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mallowstep · 3 years

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(hand games on the playground court)

"Bubblegum, bubblegum in a dish, how many pieces do you wish?"

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11-

"Alright, Featherpaw, you take my place."

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Mistyfoot glances back over her shoulder. "We're going on a little walk."

"But it's dark."

Stonefur meets her eyes. If they get caught taking the kids out, they'll be separated, and then they have no hope of protecting them.

"I know," Mistyfoot says. "It'll be fun. A little adventure."

She squeezes Featherpaw's hand a little tighter, and they cross over the road, making it deeper into the woods. Stonefur fiddles with the cellphone he picked up last time he was in town. They've waited months for a chance to use it.

Stormpaw grabs a twig, dragging it through the dirt, and Featherpaw twists a finger through her hair.

"Hey," Stonefur says. "Yeah, yeah it's me. We're alright, I've got the kids."

Stonefur crouches down, smiling at Featherpaw and Stormpaw. "I've got your dad on the phone," he says, pressing a few buttons. "Okay, Greystripe, you're on speaker."

"Hey, kiddos," Greystripe says. "How are you doing?"

Stonefur passes the phone to Stormpaw, and the kids chatter on about their days. Stonefur stands next to Mistyfoot, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

"I'm running out of cash," he says, his voice low to avoid the kids' attention. "This might be their last call."

"I'll see what I can find," Mistyfoot says. "We should..."

What should they do? Leopardstar has custody of the kids. They can't take them to Greystripe without getting dragged back here.

Stonefur puts his arm around her shoulders. "We'll figure it out," he says.

On the way back, Mistyfoot reminds the kids that this has to be their secret. They don't ask why.

* * *

Stormpaw hits the ball away from him, watching it bounce twice in the square next to him.

"You're out!" he calls, and they all rotate squares.

"Your serve," someone says. Stormpaw smiles. He doubts he'll be knocked out before recess is over.

* * *

Stonefur taps on the window to the kids' room. Stormpaw opens the window, looking confused.

"Stonefur?"

"Shh," Stonefur hushes. "Quiet, okay?"

"What are you doing here? Tigerstar said you went missing."

"Yeah, I know." Stonefur takes a deep breath. "Where's your sister?"

"I dunno. Mistyfoot took her somewhere."

Fuck. He doesn't know what his sister has planned, but he can't wait for them to get back. He's sure he's already tripped an alarm, and it's only a matter of time before someone finds him.

"Okay," he says, "You and me are going to go on an adventure, okay?"

Stormpaw looks hesitant.

"It'll be fun," Stonefur soothes. "Come on, you get to climb out a window. Isn't that fun?"

Stormpaw clambers out, and Stonefur grabs him. He's too big to carry comfortably, but too young to walk fast enough to make it out. "Piggy back ride, okay?"

"I can walk."

"I know." Stonefur shifts Stormpaw, and closes the window as best he can as Stormpaw wraps his legs and arms around him. His heel kicks into the gouge in his side, but Stonefur does his best not to react.

"Where are we going?" Stormpaw asks, as he treks towards town, turning back over his shoulder every couple of minutes.

"We're going to live with your dad," Stonefur says.

"What about Featherpaw?"

Stonefur adjusts Stormpaw, wrapping his arms under Stormpaw's knees. "I'll go back for her once we get to Greystripe," Stonefur says.

He walks until noon of the next day. They're in a new town, and he forks up enough cash to get them a motel room. Stormpaw's head is resting on his shoulder, and he slides the kid into the bed as gently as he can. Hopefully, he can run to a gas station and back before Stormpaw wakes.

The attendant examines his purchases. Stonefur doesn't have cash to waste on hiding what he's doing. A bottle of rubbing alcohol, sewing kit, and a new burner phone. He's lucky he's wearing a jacket, because he's sure his shirt has been soaked with blood.

Stormpaw wakes when Stonefur opens the door.

"Hey, buddy," he says. "Sleep well?"

"I'm hungry," Stormpaw says.

"I know. I need a minute, and then we'll see if we can't scrounge up something for you to eat."

Stonefur shuts the bathroom door and starts the sink. His side is angry and red, and this is going to hurt like hell.

He doubles numbers in his head, high as he can keep track of, as he cleans it out and stitches it shut. It's not a good job, but he can't afford a doctor.

Stormpaw is fiddling with the TV when he opens the door. He looks at the shoddy stitches. "You should see a doctor."

"I'll be fine," Stonefur says. "Just a second, and then we'll find some food." He dials Greystripe's number. It's been nearly six months since they last called him. "Greystripe, it's me."

"Stonefur?"

"Yeah. Listen, I can't talk for long, but me and Stormpaw are on our way to you."

"What happened? What about Featherpaw?"

Stormpaw hangs upside down off the bed, mouthing along to the theme song of some children's cartoon. Stonefur is surprised he remembers seeing it.

"I didn't have time to get her. It was one or none." Stonefur runs his hand through his hair. He must look half wild. He'll have to clean them both up before they leave, if they want any hope of not attracting attention. "We won't be there for a while. Maybe a few months."

"I can come to you," Greystripe says. "Where are you? Do you need anything?"

"I don't have an ID, I don't have a bank account, and we've gotta keep moving," Stonefur says. "We'll be fine. You're at the same address?"

"Yeah. Can I talk to Stormpaw?"

"Yeah. But listen -- Mistyfoot will take care of Featherpaw. I wouldn't have left her if she would be alone."

"I know." Greystripe is frustrated, angry, even, and Stonefur can't blame him. "Keep in contact, okay?"

"Yeah. Don't talk for too long. I only have so many minutes."

* * *

Tawnypaw is jumping.

"For all have sinned and fall short in the glory of God," they chant, Tawnypaw jumping on every other syllable.

It's fall, and they're not back in school. Tigerstar says it's a bad influence and probably why Stormpaw left and he won't risk any more children being corrupted.

* * *

Maybe Mistyfoot should be more surprised when she's moved into a new room with Featherpaw. But it feels par for the course. Tigerstar has been livid ever since Stormpaw and Stonefur ran (or since Stonefur died, he keeps changing the story and Mistyfoot isn't sure which one is true), and cramming them in a windowless barely-more-than-a-closet feels about right.

Featherpaw is seemingly unbothered.

"He's isolating us," she explains. ""Cause our brothers were bad so we're probably bad so he doesn't want it to spread."

Mistyfoot cradles Featherpaw against her. "We're not bad," she says. "Our brothers aren't either." She runs her hand through Featherpaw's hair. It's tangled, but she doesn't have a brush.

"Tigerstar says we are," Featherpaw says. "Says we need to do a penance-" she slows down over that word, like she is making sure she has the right pronunciation "-so that our souls will be clean again."

Mistyfoot kisses the top of Featherpaw's head. "We don't need to do anything," she says. "Tigerstar doesn't know what he's talking about."

Featherpaw shrugs, like she doesn't want to argue but still thinks Mistyfoot is wrong. "He didn't let me bring my book," she says, her nose scrunching. "I was in the middle of a chapter."

* * *

"Last piece of cake," Stonefur says. "Who gets it?"

It's Stormpaw's tenth birthday. He hasn't celebrated his birthday since he was five, but Stonefur brought a cake back to their room and said they were celebrating this year.

"We should...thumb wrestle over it."

Stonefur smiles, but Stormpaw is pretty sure Stonefur lets him win. But Stormpaw doesn't touch the piece of cake.

"You won," Stonefur says, "don't you want it?"

"It's Featherpaw's birthday too," Stormpaw says.

Stonefur's jaw tightens, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He rubs Stormpaw's shoulder.

* * *

Stonefur steals a car in late December. It's too cold to walk, and they're both exhausted, and he doesn't have the money he needs to buy one.

He'd be ashamed, but he doesn't have another choice. Stormpaw sits in the passenger seat, even though he's definitely too young for that, and Stonefur passes him a map.

"Ready, navigator?"

"Ready."

* * *

"Concentration!" Featherpaw says, "sixty-four!"

Mistyfoot doesn't know any games, so Featherpaw is teaching her all the ones she knows. Tigerstar hasn't let her go back for her book, or let her take any of the worksheets they've been doing back to their room, and Featherpaw doesn't have a long enough piece of string to do a cat's cradle. "I go first, you follow." Mistyfoot is watching Featherpaw carefully, but she's doing the motion fine. This is an easy game, anyway. There's nothing going on. It's mostly about the words.

"Category is...animals."

Mistyfoot smiles.

"Sheep."

"Mouse."

"Cow."

"Dog."

"Cat."

Someone bangs on the door. "Will the two of you shut up?"

* * *

Tigerstar places his hand on the small of her back.

"I hope you're doing well, Mistyfoot. I'm sure it's been hard, losing your brother like that."

Tigerstar sighs, using his other hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears. "It just goes to show you, you never can be sure about who's loyal."

* * *

That summer, Stormpaw draws a hopscotch grid on the driveway. Greystripe has bought him chalk, and markers, and a new backpack and more than the two sets of clothes he had been washing out in bathroom sinks.

"There aren't really any neighbourhood kids to play with," Greystripe says, "but if you're okay with winning all the time, I'll play."

#mine #human misty au #stonefur #mistystar #feathertail #stormfur #misty au #this is the most literal title #and was also very fun to write #i did have to review a lot of childhood games tho #i didn't jump rope #and my singular memory of playing four square #was being terrible at it #i do know a lot of hand games tho

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adarlingwrites · 3 years

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Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s notes: Huge spoilers for episode 8 and the manga.

TW: blood, references to past self harm.

Edit 5/5/2021: Fleshed out a scene involving Aguni and Yamane’s arm injuries.

propaganda is in our flesh and blood and we rejoice in the control of others / euphoria – poisoning the minds of the future / and it is turning our kids to murder, to murder

A few floors below them, as Last Boss trails his fingers behind Yamane’s legs to point out a few more arteries, their chief converses with his friend, a secret no other Beach members knew.

“That girl is concerning me,” Aguni admits, crossing his arms. “Accepting her in the military sect might have been a mistake. The kid couldn’t even kill without the guilt gnawing her alive. She’s innocent compared to the likes of Niragi.”

“But isn’t that a good thing, Mori?” Hatter asks, leaning back into the sofa and putting his arms behind his back. “She’s a stabilizing element. It might help you with keeping the violent members of the Beach in check by having someone with her restraint around,” he continues, chuckling as he puts his feet up on the coffee table between the sofas. “Plus, it’ll help me sleep better knowing that the military sect of our utopia has members who aren’t simple, mindless killers.”

Aguni’s brow furrows. “Takeru, I’m afraid she’d become more like those two who took her here. I asked Saiko what she knew about that girl. That girl has problems that could drive her over the edge.”

At Aguni’s response, the Hatter smiles and moves to sit next to his friend. “Reminds you too much of yourself?”

Aguni merely nods.

“Remember that quote by Gandhi that I said to recruit the first members of the Beach, Mori? ‘Be the change you want to see in the world.’ Do what you can to help her stay sane.”

Nodding, he pats Hatter’s back.

Above them, another militant was heading towards the balcony. “Last Boss, there’s- whoa. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

The other man stopped in his tracks when he saw the silent militant kneeling in front of a woman.

“I-it’s not what it looks like,” Yamane blurts out, stepping away from the tattooed militant.

The interrupter gave her an awkward nod and rubs the back of his head. Seeing Last Boss with a woman came as a surprise to him; the tattooed man was known for keeping to himself instead of sleeping around like Niragi. Last Boss turns around to give the interrupter a sour look.

“There’s a group of traitors who kept their cards from the previous game. We gotta get rid of them,” the man says, averting his gaze from the two of them.

Last Boss unsheathes his sword, and he turns to Yamane, motioning her to follow.

“Wait- me?” Yamane asks, blood running cold.

“Part of our duty is to discreetly kill traitors,” the other militant says. “Didn’t they tell you that when you came here?”

Gulping, Yamane wordlessly follows the two. It’s finally sinking in; her role in the military sect meant dealing with not just most physical games, but these ugly matters as well.

They walked all the way to the basement, and the other militant waited outside, keeping watch. There were three people kneeling, eyes and mouth bound by duct tape. Their arms and legs are bound as well. Yamane recognizes one of them as the medic that helped Sunohara treat Last Boss’ injuries.

“Go ahead,” Last Boss tells her, kicking a bucket in front of the captive.

Yamane freezes at his command. Eyes flicking towards the captive, she could see the sweat dripping from his skin as he struggled in futility. The taller militant advances on her, tilting her chin with his fingers, and the words don't come to her.

“Put what I taught you into practice. This is the perfect opportunity.”

