, you’ve got to keep your damn stability! How many times do I have to tell you, stop leaning to your right side! It’ll make you overbalance, if you shift your weight to the only foot on the beam! I’ve told you this so many times, but you never listen!”

His tone is so harsh that you can’t stop the tears from forming, worrying at your lip in strain. You can’t help thinking he looks insanely hot, all bothered and agitated like that, but it’s not very attractive when he’s angry at you. You rub your rib cage slowly, trying to ignore the throbbing ache that you’re suffering under. Your breaths are shaky and ragged as he continues his furious tirade on you.

“The handstand wasn’t good enough either! Your legs were at the wrong angles, making it look messy and sloppy. Do you look at your handstands in the mirror at home?! I told you to, and I’m assuming you didn’t! And when you were turning, your left leg wasn’t even pointed! It looked shabby, and you’ve got to kick your leg up more fast as well! You did it around halfway through the turn, and that’s too late! It’ll look bad! I thought you were meant to practise it between classes, and instead, you fell off the fucking beam!” Lance rants loudly, vexed and his arms crossed extremely tightly.

Your bottom lip begins trembling a little as tears leak out, trailing down your cheeks. Once you allow them to slip, they can’t stop.

You give a choked cry, shoulders shaking as you try desperately to contain your emotions. Quickly, you drop your head into your hands, so that your coach won’t see the full extent of your distress. Unfortunately, a sob escapes from your lips and from the corner of your eye, you can see your coach stiffen a little.

Ah well, fuck it he’s seen me already, there’s no point in hiding it anymore, you think helplessly. All that stored up resent needs to be let go.

So you continue sobbing, way past the point of caring what your coach’s reaction will be, not caring to be quiet. You really can’t take it anymore. This is your breaking point, letting all your frustration and misery finally just…flow out. Nothing that Coach Tucker can say will affect you anymore-you had taken all that you could, and you feel numb. Whatever his reaction will be, it can’t possibly be worse than what you’re mentally enduring right now. All the severe critiques just got to you, and you’re just so damn tired.

You hear footsteps approach you, as your coach strides purposefully towards you.

You flinch away instinctively, despite telling yourself that you won’t care. You try to get rid of the remaining tears but your sniffling is quite loud in the silence of the gym.

“I’m…I’m sorry coach…” You mumble out through your sobs. You can hear him muttering under his breath, indistinct words, but something sounding like ‘oh god’ repeated over and over.

You brace yourself for your coach’s wrath to be brought down upon you, but it never comes.

Instead, you feel two arms wrap around you tightly and you freeze in shock. You’re brought into your coach’s strong, broad, honed chest and you don’t feel like you want to resist. You just need someone to hold you. Even if it’s the person who made you cry.

You begin to weep even harder, into your coach’s neck, and he doesn’t even seem to care that you’re getting his jacket slightly wet with tears. He just grips you tighter, his arms solid around you. He feels warm, and subconsciously, you move nearer. He’s never embraced you like this before, ever. Even when you won a competition, he only gave you a small smile. Your chest is heaving a little, trying to catch a breath of air.

You dare to wind your arms around his waist, and he makes no sign of protest, so you hold on. Your tension slowly starts to die, as your coach uses one hand to rub soothing circles over your back.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” A voice whispers in your ear, startling you slightly. It surprises you even further to realise that your coach is the one that said it. Coach was never one to apologise for anything, always denouncing and never caring about what he said.

“I…I didn’t mean to make you…” his voice is shaky, and you swear that there’s a hint of shame in his tone. You can feel his heartbeat rising, as your chest is pressed close against his. It’s fast, like he’s feeling nervous, anxious. You give a small sniffle, still terribly confused, but keep your head pressed into the crook of his neck.

The hug begins to feel a little more than reassurance, but that doesn’t deter you, because you need to feel secure, no matter what. You still feel weak, from all the criticism, however your sense of self awareness is gradually coming back.

“Please…will you forgive me Y/N?” Lance asks hesitantly, and that’s when you look up. Your heart gives a lurch at his expression. His eyes are big, and you can see they’re glistening a little. You’ve never noticed it before, but his irises are a beautiful, stormy blue grey. You never had the time to look at his eyes properly when he was yelling at you. He’s biting his lip, and you can see his teeth have made an ident in his bottom lip. He looks ashamed, guilty, more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. You can’t help but feel a little sorry for him, even though he’s given you so much grief.

The thing is, why does he look like that? Why is he apologising and hugging you and being kind to you when all he’s ever done to you in the past half a year is demoralise you?

“W…Why do you care that…that I’m upset?” You question quietly, the cracks in your voice heard. You regret saying it instantly, because he inhales sharply, closing his eyes, the eyelids shut so tight that it looks like it would hurt. His grip on you loosens a little.

He’s silent for so long that you’re worried. Tentatively, you reach out to touch his forearm.

“I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so…”

His eyes snap open immediately.

“No, no, Y/N, it’s nothing to do with you, it’s to do with me.” Lance says hurriedly, taking your hand. Your heartbeat quickens, feeling the smooth, warm palm.

“S…so you don’t hate me?” You venture, extremely curious, as he runs a thumb over the back of your hand.

He shakes his head, as if he dislikes the mere idea of hating you. “No…but I know I gave off that impression. I was so cruel to you.” He looks disgusted with himself, eyes lowered.

“And I’m sorry. I really am.”

You can see the wetness in his eyes, and you know it’s the same with yourself. You can just tell that he’s being sincere. His face and posture says it all.

"But…but why?”

You need to know. He’s apologised for making your life a living hell, and he says that he doesn’t hate you. But you haven’t got a reason as to why he acted like he hated you.

He flushes a little. Coach embarrassed? Hardly ever. His fingers play with the cuff of his jacket, rubbing the material between his thumb and index digits nervously. He gnaws at his lip harder, so hard it could bleed.

You wait patiently for his answer, because he seems insecure about telling you. How bad could his response be, you think fretfully. Coach has always had no problem speaking his mind, so it’s unusual for him to stammer.

“It’s…” He starts, and you look up.

“Because I love you.”

Your jaw drops in shock, from that unexpected answer. Of all the replies you had thought of, this wasn’t one of them.

“What?” You breathe, pinching your elbow to check that you aren’t dreaming.

He swallowed as he bobbed his head, cheeks much more red.

“I…when I first saw you, I instantly fell for you…but I knew…I knew I couldn’t tell you. What if you didn’t reciprocate the feelings? You’d either leave and I’d never see you again, or the lessons would just be plain uncomfortable. So instead…I hid my feelings by being horrible to you…it hurt me so much, but I didn’t know any other way to hide that I liked you. It was a risk, but I decided it would be better than telling you…I’m so sorry for being…being the worst coach, and if…if you don’t want to continue with me as your coach, I’ll understand…I deserve it.”

Tears are running down his face, and he’s not even trying to blink them away. You feel water on your own cheeks, and a major weight lifted off your shoulders. It gives you so much relief to realise that your coach didn’t hate you, but instead yelled at you for a very different reason. With a jolt, you remember what he just said.

He loves you.

You take a while to comprehend that, before internally cracking.

Lance loves you.

Your mind is working so hard at the moment, confused but also…content. Yes, you always did have a thing for him, but to hear that he actually…he actually likes you back? Sure, it wasn’t something strong, because he was constantly mean to you, but the reason why you stayed with him, was because there was just something about him. It didn’t feel right to leave.

You knew you couldn’t dive straight into it, as you still had a lot to sort out. But…you couldn’t help but to sort of, well, want it. The Lance in front of you was someone you wanted. Except without the crying. Not the crying. He actually seemed…nice.

A small sniffle brings you out of your deep thoughts, and you’re horrified to see that your coach is actually full on crying. His eyes are red rimmed, and his cheeks are still blushing incredibly.

You do the first thing that comes to mind: you wrap your arms around his waist again, which is easy, because you’re like a head smaller than him. You squeeze hard, despite the still evident rib injury that’s giving you pain.

He instantly puts his slightly trembling arms around your neck, holding on to you like you were going to disappear at any moment. You feel safe in his embrace, protected.

“I won’t…I won’t quit if you don’t want me to.” You tell him, your voice slightly muffled by his jacket.

“You…you want to continue with me?” He says, voice wavering. As he hesitantly rests his cheek against your H/C hair, you make up your mind. It’s a spur of a moment decision, but you know you’ll regret it if you don’t say it now.

“Depends.” You say, leaning back so he can gaze down at you. His eyes look so sweet, and now, you honestly can’t resist them.

“If I…sort of like you back, will you stop yelling at me?” You ask slowly, a small, watery smile on your face.

His eyes widen even further, his lips parted slightly.

“You like…you like me back?” His voice is so damn hopeful, and once again, you marvel at the change in his tone. Mere minutes ago, it was screaming at you, but now it’s a voice that you want to hear over and over again. You trace his USA logo on his jacket distractedly, and you nod.

“Not…not completely yet but…yeah…” you say, slightly lamely. But you can tell it’s enough for your coach, because his expression looks much brighter, through the tears.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this just because I want it and…”

You cut him off, saying, “I kind of…want this too, just…can we go slow?”

“Of course, Y/N. I…I don’t even deserve this, because of how I treated you…” He sighs, running a hand through his soft, brown hair.

“You were doing what…what you thought was the best. And I forgive you…” You reassure him.

“Thank you Y/N…I really shouldn’t get this chance…” Lance says hoarsely, and you notice that his shoulders loosen a bit.

He tugs you into another hug, and you allow yourself to relax against him. You inhale his scent, breathing in the subtle cologne and hide your face in his shoulder.  You remain like that for a few minutes, the session long forgotten. It’s odd, but you feel like you belong there-like you’ve clicked together. How sappy, you think, blushing from your emotional thoughts. Don’t be so gushy, Y/N. You’re not in a 'Romeo and Juliet.’

“So, will you stop yelling at me?” You ask through the silence, already knowing the answer.

“Definitely.” You can feel the words breathed against your scalp. His arm moves to brush by your rib and you jerk back a little, wincing from the sharp pain.

“Y/N? What happened?” Lance asks, letting go instantly, eyes fretful.

“I may or may not have banged my rib against the beam. Hard.” You mumble, touching the area gingerly.

“Oh god, I didn’t even notice, I’m so sorry!” He exclaims frantically, bending down. The large bruise that had formed is visible out of the edge of the open back of the leotard.

“It’ll be fine.” You grimace, but it sounds like an obvious lie.

“We’re going to put some ice on it, okay? Then you’re going to get some rest.” He orders firmly, but he’s smiling gently and you nod.

“Alright. Thank you, coach.” You say shyly, taking his outstretched hand. He slips his sunglasses on, hiding his red eyes, and you can see his eyebrow raise from underneath the dark lens.

“Call me Lance, Y/N.” He replies, tapping a finger against your palm.

“That’s how it is now?” You say, slightly teasingly, definitely feeling lighter than when you walked in.

“That’s how it is. Hurry up, or I’ll carry you bridal style.” Lance says, and you instantly stop walking.

He turns towards you, but you stand still. You give him a small sly grin, sniffing, as he sighs, moving back over to you. You give a short squeak as he hooks an arm under your legs and one around your back, hoisting you up.

“Come on, I have a lot of making up to do, and I want to get it started as soon as I can.” He tells you.

You’re glad you fell off the apparatus. You’ll have to thank that beam later.

TAGGING IS OPEN:

@marvelatthepeople @buckysinthesinbin @vibranium-arm @thecrownedrose @omalleysgirl22 @gallifreyansass

#lance tucker #lance tucker x reader #the bronze #sebastian stan #sebby baby #sebbytrash #sebby stan #seb stan #fluff #angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #chase collins x reader #chase collins #the covenant #jefferson x reader ouat #jefferson ouat #ouat #carter baizen x reader #carter baizen #gossip girl #chris beck #chris beck x reader #the martian #fanfic #fanfiction #mcu

[eyes-of-a-disney-princess]

The One with the Giant Poking Device

Characters - Dean x Reader Summary - An awkward moment while sharing a bed leads to an interesting morning.

Word Count - 5864

Warnings - Swearing (duh), injury (very slight), smut, oral sex/face riding (female), fingering, unsafe sex (remember irl to wrap it before you tap it)

A\N - This was written for mine and Jill’s Hubba Bubba Birthday writing challenge. Thank you to @sis-tafics for reading through and encouraging me. And a special thank you to @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog for betaing. You ladies are the absolute best!

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Long, calloused fingers grip you tightly, digging into your soft curves as his hands pull you flush against his body. The heat spreads, radiating from him to sink into your bones, flowing through you to settle heavily in your center. The strength in the arms wrapping around you, the firmness of his chest against your full breasts, the gentleness of his hands as they caress you, all of it makes your breath slow, your heart race. You can’t hold back the low whine in your throat when you feel his hardening length pressing against your lower belly. He dips his head to nuzzle into your neck, his warm breath fanning over you. He nudges your head back further, the scruff on his jaw a delicious burn on your skin. Soft sighs catch in your throat as his lips glide over you and you can feel his cock twitch against you in response.