The dormouse’s only response is a slow, nervous nod. Her small fingers reach for the dagger from her holster, and she kneels behind the bound medic, who was thrashing and sobbing as her other hand pushed his head down.

A gasp escapes Yamane as Last Boss knelt behind her as well, wiry arms guiding her, and his hand over hers. Warm breaths on her neck and his proximity made Yamane feel the heat surge between her legs again, mind muddled by a cocktail of fear and lust hormones. The dagger presses into the victim’s skin, and with Last Boss’ guidance, they make a quick slash to the artery, blood pumping and draining out to the bucket.

“Good Yamaneko,” he whispers, not letting go of her despite the deed being done. His scent engulfs her, and Yamane chokes back a moan, disguising by clearing her throat.

“Let’s move on to the others,” she whispers, moving away from him.

Later that night, in an attempt to purge the mental image of slicing three people’s throats, Yamane’s feet bring her to the loud merrymaking at the pool. She grabs one drink, and sits in a corner. It helps that her status as a militant meant people left her alone.

It didn’t stop Sunohara from sitting next to her, though.

“You really shouldn’t be drinking alcohol while you’re taking tramadol, you know,” she casually mentions, lighting a cigarette. Smoke wafts to Yamane’s face and she waves it away with her free hand. “I thought doctors advise people to stay away from cigarettes, why are you smoking?”

Sunohara laughs. “Touche. I guess I can’t stop you. Just don’t drink before a game. It’ll make you drowsy.”

“Sure, I’ll keep it in mind.”

In consideration, Sunohara blows the smoke away from Yamane’s direction. “So, what was your game tonight? You had so much blood on you.”

“A Spade.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sunohara comments, taking another hit of her cigarette. “Physical games tend to get messy. Though, Heart games can get messy too.”

Now Yamane’s interest is piqued. She never had a heart game before. “What’s in a Heart game?”

“Ah, never played one before? Heart games play with, well, your heart.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Yamane replies, taking a sip of her cocktail. “What do you mean by it plays with your heart?”

Sunohara flicks her spent cigarette away and crushes it with her sandal. “They’re psychological, the type that uses your emotions to make a fool out of you. They mislead you into thinking that you’d have to do something terrible, but losses can be avoided if you think things through and don’t let your emotions get the best of you.”

“You sound like you’ve seen a lot of Heart games, Sunohara,” Yamane comments, setting her empty drink down.

“Not really. Just two. When you’re a doctor like me, you need to be calm in an emergency. Assess the situation properly, and give proper treatment. I just applied my experiences.”

Sunohara stands up to shake off the ash from her coat, and gives Yamane a smile. “I need to go. My assistant disappeared on me and I need to check the medication supply.”

With that, she sets off. Yamane gulps the last of her drink, and guilt drops like a heavy stone in her stomach. That assistant must have been the man she executed.

Drowsiness settling in, she needs to rest for the games. Unlike when she was surviving on her own, Beach members play them every night regardless of how many days they have left on their visas. Yamane lies on the bed, but her body is still buzzing. She recounts her experiences for the day, and her mind wanders back to the time she spent with Last Boss.

Against her better judgment, her fingers trail downward to the waistband of her shorts, and she pulls them off of her legs, underwear coming off with it. A string of her juices coats her finger as she glided it against her folds.

The little dormouse pleasures herself that night thinking about the tiger above her, fantasizing about him doing unspeakable things to her body. She comes quietly, intensely. Then, she drifts off, the post-orgasmic bliss calming her down.

The next morning, she wakes up feeling worse.

Sluggish, she climbs out of bed, and goes to the bathroom. The blood had come off of her clothes now, so she scrubbed them, rinsed them, took them out of the sink and hung them to dry. In the middle of hanging up her skirt, her stomach rumbles. She forgot to eat last night.

At the lobby, the usual banquet is set out for the residents. Yamane takes all the food she can fit on a plate, goes back up to her room, and eats in peace. She’ll need the strength and energy to survive tonight.

She didn’t know if she should be dismayed or relieved that she’s not grouped with Niragi and Last Boss in the game tonight. Instead, she was grouped with Saiko, Sunohara, Aguni, and another Beach member that she hasn’t spoken to yet. One of them wears a plain white hood, a distant, sly look on his face. They all went through the laser grid, and there were enough phones for ten players.

Soon, other participants arrived.

This game takes place in a hospital, and various implements are laid on the table. Yamane takes note of them; stress balls, large needles, blood bags, scalpels, and buckets. Sunohara was eyeing them as well, deep in thought.

In the middle of the room was a large electronic weighing scale.

“Registration closed. There are currently eight players. Difficulty: Five of Hearts.”

Ice runs through Yamane’s veins. Just last night she was talking to Sunohara about Heart games, and here she was.

“Game: Bloodletting. Rules: There is a bomb in this building. Players must spill enough blood to defuse them all. Time limit: thirty minutes.”

“Spill blood? This should be easy,” Saiko comments, loading her gun.

“Game Start!”

At the cue, Saiko shoots an unaffiliated player dead. Yamane’s eyes widen in surprise, while Sunohara screams, bracing herself against a medical gurney. Aguni is quiet, looking at the corpse, while the man with the white hood rolls his eyes. The others were too shocked to say anything.

“Not enough blood is spilled,” the robotic voice announces.

“Dammit!” Saiko shouts, shooting another player dead. The other one tries to flee, but she makes quick work of her.

“Not enough blood is spilled,” the robotic voice continues.

Saiko points the gun at Sunohara, but Yamane shoves her aside. “Idiot. It didn’t work the first time, what makes you think that it’ll work the fourth time?”

“Huh. Will you look at that. A militant that isn’t entirely stupid,” the man in white comments in a sing-song voice. Saiko turns to him and points her gun. “Would you rather I shoot you, Chishiya?”

“Saiko. Enough,” Aguni commands, crouching to look at the fallen man. “Your strategy clearly doesn’t work.”

Collecting herself, Sunohara sighs. “This is a Heart game. The rules aren’t what they seem. Look around you, there are implements for blood transfusion, and a weighing scale in the middle of the room. The game’s name is ‘Bloodletting’ too.”

“Let’s use the dead’s blood to fill the buckets then,” Aguni suggests. “How long does it take to drain the blood from a man his size?”

“A man that size looks like he has about 1.5 gallons of blood. That’s roughly 5.6 liters, enough to fill ten blood bags, which holds 525 milliliters of blood,” Chishiya comments. “The heart pumps five liters of blood per minute, but that man is dead.”

Saiko and Yamane look at him with bewilderment. “He’s a medical student. I was his senior,” Sunohara comments sheepishly. “But, still, each transfusion would last eight to ten minutes, and that’s on someone alive. There wouldn’t be enough time for us to drain all their blood before the building blows up.”

“It’s still worth the try,” Yamane comments, taking a bucket. She kneels in front of one of the dead players, takes a deep breath to steady her hands, and applies what she learned from Last Boss the night before, the blood spilling into the bucket. Horrified, Sunohara could only watch as Yamane worked. Aguni takes a scalpel and starts to drain the other dead player as well.

“Twenty minutes remaining.”

The doctor takes a steadying breath when she takes a scalpel and kneels. The rest follow suit except for Chishiya, who merely observes. Soon, they were moving buckets of blood to the weighing scale.

“Not enough blood is spilled,” the robotic voice chimes in, and Saiko groans. Sunohara is nervously eyeing the militants, including Yamane, while Chishiya smirks. Impatient, Saiko points her gun at Chishiya again, and Sunohara gets in the way, eyes defiant.

“Get out of my face before I blow your face off instead of his,” Saiko hisses, but Sunohara remains firm. “Stop. I’m not letting anyone else die. This is a Heart game! It’s deliberately fucking with your head to make you think that killing each other is the only solution.”

“There’s something in the rules you’re all overlooking,” Chishiya comments, unfazed. “The rules said players must spill enough blood.”

Upon hearing his remark, Yamane has an epiphany. “Maybe it meant that we should all fill a bag?”

Chishiya smirks.

“Ten minutes remaining.”

Sunohara rushes to gather the blood bags and stress balls, giving them to the remaining players. “We better hurry,” she says, panting. “Hold out your arms,” she instructs. “Chishiya, don’t just stand there, help me!”

He gives her a cheeky smile and gets to work.

Plunging the needle in Yamane’s arm, Chishiya gives her a look. “You’re too clever for this lot.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she responds. “Let’s just focus on the game.”

“Fair.”

Soon, everyone had their needles inserted in their veins. “Now what?” Saiko asks, scowling.

“Squeeze those stress balls!” Sunohara directs, and everyone starts. Slowly but steady, they all fill a bag.

“Five minutes remaining.”

“How long does this take again?” Saiko asks, still hard at squeezing. “Eight to ten minutes,” Sunohara replies, eyeing the weighing scale.

“Three minutes remaining.”

At that point, Yamane was cursing, bag filled only three-fourths of the way through. She looks to the other players’ bags.

“Two minutes remaining.”

Aguni is first to finish his bag, and Sunohara promptly helps him move it to the weighing scale. Chishiya follows, then Saiko, then Sunohara. Yamane’s bag still isn’t full.

“One minute remaining,” the robotic voice chirps again, and Yamane curses. “Hurry the hell up!” Saiko yells, distressed.

“Thirty seconds remaining.”

In desperation, Yamane grabs her bag, puts it on the scale, and takes one of her daggers to slash her arm, blood spilling on the weighing scale.

“Enough blood has been spilled. Game Clear. Congratulations!”

Collective relief rushes through the group. Yamane should be relieved herself, but now, blood continues to spill from her arm. “S-Sunohara, I won’t stop bleeding,” she gasps.

Cursing, Sunohara scrambles to find supplies to help stop the flow. But the pressure wasn't enough; Yamane continues to bleed all over the table. Aguni steps in, meaty palm pressing against the wound. As he kept the pressure on her arm, he notices a few scars on the surface of his underling's skin. Multiple stripes lined up on her wrist, and it only took one look for him to realize that they were self-inflicted. Sensing the discomfort in Yamane's gaze as she watched him stare at her scars, Aguni looks away.

Once the bleeding stopped, Sunohara treats Yamane’s arm, wrapping a bandage around it. “You’re lucky,” Sunohara comments. “The cut wasn’t deep enough to sever your radial artery. A little deeper, and you would be dead in two minutes.”

“Let’s go,” Aguni grunts, collecting the card from the round table that always shows up after a game.

Before they leave, Yamane eyes the bodies of the dead players Saiko shot, and she feels less horrified. Desensitized.

As soon as they arrived in the Beach, she passed through the pool, most of the Beach residents already hard at partying, and Yamane couldn’t stop the dread from creeping up her spine. These people probably saw other people die in a game tonight, yet they’re more than happy to forget all that with a drink and a good fuck.

“Maybe I should try drinking and fucking my sorrows away like them,” a small part of Yamane’s psych tells her. But her own thoughts are interrupted by the rumble of her stomach.

The blood loss made her ravenous, and she went directly to the banquet. Yamane didn’t even take the food back to her room; she just picked up whatever she found appealing and started eating right there. Biting into a chicken leg, Yamane didn’t care for what the onlookers thought. Sauce pooled in the corner of her mouth as she polished off the chicken, not a single shred of meat left on the bone.

“Yamaneko.”

Abruptly, she turns around to see Last Boss giving her an amused look.

Almost choking, Yamane forces herself to swallow the meat in her mouth. She couldn’t look him in the eye after pleasuring herself at the thought of him the night before. “Last Boss. Hey.”

She moves aside to allow him to gather his serving too. Yamane follows him afterwards to a secluded area afterwards, and he seemed to tolerate her presence, allowing her to sit next to him.

“Thank you for last night,” Yamane tells him. “It helped me clear my game tonight.”

Last Boss only stares at her as she ate, which made her self-conscious. She slowed her chewing, and when he didn’t stop, she turned to face him.

“Yes?”

Goosebumps ripple through Yamane’s skin again as the other militant brushes his thumb on her lips, towards the corner of her mouth. He proceeds to lick it off of his finger. Yamane’s entire face is red now, and she rubs the rest of the sauce off of her mouth with a napkin.

“Y-you could’ve just told me I have sauce on me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he finally speaks up.

Yamane just knew that she was going to spend nights touching herself to the thought of him again. Several nights.

Four days later, after a Club, a Diamond, and two Spade games, Yamane is given her new player tag. Number twenty five. She’s slowly becoming a seasoned player.