A few rooms down a door slams, the noise slicing through the murky darkness of predawn. It reverberates through your head, trying to pull you from the hottest dream of your life. You resist, fighting to fall back into the pleasure of your subconscious. Jesus, you can still smell him. The combination of gunpowder, leather, and whiskey that always clogs your brain with lust. You swear you can still feel him, too. The long, lean body - created by a lifetime of digging graves, fighting monsters, and running from evil - that you’re always itching to get your hands on in more than just a Nurse Betty kind of way. And his hard cock - which you’ve gotten a quick glimpse of a time or two over the years of sharing motel rooms and, yeah, may or may not have fantasized about more times than is strictly customary for a best friend - rutting against you. His delicious, hard…

Your eyes pop open. What you see makes you gasp in both shock and pleasure. Dean, laying on his side with you wrapped tight in his arms, his face buried in your neck. Your left leg is thrown over his hip and he’s rocking lazily into you. Your sharp intake of breath so close to his ear must pull him from his own dreams because you can feel his muscles tense up as he realizes the situation the two of you are in. Dean slowly raises his head from your neck, his green eyes immediately looking over your shoulder, searching the bed behind you. When they slide over to meet yours, you figure that Sam must still be peacefully sleeping.

“So, uh, Fireball Whiskey.” Dean clears his throat. His voice is low and husky and you can’t tell if it’s from sleep or arousal but you’re damn sure that the throbbing between your legs doesn’t care. “Told ya that shit’s awful.”

“Uh huh. I’d be more likely to believe that if you weren’t so eagerly wishing me good morning.” You whisper back. Smooth, Y/N. Your body may be a traitorous mess of lust attempting to block out all rational thought but your damn brain just can’t ever get on board.

Dean chuckles as he presses a kiss to your forehead before untangling himself and rolling onto his back, “What can I say? It makes me appreciate having a beautiful woman in bed with me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for later.” You say with a flirty wink. You start to mentally high five yourself for that one - score 1 for me! - when you’re distracted by the way the sheet tents, and that’s a big tent, around Dean’s morning woody as he stretches out sleep-stiff muscles. Muscles that ripple under his tight, worn-thin gray t-shirt. You tear your eyes away as you heave yourself up in bed. Damn. That’s going in the slush fund.

Dean stops mid stretch, arms above his head, eyebrows drawing together as he slowly turns his eyes on you. “What?”

“Hmmm?” You freeze. Fuck. You really didn’t just say that out loud. Did you? “What, what?”

Dean sits up slowly, “The fuck is a ‘slush fund’?”

“Nothing. It’s, nothing.” You laugh nervously, quickly crawling out of bed. You back away from Dean, moving slowly, as if he’s a dangerous animal and you can’t take your eyes off of him for fear of your safety. But your damn brain continues to betray you and your mouth just keeps spitting out words. “Just, ya know? The uh, the rub club. Or the, the jill till, the bean…” You bump into the wall outside the bathroom, the corner jabbing into your back. “Screen.” You wheeze before you scurry into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You hear Dean giggling out “jill till” in the other room. When Sam, God help you, sleepily asks what he’s talking about, the adorable giggle turns to a full belly laugh, and no, you are absolutely not seeing that glorious sight in your mind’s eye. You let your head fall back against the door with a thud. Why? Why must he make you go stupid with want?

“Not. Fucking. Fair.” You mumble to yourself. You push yourself off the door, and since there’s no way in Hell you’re going back out there so soon, you slide the shower curtain back and turn the tap on. You strip out of your pajamas, flannel sleep pants and one of Dean’s stolen band tees pooling on the floor, bright pink lace panties landing on top. You let the water heat up as you turn to inspect yourself in the mirror. Your hair looks sexily sleep tumbled, but, you have a crease from the pillowcase marring your right cheek. Figures. You let your eyes continue their downward path and your hands follow along your body as you critique yourself. Your breasts are definitely not as perky as they used to be - maybe you should start wearing a sports bra more often? - but they still look damn good when you wear your lace balconet bra. Your waist and hips, even with all the cardio this life gives you, have a little extra fat hanging around, but that’s thanks to all the greasy diner food you just can’t say no to. And your thighs and ass, well those still fill out your skinny jeans nicely, though you did have to go up a size. As steam begins to swirl around you to fill the room, you let your eyes skim back up and then down again, quickly taking in the full picture. You decide with a shrug of your shoulders - shoulders that are nicely toned, thank you very much - that overall, you are one fine piece of ass.

You hop into the shower, the warm water falling over you. You refuse to ruin a perfectly good shower with thoughts of Dean so you start to sing, belting out the words to the first song that pops into your head. You dance along as you wash your hair, your words gurgling out as you duck under the water to rinse, your worries disappearing down the drain with the suds. When you do a fancy spin to the tune in your head, your feet slip on the slick tub bottom. Your hands shoot out, one sliding down the cold tile wall, one grappling at the dingy shower curtain as your feet come out from under you. You manage to contain the shriek rising in your throat as you topple, your hand yanking the shower curtain off the hooks as you go. You can’t quite hold back the cry when your ass hits then slides you down so you smack your head off the back. Your arm comes down hard on the lip of the tub, then bounces back toward you, bringing the shower curtain, rod and all, tumbling on top of you. You don’t even have time to mentally finish taking stock of your body, ticking off boxes to check for serious injuries, before you hear pounding on the door. Or is that in your head?

“Y/N! You ok?” You hear Dean holler through the door.

You groan in utter frustration. And pain, can’t forget the pain. You move like a fucking dancer when you’re fighting but in normal, everyday life, you’re about as graceful as a newborn deer, tripping over flat surfaces and walking into walls. And Dean just loves to tease you about that fact. This will be fantastic arsenal for him to use for the next, oh, I don’t know, fucking year.

Dean apparently doesn’t take your groan as the answer it was meant to be since you hear the knob turn just seconds before the door starts opening, steam billowing out. “Dean! I’m naked in here!” You have mere seconds to use the shower curtain to cover the important parts before he’s peeking his head around the door.

“Wouldn’t call that naked, princess.” His eyes travel over you, worry clouding the gorgeous green as he checks for any obvious broken bones or gashes that are gushing blood. He steps into the room to reach over, turning off the water that’s still spraying down on you, before crouching down next to the tub. “Though that’s a good look on you. You alright?”

You glare at him, goosebumps breaking out now that the warm water is off and the air is cooling down. You clutch the shower curtain tight to your breasts as you struggle to sit up. “I’m fucking fantastic, Dean. Thanks.”