Every after game, Yamane sought out Last Boss’ company more and more. Whether they spoke or just sat in silence didn’t matter. He hasn’t told her to go away once, so Yamane continues to spend more time with him. People started to talk. Not like Yamane cared; she endured all of that in the real world, it doesn’t faze her anymore in this strange land. Soon, the thoughts of home started to dissipate from her psyche, preoccupied with the games and the twisted sense of acceptance she received from her fellow members of the Beach’s militia.

A day after Yamane’s Spade game, she received her next team assignment. She looks at her slip of paper and proceeds to look for other members. Last Boss locks eyes with her, and holds out his slip of paper. They were grouped with a couple who couldn’t get their hands off of each other in the backseat as Yamane drove. Last Boss sits next to her in the front seat, eyes occasionally wandering to her.

Yamane pretended not to notice, locking her eyes on the road.

Soon, they arrive at the game venue.

A love hotel.

As the two other Beach players walked towards the venue, Yamane leaned against the car, eyeing the neon sign. “This… this probably won't be a Spade game, huh?” she mumbles to her companion, whose mouth was slightly open.

“Ever been to a place like this before?” Yamane asks him, wrapping her arms around herself.

“No.”

Yamane didn’t say anything else after that, proceeding inside the venue with Last Boss.

The signs led them to a large suite, where X-crosses are lined up. Smartwatches are laid out for the players, along with guns. Yamane and Last Boss pick up a phone, and proceed to wear the watches. On Yamane’s watch, an arrow pops up in the display, while a heart shows up on Last Boss’ watch.

As another pair gets in the room, Yamane inspects the guns, which had an arrow engraved on the handle. Her eyes flick to the restraints, and dread washes over her when she sees the heart designs in the red light.

“Please sort yourselves accordingly,” a sign on the table instructs them, and the players are done as they’re told. Last Boss went to the X-cross, which had automatic cuffs that bound his arms and legs. Yamane looks at him with slight discomfort, but he stares at her with a blank expression.

“Registration closed. There are currently six players. Difficulty: Nine of Hearts.”

The other players started to mumble amongst themselves, while Yamane’s eyes remained locked on to her fellow militant.

“Game: Desire. Rules: Arrows must take turns to confess their feelings to the Heart they find most desirable. Arrows must fire the gun at the Heart of their choice. Lying or failing to fire the gun would result in a Game Over. Time limit: five minutes.”

“Shit,” was all Yamane could say.

“First player: Daisuke Inamine.”

Yamane turns to the said player, whose tears are streaming down his face as he looks at his lover. “Shit, I can’t do this! I can’t do this,” he sobs, putting the gun down and running out of the room. A laser fired and killed him in an instant. His lover was crying and screaming, fighting against the X-cross’ restraints.

“Next player: Rina Yamada.”

Hands shaking, the other player picks up the gun, and points it at the boy she came to the venue with. “Hiro,” she starts, voice shaking. “I’ve- I’ve always liked you since middle school,” she confesses, sobs wracking her body. “I appreciate that you enjoy the bento I’d always make for you. I like how you’d always come to protect me from my bullies. I- oh god, Hiro, please, please forgive me.”

“Three minutes remaining.”

Hiro was looking at her with resignation in his eyes. “Enough, Rina. I’ve always liked you too. Please, do what you can to survive.”

Shaking, sobbing, Rina pulls the trigger, firing the gun at Hiro’s chest. She then tosses it away, covering her face as she wails.

“Next player: Minami Yamane.”

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #fanfic: dormouse #last boss x oc #takatora samura x oc #oc: minami yamane #last boss #takatora samura #morizono aguni #takeru danma #hatter #oc: lilian sunohara #fanfiction #character study

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dorizardthewizard · 3 years

Text

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 8

Prologue / Chapter 7 / Chapter 9

8. AN UNEXPECTED PASSER

“Arcadia News! News from all over the galaxy!” A female voice announces to playful music, as the show's logo scrolls.

- From across the galaxy, indeed, - says Nork Ag’net, TTV's star presenter. - And more particularly from the small planet Akillian. Things are certainly going on on Akillian at the moment! Wouldn’t you agree, Callie?

On the giant holo-screen next to Nork Ag'net there is an aerial view of the ancient capital that appears frozen in the ice, like a huge angular iceberg washed up on the edge of the Windy Plateaus. The only moving element in this frozen setting, the Akillian flag, still flies atop the Soustra Tower, the tallest building in the ruined city. The camera zooms in and dives along ice cliffs and frosted walls, to Callie Mystic standing in front of one of the walkways leading to Arena Stadium, which resembles a huge ocean liner frozen in a bluish crystal.

- Indeed, Nork! Because I'm talking to you live from a place that some consider cursed, since the Catastrophe that led to the Ice Age... it’s the Arena Stadium! As you can see, externally nothing has changed in all these years, but what interests us here is that this place of sinister memory has just recently been reinvested in by a man - and not just any man. That is: Aarch, the former star striker of the Akillian team!

While delivering her speech, Callie crosses the footbridge and enters the interior of the stadium, to a scene of frantic activity led by the “Scrap”, who are melting the ice, pumping water, consolidating the superstructure, climbing the collapsed walls, and repairing faulty circuits.

- If the ground floor has become unusable, - continues Callie, crossing the site. - This is not the case for the underground areas and the corridors of the stadium which, miraculously, were spared from the progression of the ice and whose renovation was entrusted to a small army of hard-working robots. Aarch has agreed to answer all of our burning questions…

In his father's studio, Rocket, seated in front of the screen, is half-heartedly preparing a wreath of roses - Norata's famous purple roses - while following the show with a dismal expression. He puts down the clippers, disheartened.

- For example, how does he hope to, in his own words, “write a new page in the history of this sport on our beautiful planet” with the rookie team he has just recruited? He will answer us, I hope, with his legendary frankness...

Callie has just entered a room furnished with comfortable sofas, where Aarch and his team are waiting - only Tia is missing. Micro-Ice waves at the holo-cam.

- We will also get to know his trainees better, the lucky ones selected to take up this incredible challenge. But is this just luck, or is it...

The TV is suddenly cut off. Startled, Rocket whirls around: his father is there, remote control in hand.

- Dad! Why did you turn it off?

- You know perfectly well that I will not go back on my decision. So why are you hurting yourself by watching this?

Rocket gets up, angry.

- I'm not the one who hurt me. You did!

He leaves the room, boiling with rage. If he could have slammed the door, he would have, but unfortunately the door is a sliding one.

Norata is left alone in his office, in front of the black screen and the cut roses, as memories flow into his mind...

Fifteen years ago. That infamous free kick that would decide the fate of the game, possibly Akillian’s victory over the Shadows - his first victory. Aarch, in full control, all lit up with the Breath of Akillian. A glance at Norata, who smiles at him and nods his head: Come on brother, make us win! Aarch takes a few steps back and takes off… an arced, magnificent shot, going around the wall of the Shadow's defense. The ball shoots towards the goal… and the unbelievable, the inconceivable happens: the ball explodes in the hand of the Shadows’ goalkeeper. And then... the hurricane. The ground shaking, the howling wind swirling between the stands, the cascade of snow and ice spewed out by an inky sky. The stadium that cracks on all sides... the screams, panic. The frantic sprinting. Norata tries to catch up with his brother, taller than him, with longer strides. He slips on the ground covered with hailstones… a bad fall. A searing pain in the leg. Impossible to get up. And his limbs, that broken leg that freezes... Norata, alone among the raging elements, in the middle of this stadium that is collapsing under the hurricane, lashed by snow gusts, stoned by furious hail. Alone.

Alone, Norata remained; alone and forgotten on Akillian, while his glorious brother pursued a prestigious career elsewhere, on his own two legs...

Norata snorts, sits down at his desk and turns on the TV, resuming the work his son had abandoned. Memories are sometimes much worse than nightmares...

***

Sitting on the edge of a sofa, Callie interviews Aarch, who looks very relaxed:

- Rumor has it that you have applied for your team to participate in the next Galactik Football Cup?

- It’s not a rumor, - smiles the coach. - It's the truth!

- Isn't that a bit... rushed?

- I leave that up to the League to decide.

- Do you really believe that you can build a team worthy of the name in such a short time?

- Why not? Thanks to my friend Clamp's machines, we train hard, you know...

- And where are the Red Tigers in all this? They are the official Akillian club after all!

- If my team is approved, I propose a match to determine who will represent Akillian at the Cup.

- Interesting! ...What does your former friend and teammate think? I mean of course Artegor Nexus, the coach of the Red Tigers.

- Artegor, who loves victories so much, will not pass on the opportunity to face a club weaker than his! - quips Aarch.

- Aaarrrgh! - roars Artegor Nexus, angered by what he just saw and heard.

Seething, he grabs the first thing that comes to hand - a gilded bronze statuette of a ball, the only trophy ever won by Akillian in a friendly match against the Cyclops - and throws it violently at the screen. It bounces off the soft surface, hitting a panel of glass and shatters it in two.

- It's curious, - says Adium, the president of the Federation. – It looks like you're afraid to go up against Aarch!

Artegor swivels around and slams his hands on the desk.

- What are you talking about, Adium?

- What exactly are you afraid of? You have a lot more resources than him and your players have been training for longer...

Artegor makes a violent effort to contain the anger that boils in his veins and escapes in dark threads around him: the Shadow’s Smog… he has spent too much time on Obscurantis.

- I'm not afraid of anything or anyone! – He straightens up, sighs, and reverts to his usual arrogance. - Especially not Aarch. I am a better coach than him. And I have always been much stronger on the pitch!

***

At nightfall, Rocket slips surreptitiously into the courtyard through a window of his father's chalet. After making sure no one has seen him, he runs to his jet-snow, which he had parked outside for once, instead of returning it to the garage. He starts off slowly so as to not wake his dad, then steps on it when he enters the street, in the direction of Arcadia and the Arena Stadium…

He abandons the jet-snow in front of the access gangway, stepping onto it carefully. Nothing and nobody can stop him... he enters the interior of the stadium, where there is still a frenetic activity: the “Scrap” do not need any rest, knowing neither peace nor respite. A little disoriented within the construction site, Rocket tries to recall the route taken by Callie Mystic during her report. She crossed this hall, took this corridor… a “Scrap” suddenly rises in front of him, blinking with its electronic eye. Uh oh! Is it going to throw him out? Report him to Clamp?

- We have completed the renovation of Sector 12, sir. Do you want to inspect the site?

Rocket lets out a sigh of relief.

- Uh... it's okay, I trust you. Good job. Keep it up, guys!

- Thank you, sir. Should we start Sector 13?

- Yes, of course, get started with Sector 13.

The “Scrap” pulls away and Rocket continues on his way, holding back a laugh. How lucky that these robots are not very smart! He descends into the basements, which are much tidier and quieter, and wanders the halls for a while, not daring to open doors at random, for fear of falling upon the team's dormitory - or worse - his uncle...

A large round door attracts his attention, on which a sign reads HOLO-TRAINING. “Here it is!” breathes Rocket. Trembling in apprehension, he presses the open command. He expects alarms to sound, or at least the door to stay closed...

It slides silently.

Heart pounding, Rocket enters a large circular room, where the ceiling lights up as he enters. Four steps lead down to a hall below, in the center of which sits the large white cube he has already seen during the trials, in which Tia had presented herself in such a strange way. Tia… that cute little Obiane… who's probably part of Aarch's team now. She wanted it so much, and given her talent… she is surely there, somewhere, very close… his heart sinks at the thought.

Now, it wasn't for Tia that Rocket came. Going around the gallery surrounding the hall, he arrives in front of the desks supporting the consoles and control panels. He fiddles with his dreadlocks, puzzled: he doesn't know anything about computers, where do you find the holo-trainer's open command in there? How to get it started? From what he understood, everything is virtual inside: if no program is started, it will only morph into a big empty box…

A console is located away from the others, placed on a sort of stand. He looks at the touchscreen, being careful not to touch anything. Among the dials, tables and cryptic symbols, an area marked REPLAY glows in green.

Could it be that simple? Rocket puts his index finger forward, still hesitating… well, after all, this is what he came for. If it doesn't work, too bad, it's not going to break anything anyway...

His finger presses on the glowing area.

It generates a drop-down menu that displays the list of the last programs launched in the holo-trainer: passes, dribbles, target shots, ball handling, saves, special shots, etc. A cursor allows you to select one or the other. So far, it seems simple… Rocket chooses “passes”, the first on the list. Then he touches the REPLAY area again.

The holo-trainer's door slides out in front of him. Shivering, he walks inside... the door closes, the white ground turns into a football field, the black walls fade away in favor of an artificial sky. A ball appears at Rocket's feet. Moving targets, represented by concentric circles, begin to drift here and there. He quickly understands what he needs to do: hit each of these targets, which are supposed to be players on the move. A little more difficult than his landmarks in the ice, over there in his secret cave...