“You really should be more careful, sweetheart, tubs are dangerous things.” Dean teases as he helps you. One big, warm hand settles on the small of your back, making you shiver from the slide of his fingers on your wet skin.

“That’s funny,” you sass, “coming from the guy that once died in the shower.”

Dean’s laugh rumbles out at that, the sound washing over you, warming you right up again. He watches as you raise one arm up to gently probe at the tender bump at the base of your skull, laughter dying on his lips as he sees the bruise already forming on the underside of your arm, “Jesus, Y/N/N. You must’ve whacked yourself good”

“That’s what she said.” The words are out before you even fully finish the thought.

“Hardy har. I meant this, smartass.” Dean says dryly as he reaches up to poke at the bruise. “It’s already turning black and blue.”

You recoil at the dull pain in your arm when Dean’s finger barely touches you. You slap at his hand, the curtain slipping down your breasts since you’ve loosened your death grip on it. “Then stop poking it, jackass!”

“Yeeeeeah, that’s definitely not something she said.” Dean jokes as he fights the urge to let his eyes follow the curtain as it falls lower. A quick glance down and he’s able to just see the top of the darker pink skin around your nipple.

“A-ha-ha-ha” You laugh back, overly sarcastic. You twist your body so you can get a better look at the back of your arm, letting out a disgusted sigh when you see the ugly discoloration of skin. “I bruise like a fucking peach. It’s ridiculous.”

Dean just hums in response, obviously not listening. Oh, God, you’re not bleeding from your head, are you? You reach up to touch the back of your head again and look over to see why Dean’s so distracted. And…huh, his eyes are quite a bit south of your head. What the hell is he…?

“Dean!” You grab the curtain, pulling it practically up to your chin.

Dean’s eyes snap back up to yours. He just shrugs and gives you a smile that’s a little bit shy but a whole lot of sexy. Is he blushing? You seriously think that Dean Winchester is blushing. You know that you are, you can feel the heat flushing your cheeks. “I”m naked and injured and you’re sneaking a peek? Why don’t you just cop a feel while you’re at it?”

“Hey, if you’re offering.” Dean wiggles his eyebrows at you. When you mutter an “unbelieveable” under your breath, he backtracks. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t even a full Janet Jackson, it was more…nipple adjacent.”

“Nipple adja…Oh, my God, Dean. What are you, twelve?” You’re gawking at him, you know you are, but you don’t know whether you should be offended or laughing.

This time Dean gives you one of his sideways smirks, the one that always makes you instantly wet. “Yeah, twelve inches.”

Yep, now you’re laughing. I mean, you’re guessing he’s probably not real far off the mark, but, seriously? Who says that? If the look on his face is anything to go by, Dean’s the offended one, which just makes you laugh harder. You’re laughing so hard now that you can’t catch your breath and when you let out one very unlady-like snort, Dean rolls is his eyes, moving both hands to the lip of the tub to push off as he stands.

“Wait! Deeaaannn.” You manage while gasping for air, one hand reaching out and grabbing his before he turns away. You’re staring up at him now, and holy fuck, he looks so big and broad from this angle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring your pride and joy into-oooo…” you stop your vague motioning at his crotch when you notice the bulge in his sleep pants, right in front of your face. So very close, yet not near close enough. That can’t still be from your rather pleasant wake up call. Which suddenly makes this all very interesting.

Dean clears his throat, shifting his feet as he readjusts himself with a sheepish grin. “Can’t even blame it on the whiskey this time.”

“Uh huh. Ya know, I’ve been working with you for years and I’ve never seen you pack that particular weapon to save the damsel in distress.” You shift around in the tub, struggling to get up while still maintaining a bit of curtain coverage.

“That’s because,” Dean reaches out when you wave a hand at him for help, taking your waving hand in one of his, the other gently gripping an elbow, “they weren’t naked and wet in a tub.”

“I thought you didn’t consider this naked.” You go to motion at your curtain dress as you finally get righted.

But, as this day has decided to fuck you right up the ass, you manage to step on the corner of it, your foot once again slipping, sending you tipping over the edge of the tub. You release the plastic covering you, both hands flying out trying to stop your forward motion, coming to land on Dean’s chest. You feel his hands slide over your skin, thumbs brushing just under your breasts, arms wrapping around you to keep you standing as your face comes to rest on his sternum.

You feel Dean shaking, your face bouncing against him as he tries to not laugh out loud at your multiple misfortunes. “You were saying?”

“Fuck my life.” You slap your hands on Dean’s chest once in frustration before pushing yourself away, his arms slowly falling away. You stand there dejected, arms out, offering yourself up for his viewing pleasure. “Alright, Winchester, seems fate really wants you to get a look so better make it fucking good.”

Dean’s eyes are wide but he keeps them on yours. For all of 10 seconds. As they drop, you swear you can feel the caress of them on your breasts. Your nipples harden from the way the gorgeous green darkens to a color you’d only ever seen before in a sun dappled forest. Your heart races from the heat in his gaze as he drags his eyes further down your body. Dean’s eyes finally settle on your neatly trimmed pussy, licking his lips at the sight, making you bite your own lip to hold back a whimper.

His eyes flash back to your face, pupils blown wide. “Changed my mind, princess, I like this look a whole lot better.”

“Dean.” Ok, wow. That was not the clipped, reprimanding tone you were going for, instead it came out as a breathy whine.

Dean’s watching you, eyes focused on yours, sincerity shining through the want, “Y/N, if you don’t want this to go further than a friend simply helping another friend get safely out of the tub, that’s fine, but I need to know.”

You shake your head quickly, almost furiously, at that. No. That is not what you want.

“But,” Dean’s hand comes up to brush away some wet hair that clung to your face after your adamant no, “if you want this to move into the next room so I can show you just what I was dreaming about, then I need to hear you say it.”

You nod your head, yes, in the name of all the gods and goddesses, please.

“Come on, princess, I need to hear the words.” Dean cups your cheek, fingers tangling in your hair, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“Yes, Dean.” You whisper, “Please.”

Dean pulls you in, fingers flexing against your neck, cautious of the goose egg at the base of your skull. He touches his lips tentatively to yours, just a sweet whisper. He’s still watching you, looking for any sign that you’ve changed your mind. As if that would happen. You reach out and get a handful of his t-shirt, pulling his lips to yours more firmly. Your lips press and glide against one another, learning the feel of each other, taking great pleasure in the gentle pecks. But desire soon takes over the first kiss uncertainty and you need more.

You go to lift one foot to step out of the tub but Dean surprises you and sweeps you into his arms with a quiet chuckle. “Not taking any chances here, sweetheart.”