Rocket concentrates, takes a few steps back… and shoots. The ball sinks into the first target, which flashes green as the circles move apart from each other, measuring the force of the strike. A new ball materializes in front of him. He aims for another target and starts over… once, twice, three times… ten times. Each time the target moves faster and is more difficult to hit. But Rocket is super focused, and he never misses one. At the eleventh target appear blue sims who try to obstruct, to prevent him from aiming or shooting. He dribbles around them quite easily, cunningly trying new shots: twist, arc, one or two rebounds... always, the ball hits its target. Exhilarated, Rocket doesn’t realise the time passing... until a luminous icon looms in the air in the middle of the field, announcing END OF PROGRAM. Below appear the words “Total points: 160”. He does not know what these points correspond to, whether they are correct, or whether they are sufficient…

Everything disappears in the holo-trainer; the floor lights up white, the walls darken, and the door opens. Rocket exits, returning to the console. He feels fit, even excited, he would be tempted to start another program. But someone could come at any time... after a last regretful glance at this magnificent device, he goes out into the corridor and goes back the way he came... this time, no “Scrap” stops him.

***

Later that night, the Arena Stadium receives another visit: he is the youngest of bookmaker Ballow's henchmen, also arriving on a jet-snow. He studies with suspicion the fresh traces left by Rocket, inspecting the surroundings using infra-red binoculars... concluding that no guard is posted in the vicinity, he walks over the bridge with a cautious step, carrying a small shoulder bag.

As soon as he gets inside, he is assaulted by one of the “Scrap” on the site. He draws his pistol, ready to fire (and jeopardize his mission at the same time), but the robot addresses him with deference:

- Sir, we have a structural problem in Sector 13. Can you come and see?

- Buzz off, you stupid machine. - growls the henchman between clenched teeth.

He casts worried glances around him but does not spot any human around the brightly lit worksite, where the “Scrap” work diligently and (more or less) efficiently.

- I don't understand that answer. – replies the “Scrap”, its diodes blinking in perplexment. - Should I tell Professor Clamp?

- Absolutely not! Uh... wait until he wakes up. Yes, that's it: when he is awake and comes to inspect the site, then you will tell him your problem.

- Very well, sir.

With these words, the robot goes into stand-by and collapses on its pseudo-pods. “What morons, these machines”, smiles the mobster. He takes a blueprint out of his satchel and resumes his cautious progress through the construction site, where the other “Scrap” pay him no attention.

He arrives at the renovated part of the basement and walks along the silent corridors, plunged into semi-darkness, pointing a micro-torch at every sign he sees. Finally, he finds the door he is looking for: large, round, marked HOLO-TRAINING. With the same trepidation as Rocket had some time ago, he presses the open command, pulls out his pistol again and points it towards the doorway, expecting to see guards, droids, he doesn't know what.

The door slides normally, nothing and no one shows up, no alarm chirps. “Too easy”, smirks the henchman. He remains on the threshold for a moment to inspect the room. That console over there, all by itself on its stand... it must be the main command post. He approaches it, kneels in front, then rummages in his bag, pulling out a small flat device with a micro-antenna and an auto-grip suction cup on one side. He places it under the console, stands up, steps back, then extracts from the bag a receiver hardly bigger than a credit card, on which he switches a tiny cursor to the “test” position: five diodes light up and flash green, one after the other. The thug nods, satisfied.

He turns off the receiver, puts it back in his bag and walks back in the opposite direction. He passes the same robot near the exit, still on stand-by. Another “Scrap” tries in vain to impart information to him, spraying him with laser beams of various colors.

As soon as he gets back to his jet-snow, Ballow's man makes a call:

- Mr. Nexus, it's Jorg. Mission accomplished.

He climbs onto his machine, drives off and plunges into Akillian's blue night.

***

Clamp never sleeps much. As a skilled scientist, he constantly ruminates on a thousand problems in his head, constantly has ideas to explore, programs to improve, avenues of research to explore. Awakened before everyone else, he's always the first in the holo-trainer room, but not for training - Clamp is about as skilled with a ball as a mountaineer with fins - but to perfect his invention: correct this or that defect, test new training sessions...

This is how he finds his console stuck on REPLAY and on program selection “passes”. He scratches his beard, intrigued: he hadn't left it like this last night… and the last session was ball control, not passing! He remembers it vividly: Micro-Ice had made everyone laugh by being thrown off the conveyor belt like a sack of potatoes.

He asks his console to review “passes” on the monitor. What he then discovers in the viewing window leaves him speechless… he decides to call Aarch straight away - even if it means waking him up.

He arrives ten minutes later, already tucked into his breeches and his three-quarter-length jacket with trims, but disheveled and still sleepy.

- If you woke me up just to show me one of your inventions, Clamp, I warn you that I will not take it very well!

- Not at all, Aarch. Take a look at this.

It plays back the sequence in full screen mode. Aarch opens his eyes wide, suddenly awake.

- Rocket?

- Yes, your nephew. But take a good look...

Rocket aims, shoots, hits the target. Aims, shoots, hits the target again. Return shot - target hit. Dribbles past a sim, shoots in a spin - target hit. Head, foot, rebound, shoot – target hit, behind a sim. And so on, and so on. “160 points” displays on the console.

- He did a perfect run, Aarch! I’ve never seen such a good passer before. Impressive!

Aarch nods doubtfully.

- Impressive, yes, as you say. Unfortunately, he is my brother's son. And you know what Norata thinks...

#galactik football #the revival of akillian #aka clamp needs better security

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elladescent449-artspace · 3 years

Text

It Started with the Milk: Chapter 4 - Out of

Leo screamed into his pillow. It was noon and he hadn’t gotten a minute of rest. He had zoned out once or twice, but nothing worthy of the name ‘sleep’ occurred in the 8 hours he had laid there. He had tried everything. Turning, tossing, blanket, no blanket, a trip to the bathroom, sit ups, boring reading, warm milk (he didn’t need anymore tea). Nothing had worked.

He flipped back over onto his shell and stared at the bottom of the shelves above his bed. Then sighed and pulled his pillow over his face, maybe if he suffocated himself he could catch an hour or two. Maybe he could suffocate himself, and listen to music at the same time, that way he could blink out of consciousness to the sound of Enya. With one hand he started patting around for his phone, when he couldn’t find it blindly he sat up and scanned the room. He checked under his blanket and pillow, and then checked the shelving above his bed. Nothing. Forget music, how was he supposed to get his social media fix if he didn’t have his phone? He considered just leaving his room for a moment but bypassed the thought by selecting a random magazine from his book shelf. With a quick flip he opened it to a random page and started reading an article about the physics associated with throwing ‘the perfect basket’. He was bored within two sentences.

Leo opened the curtain to his room, “Hey! Has anyone seen my phone?” The common space was dim, only the christmas lights above the vert ramp provided any sort of lighting. Leo stepped into the center of the room. He scanned briefly, listening for any indication that his brothers were home. “Raph, Mikey? Dad?” No response. He yawned and stretched, trying to rub some of the irritation out of his eyes.

Leo checked the living room first, Dad’s projector was off, and his seat was empty (both of these being very rare occurrences.) The only remnants of someone being in the kitchen was the stack of dirty dishes in the sink, the turtle tank was still in the garage, but nobody was in it, and the gaming room was untouched. Leo even mustered up the courage to check the bedrooms. All empty. Leo reentered the common room and dragged his hand across the vert-ramp as he passed it, placing himself back into the center of the room as the disturbing feeling of anxiety crept in. He spoke quietly to himself, “where is everybody?”

“They went to the store.” Leo jumped and whipped around. Donnie was sitting on the ledge of the second floor idly swinging his legs as he watched Leo from above. “They won’t be back for a while.”

Leo’s throat was dry, making his reply sound choked. “Oh.” He looked towards his bedroom, wondering why he even left it in the first place. “They left in the middle of the day?”

“Yeah,” Donnie leaned back in his seat, stretching his back until there was a pop. “Dad said something about this being the best time of the day to shop.”

Leo grimaced at the thought, Dad probably shaved himself again and now Mikey and Raph were stuck with him and his “cool-kid” outfit. There was an awkward beat of silence and Leo looked back to his room. The thought of being alone in the house with Donnie was making him feel a sense of dread in his guts, maybe he could slip out for the day and go skating again, just until Dad and his other two brothers got home, or maybe he could meet up with them? Leo could also just be on the topside long enough for this feeling to go away, ‘nothing like some fresh air,’ he thought. He could always visit Albearto land. They were pretty crowd-free during the mid-day, especially considering the dreary weather, and they didn’t mind the “costumes”. Leo took a deep breath in and clapped his hands together. “Well… good to know,” he took a side step back in the direction of his room, he’d just grab his hoodie and his board, he’d forget about the phone for now (god forgive him), and he’d be back before in an hour or two when everybody else was home, “catch ya’ later!”

“Now, hold on,” Donnie jumped down from the second floor, “what particular activities do you have scheduled for today, oh, brother of mine?”

“Ha ha, well…” come on, think of something, “I was gonna hit up Albearto Land for a couple of hours, y’know... just hang out, grab some funnel cake-”

Donnie interjected with an arm around Leo’s shoulder. “I absolutely love funnel cake! Let’s go together. We can take the tank.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that…” Donnie’s face was too close and not cheery enough to ease the ball that formed in Leo’s intestines, “I know you're super busy, with the surprise and everything.”

“For you, and funnel cake?” Donnie looked away thoughtfully, “it can wait.”

A shudder ripped through him, Leo tried slipping out from under Donnie’s arm, there was a moment where Donnie tightened his grip before letting him go. Leo pushed off and looked back towards his room, he didn’t mean for his eyes to fall on his sword, but they did. Why did he want it in his hands so badly right now? He tore away his gaze and focussed back on Donnie. “No thanks.”

Donnie gave a confused chuckle. “No thanks to what?”

Leo was blunt now, “I don’t really feel like hanging out with you today,” he turned away as he began walking again.

“Why not?” Donnie gave an aggravated huff, “we haven’t hung out enough, just us two.” He put his hands up defensively and circled Leo to get closer. “How did you put it? The “Cool Colors?””

Leo twitched at that. He tried closing the curtain behind him but Donnie ripped it back open,he was in his space now and the discomfort was making Leo’s skin crawl.

“C’mon Leo,” he whined, “we could hit up ‘Run of the Mill’ on our way there, I know you love their pizza.”

Leonardo ignored the quiet grumble in his stomach at the mention of Hueso’s, “I’m not hungry right now,” he pulled his board from the wall and looked back at his sword. Should he take it with him? “Plus, I love all pizza… Donnie.” The name didn’t feel right on his tongue. Leo clipped his belt on and attached his sword, he immediately felt a wash of relief ease his senses when he felt the pressure of it against his shell. Now he just needed to get out of here.

“You’re passing up Run of the Mill?” Donnie chuckled again, “you must really not be feeling good.” Donnie leaned against the door of Leo’s room and tilted his head with concern. “Been getting enough sleep?” There was something smug in his voice and Leonardo fought a scowl.

Leo only grumbled as he finished slipping on his hoodie. “Bye.”

“Wait, what was that about your phone earlier? I could help you find it.”

“I don’t need it.” He bumped shoulders with Donnie on his way out of his room.

“No, no, here,” Donatello whipped out his own phone and quickly typed, “I’ll just call it right now.”

“It’s on vibrate,” Leo growled, “and I said I don’t need it!” It wasn’t about the phone, he just didn’t want to be in the house with Donnie any longer.

Purple grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “It’s ringing, just hang out for a minute,” he cooed.

Leo wanted to growl, to push him off, or just shout, but then he heard the loud vibration of his cell coming from inside his room.

“Well, whaddya know!” Donnie smiled and let go of Leo. “It’s right there in your room!”

Donnie looked to Leo expectantly. Leo felt the tension rise as neither of them said anything. The sound of Leo’s phone repeated itself and Leonardo glanced towards his room, and then back to Donnie who stood behind him looking coy. ‘Just leave, now.’ The small voice inside of him chastised him for still being here, at home, with Donnie. But… If it was right there… why not just grab it and go? The vibrations stopped and Donnie’s expression faltered for a moment.

“Here.” Donnie stretched his phone out to Leo, “find your phone and we’ll head to Albearto’s together, I bet I can beat more of their games than you.” Donatello’s teasing sounded softly sincere, but Blue still frowned. Leo wanted to argue. He did not want to go anywhere with him. He didn’t want to go to Albearto’s with him, he didn’t want to go to Hueso’s with him, he didn’t want to be in the tank with him, and he didn’t want to be home with him! Leo’s whole body was screaming for him to leave, just ditch the phone, leave it, you don’t need it, just leave it! He took the phone from Donnie’s hand and quickly typed in his own number.

The vibrations started again and Leo tentatively re-entered his room. Leo paused in the doorway. The noise was coming from under his bed. That’s right! He suddenly remembered last night, he remembered tossing his phone across the sheets and hearing it hit the floor. He looked towards Donnie again, who turned away when Leo looked at him, before getting down on his hands and knees. Leo could see that it was near the foot of the bed, vibrating with Donnie’s picture illuminating on the screen. Leo hung up Donnie’s phone and reached, quickly feeling the cool case of his own phone under his finger pads. Leo grasped it and pulled it out, sighing with relief as he slipped it in his hoodie pocket.

Leo jolted when Donnie’s phone went off. A quick check of the screen told him it was April.

He slid the green phone button to the left, “Why hello-”

“Donnie!” April shouted from across the speaker, causing Leo to flinch and pull the receiver away from his ear. “Where are you?”

“Uh, sorry April,” he hesitated as he stumbled up to his feet. “This is Leo.”

“Where. Is. Donnie!” She was obviously furious. Behind her Leo could hear something animal. “I told him about this a week ago!”

Leo stood up in confusion. “What do you mean, April… where are you?”

“I’m in the mystic city,” the sound of something similar to a crowing rooster sounded behind the call, “Mayhem needed to go to the vet and Donnie was supposed to pick me up an hour ago!”

“What?” Leo was confused, “What’s wrong with Mayhem?”

April continued, “Donnie shouldn’t have taken my bike if he was gonna take two weeks to “improve” it! I get it, a simple bike is a little old fashioned but two weeks?!”

“Where are you in the city?” He heard April muffle the call as she asked someone the exact address, Leo turned to see Donnie standing on the threshold of his room. The center room was dim, but Leo’s room was dimmer. The light behind Donatello painted him into a hauntingly solemn figure as he stood motionless in Leo’s doorway. Leo heard April on the other end but didn’t look away from Donnie. “Sorry, what was that?

She sighed into the receiver, “I said, I’m under Central Park zoo.”

That was a good six miles away from where Leo was now, he suppressed a yawn as he spoke softly into the receiver, “is Sunita available, she’s closer.”

“No!” April shouted across the phone again, “Sunita is the one that got me here and she can’t pick me up because she’s at an event with her Dad, Donnie was supposed to be here! He promised!”

‘Well, that settles it then,’ Leo thought. He replied quickly as he moved to exit his room, “I’ll come get you.” Donnie’s fists clenched tightly and he stared at the phone in Leo’s hand as he passed. Leo ignored it but quickened his pace.

April sighed audibly. “Fine, but please get here quickly. For a city that’s underground they sure do get a lot of rainfall.”

“K, I’ll be there in a ‘sec.” He heard the line cut and the phone was pulled out of his hand. Leo turned to see Donnie smiling again, motioning towards the garage.

“Ready to go?”

Leo paused, confused. “Go…?”

“Albearto Land, remember?” Donnie laughed and grabbed Leo by the wrist. Leo felt a shiver crawl up his arm as Donnie bagan to pull him.

“Didn’t you hear me on the phone?” Leo shrugged Donnie’s hand off and backed up a step, rubbing the skin where Donnie had touched him trying to get rid of the feeling.“That was April.”

“So?”

So. So? “So… she said that you were supposed to pick her up today?”

Donnie hummed as he positioned his hands on his hips, “y’know… now that you mention it, she did say something about, um…” He hummed again with a smile, “sorry, I don’t remember.”

Leo stood stupefied before turning around. “I’ll see you later Donnie, I’m going to go get April.” “Wait,” he heard Donnie walk after him, “she’ll be fine, let’s just head out and she can just get a cab or something.” Purple’s voice was getting more impatient the more Leo walked.

“She’ll be fine, Leo, come on.”

Leo’s fists clenched and he felt a heat in his stomach as he walked faster. Flipping his hood on, he growled, “Donnie… shut up.”

Donatello paused and stopped, but only for a moment before he caught back up with Blue to put a hand on his shoulder, “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Leo scoffed under his breath before he raised into a roar, “what’s wrong with you?!”

“What-”

“You all of a sudden want to spend time with me?” Leo spun around, facing Donnie and quickly closing the distance to point a finger in his chest. “And you ditched April?! That’s not the Donnie I know! So what’s your game?” He kept going, the weight in his tummy was fuel for the aggression that started pouring out of him, “i’ll admit it, the coffee was no big deal, but the back-wash, the staring, Shelldon? So what is it Donnie!” He screamed, flattening his hand against Purples chest but resisted pushing him. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Excuse me?” Donnie’s face darkened and Leo shivered under the icy stare. Leo moved to take a step back but Donnie grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, pulling him back in close. “We’re brothers, right?”

Leo clasped onto Donnie’s wrist but it was set to an iron grip. Leo’s heart rate began to elevate and he could feel his own pulse through his throat. Donnie smiled.

“Brothers spend time together, right?”

“Donnie-” Leo’s hoodie squeezed around his throat as Donnie’s grip tightened.

“I just wanted to spend some time with you, Leo.” Donnie took a step back and Leo stumbled after him, trapped in this oddly strong grip that his twin held him in. “I’m always just shoving you off, and I’m sorry about that. I’m just trying to make it up to you.” He sounded sympathetic but his face was jeered into something menacing and mischievous.

“Let go, Don,” Leo gripped tighter on Donnie’s wrist, desperately trying to back up and pull away. The fire that was in his stomach was just petrified nausea now, screaming at him for not leaving when he had the chance.

Donatello continued, “is that so much to ask for?” Donnie tilted his head as he observed Leo. Leo was panting now, feeling a shake in his whole body as he desperately wanted to get away. Donnie’s expression flatlined, switching over to an expression of exhausted irritation and he sighed. “Ah, who am I kidding... you are the skeptical one of the family.” Donnie reached behind himself with his free hand and Leo’s vision shook as the hand on his Hoodie switched to his neck. “Let’s get this over with.”

Leo’s fist slammed into Donnie’s throat.

Donnie’s grip immediately released and he doubled over, clutching his airway as he backed away. Two black beads clattered to the floor but Leo ignored them for now.

Despite the chills, Leo immediately regretted his action, taking Donie by the shoulders as he began a coughing fit. “Donnie, I’m so sorry-” Donnie began retching. Leo moved behind Donnie, grasping him by the waist as he attempted to drag him to the edge of the common room so he could puke in the exposed water behind the vert ramp. Donnie grasped Leo by the sleeves, digging his heels into the concrete as he puked up liquid the color of tar.

Donnie slowly looked over his shoulder at Leo, and a long black mass slivered from his mouth over his shoulder.

Leo wasn’t able to process the elbow in his face until after he had staggered backwards. He brought his hands up to his face but didn’t cover his eyes, watching Donnie as he stood up straight. It was like a snake, or a tentacle, black and dripping with whatever was pooled on the floor. It slowly retracted itself, tracing over Donnie’s cheek as it slid through his teeth. Donatello shut his mouth with an audible ‘click’ and cracked his neck as he turned towards Leo. Donnie hummed, no, It hummed, and Leo finally remembered to breathe. Donnie’s bo expanded in Its hand and It took a step forward, spinning the tool theatrically as It took balanced steps around Leo.

Leo’s hands shook as he unsheathed his sword from under his hoodie, gripping the handle so tight his knuckles cramped. He took a step back for every step that It took towards him. Leo’s voice was shaky, almost as shaky as the pulse that he felt in his head and his heart, “what are you?”

It wasn't painting faces anymore. It’s expression was fixed into something both dark and dreamy as it stared Leo down. With a click of it’s tongue, It gave it’s answer with a wicked smile. “I’m Donnie.” Then It lunged.

19 notes · View notes

justimajin · 4 years

Text

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 20

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 4.6k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away… …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13; time for things to get intenseee

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

⇝ Last Update: Tuesday, July 28

“You’re being too slow.” A deep voice immediately warns. The bright orange ball in your hands topples over and bounces onto the ground, rolling far from you. With a sigh, you chase after it and position the ball on the palm of your hand once again, cautiously side-eyeing the bench.

Yoongi attentively watches as you bring the ball up to your fingertips, hurriedly squatting at it with your free hand. It revolves perfectly for a spiky moment and you glance at Yoongi with pure amazement.

The moment however, is short-lived. Once your attention deviates back to the spinning ball in your hands, it slips out of your hold and falls onto the ground again. Yoongi still holds an impressed smile, reaching down to snag the ball. He effortlessly raises it onto his palm, letting it spin as if he was just merely breathing.

You gaze in awe when it doesn’t waver at all like how yours did, the bubble of wonder only popping once Namjoon enters the room. Yoongi ends up casting the basketball away in a hurry, acting like he hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes of dire practice time teaching you a simple trick.

The sudden shift is understandable, especially when your entire team's stiff forms begin to flood into the gym and Namjoon appears significantly tenser.

You’re nearing the end of nationals, and soon you’ll be facing off with the last team in hopes to win this year’s title.

One by one, everyone in your team forms a line-up similar to day one. Taehyung yawns beside you and Jungkook mimics the same expression Namjoon dons. You catch sight of Hoseok and Jimin, waving back at them as the latter briefly smiles in your direction.

But seeing them only heightens your senses, face paling as one lone thought suddenly sparks up in your mind.

What would they think if they knew about your secret?

***

The last day of nationals has arrived.

After being called in, your team – which consists of your two roommates, Hoseok and your Captain – is swarmed by a stream of lights and the voices of cheering coming in from the bleachers. Your jersey shines underneath the spotlight and you head towards your side of the court, anxiously waiting for the team that you’ll be facing off with. The lateral doors to the gym open and the answer you wanted is presented right in front of you.

Your body numbs with horror, the ground underneath you nearly shattering. With wide transfixed eyes, you can only watch from afar as the team continues to pool out of the doors, the reality sinking further in.

Because right in front of you, stands the team you had once desperately tried to become a part of.

Your old high school’s competitive team.

Sucking in a harsh breath, you attempt to shake away the terror that fills you by the minute. The referee strides in when the court is completely full of players, a basketball in his hands.

He states the basic instructions you’ve heard countless times during these games, informing everyone of the crucial fact that you initially assumed you were prepared for.

Winner of this game will be the victor of this year’s league.

Your throat grows parched, but your hands twist into tightened fists as determination spikes within you. This is something you’ve been dreaming of for so long and you can’t let this sudden new flood of feelings overtake any of that.

You force yourself into focus as the referee picks up his whistle, mind remaining alert. There’s a plethora of shrieks in the silence gym and your entire team instantly disperses.

Yoongi steals the ball much to your relief and Hoseok immediately emerges onto his radar among all the players. He jumps to retrieve the ball, heading straight for the basket. When his path becomes blocked though, he swirls around – eyes catching onto your racing form.

The ball meets your shaken hands, agilely dribbling it alongside your quick feet. A head full of black fluffy locks hurriedly outstretches his arms, your eyes flickering.

He’s covered in a flash, a member of the other team suddenly coming forth and cutting off your space. Your brows contort, attempting to assess the situation for a better way out – but that’s when your eyes fall upon the member’s face.

You still, breath hitching in your throat. You’re not the only one having a reaction, because the person blocking your path is completely stunned as well.

A basketball abruptly shoots out, nearly hitting you after your conversation with the coach.

“Oops!” A boy rushes over, his eyes wide but far from innocent, “That was my bad! Maybe if you were on the team you would have been able to catch it.”

The comment is followed by an accompaniment of snickers from behind him, and he slips the ball away from his hands towards you again with a conniving smile.

You merely blink as the ball slips through your hands, the boy sprinting across the court with it to reach his other members. Snapping too late into the action, the buzzer rings and the team is rewarded with a point.

A hand suddenly wraps tightly around your arm, spinning you around. Your fearful eyes find Yoongi’s confused one’s right away. He’s sweating profusely, but his eyes are flickering all over you, utterly puzzled with your abrupt daze in the middle of such an important game.

It’s only when he notices you trembling that he lets go, yet the fear doesn’t leave as you quietly trudge back to your position. Yoongi does so as well when the referee ushers him to, but he can’t stop himself from sending concerned glances at you. Gritting his teeth, he’s forced to acknowledge the situation is out of his hands when he has to stand opposite from the other Captain on the court.