You’d punch him, if your heart hadn’t leapt into your throat when he so easily picked you up.

“Dick.” You mutter, your lips finding their way to his jaw. He hasn’t shaved for a day or two and the scruff tickles against your lips, making you throb at the thought of it scratching against the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’” Dean drawls as he carries you to the doorway, “I’ll show you what a real dick is.”

You give a quick nip to his chin for that comment but then a rather disturbing thought sinks in through the haze of lust. “Sam.”

Dean pulls up short at that, “Just how hard did you hit your head that you’re already calling me by the wrong name?” And now he’s looking down at you liked you’d crashed his beloved car.

“What? No, Dean. I don’t want Sam seeing me naked.” You speak slowly, as if he’s the one that hit his head.

“Neither do I. That’s why I sent him packin’ after our joint sex dream.” Dean shrugs casually and saunters out into the main room. “Figured if a better in hadn’t shown itself in two years, it was never gonna.”

Huh. This morning just keeps getting curiouser and curiouser. Dean sits at the foot of your shared bed and settles you across his lap. You arch away from him with a hiss of pain when your sore tailbone comes into contact with his thigh.

Dean is quick to stand you up, relieving the pain, but then he spins you to get a look at your ass. “Jesus, woman. That’s it. No more solo showers for you.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just never shower without a buddy around.” You arch and twist, trying to see if your ass is as bruised as your arm. Or your pride.

Dean leans down and presses a tender kiss to your discolored skin. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure I’m around to wash your back.”

“Oh.” You sigh as Dean continues laying gentle kisses up your spine, fingers tickling up your sides. “Well, uh, you wash mine and I’ll wash yours.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Dean murmurs against your skin.

You’re not used to Dean being so sweet. Not that he’s ever a complete douche to you, just a little more rough around the edges and a little less serious, than Sam. But this, this is definitely something you could get used to. “Dean, you patch me up all the time.”

Dean’s hands slide to your hips, spinning you around to face him, one arm slips under your ass to lift you and his hand behind your knee guides you to straddle him. He pulls you tight against him, his cock trapped beneath his sleep pants and the heat of your bare pussy, your breasts pressed to his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt feeling like heaven on your sensitive nipples. His hand is gliding up and down your thigh, thumb teasing the soft skin pressed against his waist.

“And you’ve just never noticed how pissy I am while doing it?” Dean asks quietly, the words rumbling through his chest and into yours.

“Sure,” You press a little closer, winding your arms around his neck. “But I just figured it was because you’re an ass.”

Dean leans in, letting his lips just brush yours, “As long as I can be your ass.”

You ‘hmmm’ in agreement as you crash your lips to his. The slow, easy kisses aren’t happening this time. Dean runs his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for entrance and you’re only all to happy to grant it, opening to him with a whimper. Your tongues slide against one another, learning the other’s taste, building up the fire. You start rocking your hips without thought, grinding your clit against him. Dean groans into your mouth, his hands gripping you tighter. You can feel your arousal dampening the fabric of his pants, making it tacky against the lips of your pussy.

Dean drags his lips from yours and starts planting wet, open mouthed kisses down your throat, his scruff dragging across your skin in the most delicious way. He laps along your collarbone, working his way to the valley between your breasts. He nips the rise of your left breast, earning a deep whine from you, then soothes the sting with his tongue until you’re begging for more. Dean moves to your nipple, feathering barely there kisses over and around it, teasing you, until you fist a hand in his hair and pull his mouth firmly onto you. He groans, whether from the hair pulling or you taking control you’re not sure but you make a mental note to test that out later.

You arch your back with a sigh when he sucks your nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he rolls his tongue around it. Dean cups your other breast, his large hand learning the feel of you against his palm, his thumb running over your nipple. He releases the nipple he’s been laving attention to and quickly moves to show the other the same care. You lean back, resting a hand behind you on his thigh, the other still gripping his hair, keeping that glorious mouth of his close to you. Your hips are rolling now, moving you over him with slow, steady pressure. Dean drops both hands back down to your hips, gripping your curves with a deep moan. He follows your rhythm, bucking up into you and pulling you tight against him for a bit before he stills you. You whine at the loss of friction on your tingling clit.

“Princess,” Dean breathes heavily as he kisses his way back up your body, “if you keep grinding against me like that, I’m gonna lose it. And it would be a damn shame if I don’t get to feel that pretty pussy first.”

“Fuck.” You try to buck against him but his hold isn’t budging. And dammit if that doesn’t make you even wetter.

Dean chuckles as his lips collide with yours in a bruising kiss. He takes control this time, biting your bottom lip so that you open to him with a gasp. He kisses you until you’re breathless, dizzy from a lack of oxygen and an overload of lust. Until you’re so immersed in the flavor of him that you don’t notice his hands have moved to your thighs. That is until you feel his thumbs brush over the outer lips your pussy, the nail of one just barely grazing over your clit.

You jump from his touch, a cry bouncing out of your chest. “F-ffffuck!”

“You keep sayin’ that,” Dean teases, thumb resting just above where you need it, “there somethin’ you’re needing baby?”

“Jeeeesus, Dean. Two years of teasing isn’t enough?” You’re whimpering, twitching up into the contact.

Dean just smirks at that, the asshole. Then he snakes his forearms under your thighs, hands on your ass, and as he starts falling back to the bed, somehow manages to lift you so when he’s flat on his back, you’re straddling his face, knee on each side of his head, hands catching you from falling face first into the mattress. You don’t even have time to process the panty melting strength that move took before he’s licking one stripe up your wet pussy with the flat of his tongue. You hang your head with a shaky exhale only to inhale with a gasp at the sight of him under you, fingers wrapped around your thighs, broad shoulders holding your legs spread wide, mouth already glistening from your juices.

Dean’s circling his tongue around your entrance, moans vibrating through the delicate skin. “Taste so good, baby. So fuckin’ sweet.”

You shiver from the heat in his voice, the press of his tongue. You buck your pussy against his lips, earning you a growl from the man beneath you. You worry that he might prefer you to be still but Dean’s hands tug you down, urging you to rock into him. You quickly take the hint and start rolling your hips, a weak cry falling from your lips when Dean pushes his tongue into your pussy. Dean fucks you with his tongue, thrusting as deep as he can get, swirling it around your walls each time he pulls out. His nose is nudging your clit with each thrust in but it’s not giving near enough friction to build up the pressure like you need. You’ve been worked up all morning and fucking ready to come so you reach a hand underneath you, fingers tangling in Dean’s hair, tugging his head back until his lips latch onto your swollen clit.