The whistle blows and the other team gets a chance at the ball this time. Your entire team disperses in efforts of deterring them and grasping any opportunity from a slip up. The strategy seems to work with Jungkook taking control of the ball, his sight briefly swinging to your side. You stretch out your arms, prepared to grasp onto it.

The ball falls out of your hands.

A loud cry rips out of your throat when you make contact with the court, your arm skidding harshly against the ground.

“Y/N!”

The rough impact makes your mind spin, vision turning impaired. The sound of faint snickers is all you can pick up on, not until there’s two strong arms lifting you up.

You’re plopped down onto the bench with a wince, “Is it bad?” Namjoon’s voice picks up, crouching down to view the injury.

“He’s bleeding.” Yoongi states, sounding out of breath. You open your eyes at that, your sight getting cutting off by his hand. “Don’t look, it’s–…it’s pretty bad.”

You nod, trusting him on the matter. Within minutes, the echoes of heels hitting against the floor greet your ears, a familiar voice joining the two of them.

“Move over.” Soyoung orders and you feel Yoongi shift. There’s a drawn-out silence that spikes up the beats of your heart, a sigh passing by the doctor’s lips.

“The injuries are deep. He needs to be taken to the infirmary.”

“Lead the way.” Yoongi responds, lifting you once again. You scramble to keep a tight grip on him, voice wavering.

“I-I can walk Yoongi, i-it’s okay….”

“No.” You feel him deeply exhale, “You can’t.”

You frown, but that’s when a sharp pain in your leg shoots up and elicits a hiss from you. Yoongi rushes behind Soyoung, his eyes growing skeptical when he notices the other team huddled and observing you leaving with twisted smiles.

***

Once you reach the infirmary, Soyoung snaps into action and begins taking out bottles of ointment. Long white strips are tied around your right arm and leg, the sight of skin torn and bright pink flesh being visible making you grimace. Yoongi and Namjoon remain on standby next to your bed, darting a glance between each other.

“I don’t understand…” Namjoon whispers, “Y/N’s injuries shouldn’t have been this bad.”

“They shouldn’t have been....” Yoongi grits, arms crossed. A light knock rattles against the door, Namjoon’s eyes perking up.

“Is Y/N okay?” Jimin questions, the room slowly being flooded with a few members of your team. Because Yoongi and Namjoon had abruptly left with you, the game was put on halt and the members were left confused with the sudden change of events. They had been granted limited time to visit you but seeing your injuries on full display pulls them back into uncertainty.

Taehyung and Hoseok poke their heads out next, stuck in disbelief from your condition. Jungkook faces Namjoon, astounded as well.

“What happened?”

“He was pushed.” Yoongi spits out before Namjoon can answer, his eyes flaring.

“By the other team?” Taehyung immediately questions, and Yoongi nods, “But why?”

“I think they were targeting Y/N from the start.” Hoseok interjects. “I don’t know why but I’ve been getting a bad vibe from them.”

There’s a collective hum in the room and you tighten your hold on the bed sheets, eyes fluctuating. Another knock resounds on the door, drawing out your attention.

It’s him.

Your eyes grow wide from the smirk he holds, “Is your player alright?”

You have to lunge forward to grab onto Yoongi’s jersey, his blood boiling from the sole question. He throws a stunned look at you, but you merely shake your head in response.

“Yes, he’s recovering.” Namjoon steps up, “Thank you for the consideration, but why are you here?”

He smiles, stating a proposition no one was prepared for, “Because I want you to forfeit the game to our team.”

“What?” Hoseok immediately shrieks, stomping over and grabbing onto his collar, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and telling us what to do after hurting Y/N!”

“Hoseok!” Namjoon tries to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

“Really? You’re protecting Y/N.” A scornful laugh bubbles out of his lips, only to further add into Hoseok’s rage, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

It takes both Taehyung and Namjoon to yank Hoseok off, who scowls at him.

“What are you even talking about?!”

You unconsciously tighten your fists, “Should I tell them Y/N? Or do you want to do the honours?”

All eyes are suddenly on you, forming a bright spotlight.

When your silence simply grows, Taehyung intervenes. “Just leave us alone. We’re not going to forfeit this game.”

He wickedly laughs, “If you guys don’t agree, I’m going to tell the referee about Y/N’s little secret over here and your team will be disqualified.”

“What?” Jungkook interjects, his eyes darting over to you, “What secret, Y/N?”

His laughter only grows, “Poor Y/N’s been hiding it from every single one of you! This entire time, you’ve been playing with a girl on your team!”

The room is laced in a dense silence, only the manic laughter of your former school mate’s voice resonating. It snaps the cord of control Yoongi had been holding, sending the boy reeling outside the door.

“You better make a decision fast! Lose with some dignity or I’ll take that away from you too!” You don’t hear much after that once Yoongi emerges from the door frame with heavy pants. There’s silence once again, the air lingering with unsaid questions.

Taehyung is the first to speak up.

“You’re a girl…?” He says it like he’s still questioning the idea, not fully convinced.

“That guy was just messing around. There’s no way that’s possible.” Jungkook brings up, clearly irritated.

Taehyung hums in agreement, but your voice cuts through.

“I…need to tell you all something...”

“Y/N.”

You glance over at Yoongi, who begs you with his eyes to stop. Although you acknowledge that Yoongi is normally right, you don’t think you have it in you anymore to keep lying to the people you love like this.

Taking in a deep breath, your eyes flutter close. When they open, you address all the confused looks staring back at you.

“What he said, was true. I’m a girl.” Your words are firm with resolute, sparking wide eyed looks.

Jungkook intervenes, “But that’s impossible how–“

“I changed my identity when I entered this school. I hid that I was a girl the entire time I was here.”

You continue as shock reigns through everyone and gesture towards the door, “He was a part of the boy’s competitive team from my old school. He knew me as a girl, so I think he wants to use that as a way for us to give up on the game.”

A shaky breath leaves you, “I-I’m sorry.”

You pause, waiting for the pregnant silence to be over. Surely enough, someone does.

“There was no history of your previous schools.” Namjoon states as a fact, a finger on his lips, “I assumed you had come from another state so that’s why the documents hadn’t transferred over, but it was actually because you couldn’t have records with being female to come here.”

You nod, “I had to request for a record with a new identity to be made instead.”

Namjoon hums, appearing to understand you more than anything. You appreciate it, however, you can’t say you had prepared yourself for the worse.

“You lied to us…” Taehyung whispers, a grimace running through you, “T-This whole time...”

“We were your friends….we stayed in the same dorm...” Jungkook adds on, distraught in his voice, “We spent so much time together, but you never thought to tell us once?”

“I-I….”

“I don’t even know what to say.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Jungkook so shaken, turning away from you.

“Guys please.” You beg, “I’m still the same person.”

Your eyes move over to Hoseok and Jimin, who appear conflicted with the new information. Hoseok sighs and shakes his head, pacing to the door frame before heading out. The action sends a pang of pain through you, like you had just been faced with rejection.

Taehyung and Jungkook soon follow through with Hoseok, leaving the room’s premises completely. Catching sight of Taehyung’s broken expression elicits a hoard of apologies from within you, but it’s too late when they all disappear.

Sobs shake through your body, curling in onto yourself. A hand reaches out, tapping against your arm.

Your eyes are wet when Jimin gazes at you in dismay, planting himself down onto the side of the bed. His appearance puzzles you, the confusion being lifted once a soft smile graces his lips.

“Jimin…?” You sniffle, “Y-You stayed?”

His eyes crinkle, “I guess I’m not entirely shocked? I kind of found out unintentionally…”

A deep blush covers his cheeks as he nervously scratches his neck, a small smile spurring from you at the memory.

“Thank you for staying.” You whisper and Jimin brightens up from the notion. Yoongi watches the two of you from afar, before turning to Namjoon.

“What are the stats?”

“Two and zero. They’re one point from winning.” Namjoon sighs, “We’re going to need a miracle to win this Yoongi.”

“C-Can we win…?” You whisper, warily glancing between them. It’s clear that either way, this game is not going to end well for your side.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, lost in thought. After a moment, something finally sparks in his eyes.

“Do you want to keep playing this game?”

You blink, “I can’t Yoongi, I–“

“Answer me.” He leans forward, inches away from you, “Do you want to play this game?”

“I-I…” You falter at his deep gaze in his eyes, “I…do.”

“Then you need to get back in there.” He turns to Namjoon, “What did Soyoung say about her injuries? Will they impact her if she returns?”

Namjoon shakes his head, “She should be fine as long as she keeps her arm and leg covered. I can also inform the referee about the situation.”

“Good, let me know what he says.” Yoongi mutters, but your hand reaches out and clasps onto his arm.

“But you can’t bring me back, the members are upset and if my secret’s out then–“

“Y/N.” Yoongi softly whispers, gently holding your hand, “You came into this school dressed up as a boy to fulfill your dream. Are you really going to let some guy from your old school ruin that for you?”

You press your lips together at that, “Don’t worry about anything. Leave it all up to me.” He reassures, “Just focus on the game.”

“He’s right.” Namjoon says, smiling from behind.

“We need you Y/N.” Jimin pitches in, a huge grin forming on your lips.

“Alright.” You say firmly, staring back in Yoongi’s eyes, “Get me back into the game.”

***

If you thought heading into this game the first time was hard, you couldn’t have been even more wrong.

It takes every fiber within you to walk confidently into that gym, surrounding yourself with members that barely want to take a peek in your direction. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, you observe Namjoon and Yoongi conversing with the referee until he nods, letting Yoongi jog back to his position on the court. From the looks of it, everything seems okay.

Once the whistle blows, you click right back in. Yoongi pushes himself to capture the ball, tossing it over to Jungkook who soars by while dribbling. He glances around and his stare notices you right away, but with a grunt he opts out to pass to Taehyung instead.

Although you understand you’re not on the greatest patch with one another, passing to Taehyung morphs into a downfall when the ball slips out of his hands and falls onto the ground. The whistle is blown and the referee declares the round won’t be included because of the ball’s uncontrolled contact with the ground.

With a sigh, you resume back to your positions and attempt to give another shot. This time, the other team snatches up the ball and you race over to block a shot, but Hoseok ends up getting to the basketball faster instead. You stretch out your arms for him to pass over to you in an open spot, but the struggle in doing so causes you to stagger on your feet and for a wave of pain to spike up in your leg.

Hoseok ends up spending too long in finding another opening and the timer for the round buzzes.

A tick leaves Namjoon and he signals the referee for a time out. He’s given three minutes and that’s all he truly needs to scold his team.

“Teamwork – that’s the one thing we have emphasized countless times during practice.” He huffs, being met with down casted gazes, “Come on guys!”

“We have a game to play.” Yoongi states, his arms crossed, “I know there are some differences between us, but that’s not what we need to focus on right now.”

You’re appreciative that Yoongi didn’t bring up what transpired in the infirmary, but it takes one glance around to tell you that it isn’t as simple as doing so. Namjoon’s rant spurs a couple of ‘hms’ and ‘okays’, the team nonchalantly disbanding.

Getting back onto the court, your eyes are solely glued to the way the timer is rapidly ticking down.

Taking a different approach, you instantly dart over to Yoongi’s side once the ball is under his wing. He notices your brisk sprinting in an instant, letting out a grunt as he luckily tosses the ball to your side.

You let all thoughts loose right when the firm ball meets your delicate fingertips, a rush of energy drumming through your veins. But it’s cut off short as you suddenly become surrounded, face to face with the very person causing chaos for your team.

His hands are wide like he knows you’re going to pass to him, throwing in the rag for this game and granting them the gracious opportunity of skyrocketing to victory. You’re almost tempted to, knowing that either way, your team will be faced with dire consequences because of your sole mistake.

“Y/N!”

You snap out of your daze at Taehyung racing to a free spot near you, his arms waving. “Over here!”

Blinking for a moment, you don’t even hesitate. Taehyung spins around and passes the ball onto Jungkook, who trudges through the field of players.

The last person that receives the basketball is Yoongi, taking the final shot with one hand.

The buzzer rings; your team having scored their first point.

You quickly glimpse at Taehyung when getting back into position, observing his clenched fists and determined gaze. A smile loops on your lips, waiting for the next signal.

Yoongi goes for the same strategy again, acknowledging that you’re the person who manages to get to him the fastest. You dribble around, avoiding everyone until two hands halt you.

“This wasn’t part of the deal!” He aggressively whispers.

You ignore that, remembering Yoongi’s words of solely focusing on the game. Hoseok sprints behind you, narrowing his eyes.

“Back off.” He barks, and you whirl around to hand him the ball. He dashes to Jungkook, who manages to get another point for your team, the score officially being tied.

You heave with relief, dragging your sore and exhausted body back to the court. You glance at the other team, huddled and whispering into each other’s ears. You can’t help but notice the way they look at you, something that feels unsettling.

The referee declares the last game and blows his whistle. The opposing captain whisks the ball away this time, your entire team dashing around him.

Jungkook dramatically speeds up, appearing more determined than ever. He snags the ball, passing over to Taehyung.

Taehyung rushes to break away from the hoard of players around him, failing to do so when the ball is knocked out of his hands. You hastily grab onto it, warily glancing near you when all the players slowly crease forward.

You furrow your brows when it almost feels like you’re being caged in, but then you realize they’re using their forms to tower over you.

When you hear a round of snickers, you know the entire team knows more about you than you had hoped. You become even more alarmed when they cover your backside, no opportunity in allowing you to escape.

Jungkook paces through all of them, his eyes wide when you're constantly averting your gaze for an opening. He meets your eyes and signals for you to pass it along, relief on your features from his immediate appearance.

Jungkook practically glides across the ground to get away from the sudden crowd of players, willing himself to pass the ball over to Hoseok. Although sweating like a madman, Hoseok manages to find some room and give Yoongi the ball.

Yoongi races to the hoop, the timer on the scoreboard rapidly ticking down. He’s close and if he makes the shot now, he can surely bring his entire team to victory.

He halts his steps.

You anxiously rush over, wondering why he was simply dribbling underneath the basket when you barely have time left. But that’s when Yoongi spots you and hands you the ball instead, handing you the opportunity to make the final shot of the season.

You waste no time in doing so, grinding your teeth harshly and letting the ball sink in. You wait a moment, the silence being replaced with the loud sound of the buzzer.

Your eardrums almost split with the high-pitched voices screaming in the gym, prepared to sink down onto the ground with a thud. Your team doesn’t allow for that though.

Before the haze of winning takes you over, you’re being squished into a huge team hug. As per usual, you’re a little watchful at all the grabbing hands, but that thought disappears once Yoongi and Namjoon join in as well. You don’t realize you’re crying until the team parts, everyone smiling at you.

“You did it Y/N!” Hoseok shouts.

“WE WON!!” Taehyung chimes in.

You smile, but then another voice cuts in.

“Bangtan Sondeyeon has cheated to win this game!” A particularly loud voice declares, blinded by fury, “One of their members is A GIRL!!”

You notice the claims have peeked the referee’s interest, his hands gesturing for your team to come over. You bite down on your lip, hands fumbling until Namjoon steps forward, giving you a small smile.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Her!” He points directly at you, “She’s the girl on their team!”

“What are you talking about?” Namjoon questions, facing the referee, “That is certainly not the case, all of Y/N’s previous records state that he’s male.”

The referee nods, “She’s a girl! I’m telling you!!”

“Do you have any proof?” Namjoon ponders, a cunning glint in his eyes. “For something as trivial as this, you would need proof, no?”

“I-I…” He huffs, clearing not prepared to admit defeat. His next words have your eyes enlarging, fear spreading through them.

“Strip him then.” He grins, “If he’s really male, then he should look like one right?”

You take a shaky breath, but you’re soon being pushed behind a head of red hair.

“That would be considered harassment.” Yoongi states, the look in his eyes making you want to shrivel away. He glares at the referee, “If this is a serious claim, then I believe an investigation can be done.”

“We’ll have to do an investigation. A background check and previous records need to be looked into, but for now, “ He raises a brow at how much the boy next to him is heaving, “Bangtan Sondeyeon has officially won this year’s league.”

“This is not fair! It’s all her fault and they should be disqu–“

“I suggest if you don’t want your own team looking bad, you agree to this investigation. Otherwise it seems more to me that your claims are false.”

He quiets down at that, the referee smiling at Namjoon and Yoongi with a congratulations. He leisurely walks away as the other team leaves with scowls on their faces, but your team barely pays attention.

“Thank you.” You sincerely whisper to Namjoon and Yoongi, facing your other members, “And thank you for helping me through the game. I’m really sorry I lied to all of you….”

Your gaze falls onto the ground. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jungkook exchange glances with each other, before Taehyung pulls you into a hug.

“We’re sorry for getting angry with you. It’s like you said, you’re still Y/N.”

Jungkook smiles, “Which means you’re still a part of Bangtan too.”

Tears slip down from your eyes from that. “But you have a lot of explaining to do!” Hoseok pipes up, “Especially with how you managed to live with us without slipping up the secret!”

“Actually….” You avert your eyes, “There was one person who knew about my identity this whole time….”

“What? Who?!” Hoseok proclaims. Yoongi quickly ushers you all to move to the side, a frown on his face.

“Let’s just get going now, what’s done is done.”

All three of them whip around to stare at Yoongi in shock, but the former casually pushes them to keep moving, biting down the smile that threatens to overtake his lips.

82 notes · View notes

emzalot · 4 years

Text

What a Furry Ride

Chapter 13 Set in Episode 9 (last chapter in this episode)

Authors Note(PLEASE READ): Hi everyone! I know it’s been a really long 9 months hiatus...*nervous laughter* I’ve written this chapter about 8 times over, finishing it, hating it, getting distracted from the plot entirely, then forgetting all about the fic for a while- IT’S BEEN CRAZY. But, I’ve finally finished it. It’s not very long, but it’s right along with the plot and I am finally happy with it. I’ve spent 9 months HATING it! I refuse to post something I am not happy with because that just doesn’t make sense to me at all. I hope you guys enjoy it. I can’t wait to start writing chapter 14 which will start in episode 10! We’re getting closer to the finale! I love y’all so much. Thanks for sticking with me this long! MWAH 💖