“O-ohhh God.” You can’t believe that his mouth is actually on your pussy and it feels even better than the millions of times you’ve imagined it.

Dean’s alternating between flicking his tongue over your clit and sucking on it. He doesn’t falter in his steady pace or pressure, just keeps working you higher, his grunts and groans adding surges of pleasure. You feel one hand drop from your hip and stroke up the inside of your thigh, his fingers gliding through the juices that have coated your skin. Dean runs one fingertip up and down your slick entrance, then thrusts slowly up into you. He drags the pad of his finger down the front wall of your pussy, adding a second finger on the next thrust in. Dean works his fingers in and out with the same steady pace his tongue has been using. When he crooks his fingers inside you, the tips rubbing against the soft spot that makes you see stars, you lower with a high pitched whine to brace yourself on your elbows.

You are so blinded by pleasure that you start riding his face, the rhythm of your hips speeding up as your get closer to the edge, your chest heaving, filthy noises falling from your lips with each panted breath. Dean increases the pressure against your g-spot, flattens his tongue to press against your clit, letting you grind into him, encouraging you to chase your release at a flat out run. You feel the coil tighten, tighten, wrapping around itself until its wound so tight that when Dean grazes his teeth over your clit it snaps, sending you reeling. Your head falls to the bed, your cry muffled in the bedspread. Your body is bucking, muscles so tensed they burn. Dean slows his fingers, eases the press of his tongue, works you with such gentle coaxing that it draws your mind-numbing orgasm into small shocks that make your burning muscles twitch.

You have to finally raise your hips, pulling your sensitive clit from Dean’s mouth with a yelp. He slowly removes his fingers from your fluttering pussy, both hands now on your thighs, thumbs easing the tension from the muscles, lips pressing gentle kisses wherever he can reach. You weakly boost yourself back up so your on your hands and knees again when you feel Dean scooting up the bed underneath you until you’re face to face.

Dean smiles up at you, all proud and smug, lips and chin shining with your juices. “Was that worth all the teasing?”

“Fuck.” You huff out with a weak laugh.

“There’s that word again.” Dean wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you down until you’re laying over him, bucking his hips up so you can feel he’s still hard as steel. “Is that a request or a demand?”

You lean down until your lips are hovering over his, “Whichever will get you inside me the fastest.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean answers before crashing his lips to yours.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue as he pushes it into your mouth. He kisses you with barely restrained need, all tongue and teeth. Dean’s hands push at your hips, urging you to raise up to your knees so he can work his flannel pajama pants down his thighs. You feel him struggle, kicking his feet to get them off, you laugh against his busy mouth when you hear them thud against the far wall. Your laugh dies on your lips when he brushes his fingers across your entrance, teasing you, working you back up. Dean pushes two fingers into you, scissoring them slightly, easing you open.

“Dammit, Dean.” You whine in impatience. “F-ffuck me, please. Need you.”

“I know, baby, but I don’t wanna hurt you.” Dean says, with the patience of a fucking saint, and that’s something you weren’t expecting either.

Jesus. He really is just fucking perfect, isn’t he? You can’t wait anymore so you sit up, batting his hand away. You wrap your fingers around his cock, stroking up and down the velvety length of him a few times, thumb spreading the pre-come that’s gathered at the tip. Dean throws his head back with a groan, eyes squeezed shut. You brace yourself with one hand on his chest, fingers twisting in the t-shirt neither one of you have taken the time to remove yet, leaning forward slightly to line him up with your entrance. You press down slowly, humming in pleasure when the tip slips inside of you. You work yourself down his length, your arousal easing the way, the stretch making you shake above him. Dean tips his head back down, eyes glazing over, teeth gnawing on his lip as he watches his cock being swallowed by your greedy pussy. You’re panting by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your thighs coming to rest on his hips. He’s so fucking big. Perfect.

But you want to feel all of him so push at his t-shirt with urgent hands. Dean arches his back so you can get it up to his chest, then sits up halfway so you can pull it over his head. You moan at the sight of all those long, lean muscles flexing under freckled skin. You run your hands up his stomach, watching it tense and release. Really just fucking perfect. You brace both hands on his bare chest, the heat of his skin soaking into your palms. You start moving, raising your hips then sinking back down, setting a slow pace to torture you both. Dean’s hands are all over you, running over every inch of skin, memorizing every curve. His eyes flick between your face, following the path his hands are taking, and watching your slick spread over the base of his cock with each move. Just back and forth, here and there, like he can’t decide what he needs to focus on. You start rolling your hips each time you meet his, grinding your clit against him with a moan and the attempt to focus on any one thing is given up.

“Goddamn, baby. Fucking perfect.” Dean growls, his hands grabbing the globes of your ass, pulling you down harder onto him as he plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting up into you with more force. He brings his thumb to circle your clit. Your head falls back with a cry, the tip of his cock rubbing against your g-spot each time he lifts his hips to meet you. “Shit, so close already, aren’t you princess?”

You’re beyond speaking full sentences, just “Dean” and “please” on a continuous loop. You’ve never been with a man who so quickly finds what drives you crazy, so eagerly takes advantage of what he learns, and so easily brings you to the edge. You fall forward, your mouth showing him the gratitude your words can’t express. You feel your second orgasm setting off sparks in each nerve ending, singeing you with flashes of heat. You’re panting into Dean’s mouth now, unable to even focus on kissing him.

Dean presses his thumb down onto your clit, gritting his teeth to hold off his own release. “Come for me, Y/N. Wanna feel you.”

You feel the heat spread, licking over your skin as you come with a strangled gasp of his name. The flames of your orgasm roar through you with the rage of a forest fire, stealing your air, sending flashes of white behind your closed eyes. The feel of your walls fluttering around him, the sound of you gasping above him, it all sends Dean over the edge right behind you. He turns his face into your neck, thrusting up deep into you and holding you against him, letting go with a groan of soul-deep pleasure. You cling to each other and roll through the aftershocks together; small jolts of residual pleasure, hands caressing sweat slicked skin, harsh breaths, and blissfully blank minds.

“Seriously, guys?” You both raise your heads and look towards the open door at the sound of Sam’s aggravated voice. He’s already turned, his back facing the bed. He sets down a to-go carrier of coffees and a bag of what smells like greasy breakfast food onto the table by the door. “Just, uh, text me when you’re done.”

Dean glances back at you when the door slams shut again, eyebrows raised, eyes wide in mock horror. “Guess Sammy got to see you naked after all.”

“Dick.” You laugh, dipping down to capture his lips again.

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[crushingonrazz]

Empty

I don't think I've told more than one or two people online this, but I'm recovering from anorexia currently. I'm nowhere near the thick of it, don't worry, I started the recovery process something like two years ago, it's just been an incredibly difficult couple of days, and I wrote this as a sort of...vent. I just needed to get some stuff out. The four parts of this are based off specific experiences I have had. And hey, I already had this headcanon about Blue, so it works out.

Warnings for eating disorders and the struggle of all that goddamn bullshit.

~~~

Skeletons don't have a gag reflex. Even the throat they can summon for a more...private use doesn't have any connection to a real stomach. There's no way to make yourself throw up, or really to “throw up” at all, what with the process of a soul absorbing monster food being so instantaneous.

So when Blue takes a bite of his taco, it's not something he can take back. No matter how much he might want to undo it, it's too late, and even though he can't really gain weight in the usual sense, it feels like the bite is already sticking to the insides of his ribs. There's a moment where his free hand reaches for the inside of his ribcage, his subconscious mind telling him to scrape away the extra baggage, to claw at his insides until he's raw and until he can't feel that damn mouthful sticking there anymore.

But he knows by now that it's useless. So his hand drops to his lap, and the hand still holding the taco goes momentarily limp, right on the edge of dropping it down onto the bare table.

He hadn't bothered with a plate, too caught up in the momentary thrill of the idea of eating a taco . God, it's been so long since he's had his favorite food.

But now that he has, he wishes he hadn't. He can't believe he has, really. Is a damn taco really worth it?

Of course not.

He's been “cute” for so long, not taken seriously because of the way he looked. And maybe it wasn't entirely the fault of the things he ate; after all, he was a skeleton. The only actual chubbiness he might have would be carried in his ectobody, and his ectobody was only something he would break out in an altogether more private setting. But magic, in a skeleton monster, held together so much of your body, and just like food would soften the stomach of a fleshier monster, so would his joints soften, making his movements come slower and his magic glow brightly under stress in a way that everyone seemed to see as endearing.

He was so tired of being endearing.

Making a short sound of disgust, trying to convince himself that his soul wasn't aching, he stood, crossing the room to the garbage can and tossing the still-steaming taco in the trash. There was a split second of satisfaction, followed by relief. He was strong. He was stubborn.

He could do this.

~~~

Breathing heavily, Blue swiped a hand across his forehead, ineffectually attempting to soak up the sweat that had gathered there. He could feel his legs wobbling underneath him, but he grit his teeth, forcing himself to go just a bit further.

A few more stumbling, almost-running steps, and he was in sight of his house. The sight caused him to grin with relief, and he slowed to a stop, pausing for a moment to catch his breath before making another pass across his forehead. He didn’t want Papy to see him flushed and exhausted like this; it just felt weird for the younger skeleton to be the one giving the lectures.

After composing himself, he began jogging again, going along at a much slower pace as he approached the door.

He was hungry, he realized. He paused in the doorway, his hand on the knob. He was really hungry. That run must have taken more out of him than he thought it had.

He could always just…

Blue snorted to himself, shaking his head slightly before pushing the door open. The stinging ache in his soul brought him the smallest amount of satisfaction as he walked into the house.

~~~

His HP is going to fall. He can feel it, his single point hovering right on the edge of dropping away, of turning him to dust.

He's on his knees, gasping for breath, trying to get ahold of himself, and he can hear Alphys yelling above him, a worried sort of edge to her voice that makes him want to look up, to see what she could possibly be so upset about. But he can't summon the energy, his body screaming at him that if he moves, that'll be it. He'll be gone.

All she’d done was clap him on the back, welcoming him into her home. He knew his bones were getting more brittle, but they hadn't even broken . Just the innocent hit itself had downed him. If it hadn't been for a complete lack of intent to hurt, he would probably be dust already.

He finds himself worrying, for a moment, about his own weakness. How would he ever survive in the Royal Guard if something like this could down him?

As soon as you make it, you won't have to do it anymore. You won't have to be weak. You just have to make it.

He makes an attempt to stand, trying to gather his legs under him, but it leaves him gasping in pain and fear as there's a sudden shift in his bones, and a sifting of dust falls to the ground. Alphys’s worried tone becomes slightly more shrill, and she disappears for a moment. Shame washes over him, and he fights off tears. She can see how weak he is, she can see . He’ll never make it. He can practically see his dreams crumbling to dust before his tear-blurred eyes.

But then she returns, and she's prying his jaw open, shoving something inside that's immediately making him feel better, immediately making his bones feel more solid under him. He sits up slowly, grounding himself by clenching and unclenching his hands.

“Wha-what did you--”

“Sans! What the fuck?!”

He looks up, coming face-to-face with her worried and angry expression. He knows that she's worried about him, and he's pretty sure he knows why. She doesn't...she doesn't know what's going on, what he's been doing to himself, but she's been suspicious that there's something going on for a while. He always denies that anything is wrong at all, flashing his hundred-watt smile, but she never seems to believe him.

He's not stupid. He knows what he's doing isn't good for him. He knows that he's taking a huge risk. He knows he could die, could fall apart in a second.

But somehow, it's worth it .

“Language, Alphys. There's really--” He coughs, feeling the grit of his own dust on the inside of his mouth. “--There’s really no reason to swear.”

Then he smiles, as usual. It feels emptier than it usually does.

She doesn't seem to believe it.

~~~

He’s learned, over time, that the best way to watch his progress is to summon his ectobody. Sure, his joints are less flushed with excess magic, and he can sometimes see his actual bone mass slimming, but results are far easier to account for when he can poke and prod at the magic that pads his middle when he needs it to.

That’s what he’s doing now; standing in front of the mirror with his shirt, gloves, and scarf tossed onto his bed, summoned stomach bared to his own scrutiny. He squints carefully, tilting his head to one side and regarding himself reproachfully. His hands rest on either side of the magical flesh, pushing and pulling it this way and that.

He thinks there’s less of it than the last time he’s found the time to do this? But he can’t quite be sure, and he really wishes that he hadn’t let Undyne borrow his tape measure.

Blue takes a step back, stretching his arms up above his head and marvelling at the way it stretches his body out, not only making the softly glowing blue stomach flatten just a bit, but also somehow making his very bone structure look slimmer, smoother. He grins at himself in the mirror, bending his arms at the elbows and letting his forearms drop behind his head. As he sticks one hip out to the side, he can appreciate the way he looks. With his eyes hooded, a certain sort of confident air about him? Well, he would look downright sinfully good.

Then he lowers his arms, and he can’t help his frown at how his body changes in mere seconds, his summoned stomach sticking back out and his bones somehow managing to look rounder and blunter.

Like this? And excited? Stars in his eyes and jumping up and down?

Of course they all think he’s so damn “cute”. He can’t blame them.

#cososchaptersyo #eating disorder tw

[westelfirewing]

Preparations

Long fingernails scraped his scalp as Westel’s curls were snatched up in a fist. His head was jerked around by the captured hair and he sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“Ouch, Mel!”

“Mm...I thought you weren’t tender headed.” Said the scissor-wielding elf looming over him, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“My head starts to feel bloody tender when it feels like you’re trying to take the whole damn thing from my shoulders.” Westel snapped back. 

A duet of girlish voices in the adjacent room sang: “That’s another gold for the jar!” 

West closed his eyes a moment as he listened to the girls run further through the house and their giggling faded. When he opened them again, he stared back at himself. West’s reflection scowled, unhappy to have found himself sitting in a bathroom, a towel draped across his shoulders, with his hair still clamped in his sister’s fist. 

He met her gaze in the mirror. She had an uncanny ability to express mirth while simultaneously maintaining her persona of a stern nurse. 

“Sit still, Westel Firewing. Or Light help me I will rip that head right off your shoulders. And your haircut will be uneven as well.” She gave his hair another light tug for emphasis. 

Westel grumbled, keeping his swears quiet lest greedy children lingered nearby to collect more for their swear bank. “Somehow I don’t think the evenness of my haircut will matter when I’m without a head.”

Mel’s mirth vanished, replaced with a scowl and hands planted on her hips. 

“I know, I know.” Interjected West before the priestess could gain momentum for a lecture. “I asked you over. I asked you to cut my hair.” 

She continued to glower.

“And you are a very busy woman and I am not worthy of your generosity.”

“Hmph.” Mel clucked her tongue and gave the tip of West’s ear a flick. “You certainly aren’t worthy of my generosity and endless patience.” She took to his hair again, gentler this time as her fingers combed through damp curls. 

West watched in the mirror. His hair had grown just past his shoulders now and it was time for a cut again before it grew too unwieldy and potentially sentient. Mel brought the shears to his hair with practiced precision. For years she’d been the only one to convince West to let her even attempt to tame the unruly mass that sprung from his skull. 

“I remember when you hadn’t cut this hair in years.” Murmured Mel as if having read her older brother’s mind. “Could barely tell you were an elf under there at times.” She snipped away at the ends, taking the project on in small sections. 

“I miss it being that long sometimes.” Chuckled Westel.

“Ooh no. It’s much healthier now.” She paused and reached around, taking West’s chin between thin fingers and lifting his head up straighter. “You’re much healthier now.”

West smiled softly and fell quiet, content to listen to the scissors snip and his sister’s soft humming. It was an old tune, one she turned to often, from their childhood though neither of them could truly place its name or origin.

The minutes passed and with each snip of Mel’s scissors West felt a bit lighter. Eventually she paused and leaned down, chin resting on her brother’s shoulder. “Well? How’s that? Do you think it’ll get you through your stint on the Broken Shore?”

Westel tipped his head this way and that. “Mm...dunno. D’you think you could cut it shorter in the back ‘round the neck? And on the sides too?”

Mel nodded and guided his head into a workable position. “...you’re careful out there, aren’t you West?” She swept a find toothed comb through the strands of hair near the base of his skull. 

He didn’t answer right away. A simple yes or no wasn’t what his sister was looking for. 

“They send some of the worse off soldiers back here you know. Lady Liadrin’s Blood Knights. Your Farstriders.” Mel continued. “The corruption...it feels worse than before. Than the corruption that took our home.”

With his head tilted down, Westel couldn’t see his younger sister’s face and he wondered if perhaps she’d done so on purpose. He knew Mel had seen some of the worst wounds war could bring upon a person. Her hands purposefully sought out those who suffered the most. Even if her services as a priestess hadn’t been called to the front lines yet, West was sure Mel had seen as much if not worse than he. 

Mel paused. Her free hand rested heavily on her brother’s shoulder, gripping the towel with long, nimble fingers. West placed his hand over hers and looked up at the mirror, at the two of them staring back. Mel stood straight, her eyes clear but a red tint colored the tip of her nose. 

Their position suddenly struck Westel as familiar and he cast his eyes about the small bathroom as if the image he thought of would be somewhere. Again, it seemed Mel could read his mind.

“We’re like a horribly morbid update on that one painting. The only one our mother ever got the four of us to sit for.”

Westel remembered now. The last time West remembered seeing the painting, it had hung in the sitting room in his childhood home. The present-day mirror image of himself and Mel was switched in the old painting. She, the youngest, had sat in a chair, boosted up by a pillow fringed in gold. Westel stood behind and to the side. The image was clear in his head now. Beside West stood Vathal, gold hair neatly combed away from his face and tucked behind his ears. Their mother had wanted him to remove his reading spectacles but he’d refused, insisting that they made him look more mature. 

And behind them both, already tall and handsome though he too was still a child, was Cal. Caloneth Sorrelon II. Where West and Vathal each looked fairly sullen in the painting and the artist managed to capture Mel’s shy smile, Cal’s immortalized image grinned. Perhaps because he had been kicking Westel in the back of the knee for the hours it took for the painting to come to fruition. 

There were only two now, peering somberly at themselves in a mirror. The painting had been more forgiving. It depicted four healthy, fairly happy siblings. The mirror offered up only reality. In reality, neither of the youngest Sorrelon siblings had the energy left to feel the pangs of grief their moment of reminiscence should have brought. A lifetime of war had made them tired.

Westel leaned his head against his sister’s abdomen and peered back at her. “It’s you and me, Mel. Even the Burning Legion can’t be foolish enough to split us up.” 

That dragged a smile out of her. “Perhaps not. But you would be foolish enough.” She flicked the tip of his ear once more. “But please reign your foolishness in. If not for me...then for your children.” Mel paused, listening for the girls playing or for a sign that the twins had woken from their naps. “How else will Anais and Laurelia continue their savings if not with help from their swear bank?”

West let out a bark of laughter and reached around to nudge his sister in the side. “Yeah, fuckin’ thanks for putting that idea in my daughter’s head.”

“Ha!” Shrieked Anais, poking her head into the room. “That word is worth two gold.” The raven-haired girl vanished from the doorway before West or Mel could say a thing, singing after Laurelia that they’d made more money.

“You know, West, I think you look very handsome with short hair.” Mel grinned.

“Light.” Westel groaned and stood, reaching to flick his sister on the ear as she often did to him. “C’mon and help me scrounge for coins. I might have to take out a loan from you at this rate.” 

#westel #mel #my writing