Warnings: Nothing I can really think of...

~~~~

Derek stands on the front porch of what used to be his home. He leans against the post, listening to Dani’s heartbeat pounding from down in the basement she’s trapped inside. He hates that she’s caught in the middle of all this. He couldn’t help but think that if he had just stayed away, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She could be sitting in the bleachers with her family right now, living a happier, normal life, not knowing him at all.

Derek remembers the moment when he first saw Dani. It was the night of Scott’s first full moon, at the party Lydia Martin hosted. Half the school was there that night. Derek was there to keep an eye on Scott, but this overwhelming sweet scent invaded his senses, distorting his focus. He curses under his breath as he brings his fist to his nose and that’s when he saw her, the source of the sweet aroma. Perched on top of a table by the pool, her legs crossed, and her posture relaxed, leaning back on her left hand that was planted on the table and a drink in her right hand. The light reflecting from the pool danced across her face and her body giving her this soft glow. Derek’s stomach twists into a pretzel, enthralled by the young woman sitting on top of that table, her sweet scent sinking into him.

Derek remembers the last time he saw Dani. Peter was pushing her into the back seat of his nurse’s car. He remembers how deafeningly silent that drive was. How the scent of her fear and anxiety filled the cabin of the small vehicle. The guilt twisting in his stomach was almost unbearable. Derek quietly reached back, between the door and the seat, brushing his fingers against her calf. He felt her silently grip his hand with both of her own. He immediately noticed how badly she was trembling. He brushed his thumb back and forth against her trembling fingers, trying desperately to give her some form of comfort before they reached their destination.

Derek returns to the present, staring out into the trees surrounding the house with a vacant expression. Derek inhales deeply, trying to push down every emotion and every feeling he has. He’s done it before and he can do it well, but it’s always hard on him. If he’s going to do this, if Dani is going to survive, if Scott and Stiles are going to pull through, he must be self-controlled. All their lives depend on it, but his own life isn’t his priority. Not when it means keeping them safe.

Peter steps out onto the porch, inhaling the chilly, February night air. It was as if the world and everything in it was right as rain to him. It made Derek sick. “I think it’s time to pay Scott a visit,” Peter says, wearing a soft smile.

~~🌻~~

Back at Beacon Hills high school, the energy is high and almost electric. The bleachers are jam packed with screaming and cheering family members and friends. The Cyclones are all jumping, whooping, hollering, congratulating one another and shouting, “State!” over and over again. They won the game. Beacon Hill’s high school’s very own lacrosse team is going to the state championships.

Scott pulls his helmet on and frantically looks around for his best friend he hasn’t seen the entire night. “Stiles!” He calls. The Cyclones come barreling off the field and into the locker room, cheering and shouting. Scott pushes his way through his teammates calling for Stiles. “Stiles. Stiles! Has anybody seen Stiles?” Scott whirls around, finding himself standing face to face with his ex-girlfriend. Scott’s mouth falls open slightly, his stomach twisting into an even tighter knot at the sight of her adorable, nervous smile.

“Uh- you were pretty awesome out there,” Allison says, nodding with a sweet smile.

“Thanks, you too,” Scott answers, immediately wanting to punch himself in the face. “I mean, that’s not what I meant-”

“No, no, I- um, did some pretty awesome cheering.” Allison smiles at Scott again. “You can thank me.”

“You did?”

“Totally. I went from, ‘Go, team, go,’ to ‘Defense, defense,’ without a breath.” Allison nods affirming what she said. “I brought my A game.”

One of Scott’s teammates interrupts them, excitedly stepping between them shouting, “State, state, state, state, state, state…” He fades off registering the look on Scott’s face that just said, ‘Drop dead, moron,’ and quickly scurries away cheering with his more enthusiastic teammates. Scott shakes his head and looks forward, finding Allison no longer where she was just a moment ago. He frowns, looking over to the doors, seeing Mr. Argent guiding his daughter back outside.

“Isn’t that just heartbreaking,” Jackson laughs mockingly, walking up to Scott. “Gosh, I bet it causes a lot of sleepless nights.” Jackson continues, “You know what though, McCall? I actually sympathize, which is why I want to make this mutually beneficial. You give me what I want, and I’ll help you get her back.”

“What?” Scott asks in disbelief.

“Well, three days makes it just in time for the Winter Formal. Uh, think about you taking her instead of me. And also think about all the things you’re able to do to get her out of some tight little dress by the end of the night. See how this could work out for everybody?”

Scott glares at Jackson as he continues.

“Three days, McCall.” Jackson whispers, patting Scott’s cheek. “Have fun,” He finishes, disappearing into the locker room.

~~🌻~~

Mr. Argent guides Allison back to the busy bleachers, his mind somewhere else entirely. He barely remembers the game even though he sat through the entire thing. He barely remembers the drive down to the school from his house if he’s honest with himself. His mind has been preoccupied on and off throughout the day about the same thing. He’s worried about Dani.

He worries about her in general with her becoming friends with Derek Hale and encountering the alpha at the school and so on. She’s caught up in a very dangerous game whether she knows it or not and he doesn’t like it. But ever since this afternoon when they talked in the backseat of his car, he’s become even more worried for her. She’s been through a lot and he hates that someone else has walked out on her now.

He cares about Dani. She’s like an older sister to Allison. He catches himself treating her like his own daughter from time to time. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. She’s important to Allison therefore she is important to him and he’s become rather fond of her. She’s been through a lot and he hopes that she knows his home is a safe place for her.

“Dad!”

Chris is jolted from his thoughts by the sharp call for him by his daughter.

“You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” Allison asks.

“No, I’m sorry,” He admits with a sigh.

“You’ve been quiet all night. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Here-” Chris digs the car keys out of his pocket and hands them to Allison. “How about you go start the car and get it warmed up.”

“Sure, okay.”

Chris smiles at his daughter as she heads off to the parking lot. He turns his attention to the busy bleachers, scanning all the enthusiastic faces for Dani. She’s come to every lacrosse game that he could tell, so she should be here. He just wants to check on her to see how she’s doing after this afternoon.

Chris spots Dani’s mother and makes his way through the crowd.

“Hello Ms. McCall,” He greets as he reaches her, noticing the various family members taking up most of an entire section of bleachers.

“Mr. Argent, hi.” Melissa stands to greet him properly. “Oh, this is my sister Maria.” Melissa gestures to the woman standing next to her. “Maria this is Christopher Argent, Allison’s father.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Maria,” Chris says with a smile, shaking Maria’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Maria replies, returning his smile.

“Is your daughter with you? I was hoping I could talk to her.” Chris asks, turning to Melissa.

“You’re looking for her too?”

Chris frowns. “She’s not here?”

“We don’t know,” Maria says letting out a sigh.

“She’s going to be in serious trouble when I find her,” Melissa says. “I told her to be here.”

Chris lets out a sigh as well, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Probably somewhere with Derek Hale. Never mind that the police are after him.”

“Wait, Dani is hanging out with Derek Hale?” Melissa asks.

“You didn’t know they were friends…” Chris says carefully.

“No, I had no idea she was hanging around him again,” Melissa says. “I didn’t even know he was in town again until I saw his name plastered all over the news.”

“I thought it was mostly his sister she used to hang out with,” Maria says.

“Wait a minute…” Chris pauses.

The sister’s share a glance before turning to Mr. Argent.

“They’ve known each other longer?”

~~🌻~~

Most of the team stayed to shower and clean up before heading out to a celebratory team dinner at Goldie’s Diner. A lot the boys were dressed and packing their bags, getting ready to leave, when Scott walks over to his rack, a towel tied around his waist. He was one of the last of his teammates to shower.

“By the way, McCall… Apology accepted,” Danny calls from the opposite set of racks.

“I didn’t apologize,” Scott frowns.

“Every time you got the ball tonight, you passed it to me,” Danny explains, grabbing a clean shirt from his bag.

“Every time I passed the ball to you, you scored,” Scott chuckles.

Danny pulls the shirt on and slings his bookbag over his shoulder. “Apology accepted,” he says.

Danny walks out, leaving Scott alone in the locker room. Scott turns back around, grabbing his deodorant canister, shaking it up. The lights suddenly cut off and Scott pauses, frowning in confusion. Scott puts his deodorant back on the shelf of his rack and looks around the room. “Danny?” he calls. Scott is met with silence as he steps around the set of racks. Danny must’ve absentmindedly cut them off on his way out by accident.

Scott walks over to the wall and flips up the two light switches. The locker room remains dark. Scott looks up at the lights, flipping the switches a few more times; his curiosity growing with the slight touch of concern crawling around his stomach. Scott’s eye catches a ball rolling across the floor from the showers and bumping into a set of lockers with a tap. His curiosity and streak of concern growing to more mild levels as he walks toward the showers. Scotts stops in front of the ball, bending to pick it up. He frowns, turning to the side and he jumps, finding Derek standing in the middle of the open showers.

“Thank God! Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what’s been going on?” Scott asks, walking towards Derek.

Derek silently averts his gaze from Scott to someone standing behind him. Scott frowns following his gaze and it meets a man, stepping out behind him. He looks older than Derek, mid to late thirties maybe, brown hear, leather jacket, button down shirt, and he’s holding a lacrosse stick. It’s Peter Hale.

“I really don’t get lacrosse,” Peter confesses.

Scott stares at Peter in shock realizing that he is the alpha , “It was you…”

“When I was in high school, we played basketball.” Peter continues, glancing over at Scott. “Now there’s a real sport.”

Scott, terribly in shock, looks back at Derek for some kind of explanation as Peter continues.

“Still, I read somewhere that lacrosse comes from Native American tribes and that they played it to resolve conflict.” Peter raises the lacrosse stick, setting the bar of it on his shoulder, glancing off to the side in thought. “Do I have that right?” He whispers to himself, shaking off the thought. He lowers the stick, spinning it in his hands as he observes the net for a moment before setting the stick to the side, focusing on Scott again.

“I have a little conflict of my own to resolve, Scott. But I need your help to do it.”

“I’m not helping you kill people.” Scott says in an even, firm tone.

Peter frowns, “Well I don’t want to kill all of them. Just the responsible ones. And I that doesn’t have to include…” Peter trails off, trying to remember the name. He looks to Derek.

“Allison,” Derek finishes for him.

Scott slowly turns to face Derek. “You’re on his side?” He asks.

Derek breaks Scott’s gaze, his expression stony and vacant as he silently reminds himself that Daniella’s life is on the line if he doesn’t play his part just right.

“Are you forgetting the part where he killed your sister?” Scott adds.

“It was a mistake,” Derek responds coolly.

“What?!” Scott stares at Derek like he’s out of his mind.

“It happens.”

“Scott…” Peter starts, grabbing the teenager’s attention. “I think you’re getting the wrong impression of us. We really just want to help you reach your full potential.”

“By killing my friends,” Scott says, reading between the lines.

“Sometimes the people closest to you… can be the ones holding you back the most.”

“If they’re holding me back from becoming a psychotic nut job like you… I’m okay with that.”

Peter begins to step closer to Scott. Becoming nervous, Scott shifts on his feet, looking back at Derek for any shred or assurance.

“Maybe you could try and see things…” Peter trails off, holding up his right hand, his claws coming out. “From my perspective,” Peter finishes.

~~🌻~~

Stiles wakes up on a cold hard tile floor, his head throbbing. He groans bringing his hands to his face as he becomes more and more conscious. He sits up with a groan, squinting at his dim surroundings, quickly remember that he’s in the hospital morgue.

“Right…”

Stiles grips the overturned metal examination table lying next to him and pushes himself to his feet. The last thing he remembers is sitting on top of the metal table pushed against the door watching Peter Hale rush he door. Next thing he remembers is waking up just a few moments ago.

“Alpha…Dani and Derek…no, no, no-”

Stiles turns to where he last saw Derek and Dani sitting in the floor against the opposite wall. They’re gone. Did the Alpha take them? What happened here? Stiles swallows the lump forming in his throat. He has to get out of the hospital. He has to find Scott.

“The game.”

~~🌻~~

Stiles tares into the school parking lot, tires screeching as he turns into an empty parking spot. He jumps out of the Jeep and runs as fast as he can to the back entrance of the locker rooms. Stiles yanks the doors open rushing down the hallway and turning into the locker rooms, finding Scott in a towel, sitting on a bench with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Dude, we got a huge problem!” He breathes out, winded from all his running.

“You have no idea…” Scott replies with a far off look in his eyes.

Stiles puts his hands on his head struggling to catch his breath. “Something tells me you already know.”

“That Peter Hale is the alpha and Derek is on his side now? Yeah! I figured it out already!”

“Derek’s what?”

“He’s taken the alpha’s side, Stiles! We’re screwed!”

Scott drops his head into his hands. He can’t handle anything else right now. The alpha has been revealed, Derek’s switched sides, Jackson’s breathing down his neck about the bite, there is no way this situation could get worse.

“Scott…” Stiles trails off, dropping his hands to his hips.

Scott lifts his head. “What?”

Stiles shifts his weight from foot to foot. There’s no easy way to tell him this. It’s going to crush him. Hell, the thought is crushing him too. The idea of that psychotic bastard having Dani makes his curl up inside a whole and pretend the world doesn’t exist. Dani is like an older sister to Stiles. He can’t handle the thought of her getting hurt. She means too much to him. She’s his family. Maybe that’s why Derek chose the alpha’s side. Maybe it wasn’t up to him. Maybe, just maybe, he’s trying to protect Dani and the only way to do that is to do whatever the alpha wants. Stiles lets out a sigh rubbing his face.

“Stiles, what is it?”

Stiles looks at his best friend with such a defeated look in his eyes. “I-” Stiles presses his lips together shaking his head. He’s not going to make it through this.

Scott stands up, walking over to Stiles with a worried frown. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles glances at him, tears forming in his eyes.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” Scott asks, his own voice starting to waver in reaction to Stiles’ broken fear radiating off of him.

“Scott, he has Dani.”

Scott’s heart almost stops. “What?”

“The alpha, he has your sister.”

Scott holds Stiles’ defeated gaze, tears forming in his own eyes, mirroring Stiles.

“No…”

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sxfterhearts · 4 years

Text

8. [8:24 pm]

The crowd was roaring and chaotic as you entered the gymnasium, clearly invested in the intense basketball game that was unfolding before their eyes. Your school was playing against a rival team to fight for a spot in the semi-finals, and it seemed like nearly the entire student body was packed into these four walls.

You weren’t much of a sports person, admittedly. In fact, sport was the only subject you consistently scored a C- in. But you were here to be supportive of your school’s efforts, and because your cousin-slash-rising basketball star, Jackson, talked you into watching his game.

Jackson treated you like his baby sister, despite the small age gap. Your mum and his mum were the closest of sisters, so it was only natural for the two of you to get along like true siblings. Petty fights over the remote controller, skipping school to get ice cream and even pranking your grandmother by swapping out mayonnaise for whitening toothpaste – whenever you were together, you were up to no good, but Jackson always made sure that you never got into real trouble. Being close to Jackson also meant spending lots of time with his six other best friends – the seven of them came in a package deal. You weren’t complaining though, you fit into their tight-knit group perfectly because of your genuine, playful personality that resembled Jackson’s.

Amongst the blur of whites and blues, your school colours, you managed to spot five figures seated near the front row, pumping their fists in the air enthusiastically. You wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart from the rest, if not for their light-coloured hair ranging from dark shades of brown to eye-catching blonde. You hurried over, hoping that they saved a spot for you.

“Y/N!” Yugyeom yelled in greeting, swooping in for a bear hug as though he hadn’t seen you in ages. That wasn’t true though, you had just sat through two excruciating hours of physics with him, but you returned his hug eagerly while greeting the rest of the boys.

“Hey, hands off the goods.” Bambam’s voice sounded loud and clear amongst the noisy cheers. He pushed Yugyeom away and encircled his fingers around your wrist, pulling you towards him. You were the closest to Bambam amongst the boys, excluding Jackson, mostly because you saw him nearly every single day, whether it be at your part-time job in the local café, or studying together during and after your classes, or helping out with the student council. Officially, there was nothing going on romantically between you, but recently you started to overanalyse his flirty actions and charming comments after spending one too many drunk nights with the gang.

“I’m a human being, Bam, not an inanimate object.” You side-eyed him in feigned annoyance, purposely ignoring his glances and rather focussing on catching up with the scoreboard. You squinted to catch the neon numbers, having misplaced your glasses sometime after study period in the library, but to no avail. Instead, you tried to follow your cousin and his teammate, Mark, as they whizzed around the court, chasing the orange ball.

“You know I was just kidding. Here,” Bambam tapped you lightly on your shoulder when he noticed you shifting your weight from one foot to the other in an attempt to soothe the effects of your five-hour shift. You glanced over your shoulders, questioning him with a raised brow. “Take my seat.”

You scoffed light-heartedly. “You need it more than me, it’s fine.” You pointed at his bandaged, sprained ankle, thoroughly amused by his choice of footwear: black fluffy slides. “You’re injured, I can’t take advantage of the handicapped.”

The crowd yelled in unison as your team scored another point, courtesy of your cousin. As he paraded around the court with glee, slapping the arms and palms of his fellow teammates, Bambam guided you back towards him with his hands on your waist. “How about a compromise, since you’re such a considerate person? I know your feet is sore, just share the seat with me.”

You opened your mouth in protest. “But how-”

“Stop being stubborn and sit.” He instructed, spreading his legs and letting you sink into the space in between. “You’ve got a morning shift tomorrow; you need to rest your legs.” It wasn’t the first time you were in such close proximity with him, heck, the two of you woke up on the sofa next to each other after one of Jackson’s parties, but it was definitely the first time doing this sober. Bambam didn’t know where to place his hands and he was uncertain about how comfortable you were in this position.

You were taken aback by his actions, which were anything but subtle but also somewhat caring. You sat still, afraid to move as your mind raced at the intentions behind his actions. You wondered, is it normal for friends to sit like this?

“I have something for you.” Bambam spoke, his velvety voice sounding extremely close to your ears, causing your heartrate to speed up. He searched around his pockets before appearing at the edge of your vision with a cheeky smile. He pulled out your glasses from behind you and placed them on you. “So forgetful.” He chastised as he booped your nose.

“Where did you find this? I’ve been looking all over for it.” You took in your surroundings, now crystal clear, with a grateful smile.

Bambam shook his head, watching your excited expression with more interest than the basketball game behind you. It was like the two of you were in your own little bubble. “The librarian passed it to me when I went to return a book. You know, the older one with the purple sweater and tight bun?”

“She’s not that old, Bam.”

“Okay, the middle-aged lady. She told me to return it to you.” He corrected with a roll of his eyes. “She keeps thinking that we’re together or something.” Bambam muttered under his breath, his fingers distractedly playing with the hem of your shirt.

You blushed at that, having heard every word. It wasn’t the first time that people have mistaken you two for a couple, but this librarian was always calling you out on it. Whenever you and Bambam snickered at some funny meme or drew patterns on each other’s arms, she would always magically appear behind a bookshelf and warned you to keep a “one and a half metre distance away” from each other.

“Ew!” Yugyeom jeered towards your seated form. “Public displays of affection aren’t allowed on school grounds and students have to keep a one and a half meter distance from each other at all times!” He practically quoted the school’s rulebook to a tee.

“Yugyeom, leave them alone.” Jinyoung’s voice pierced through the noise as he reprimanded the youngest boy, coming to your rescue when he noticed Bambam falling silent. You made a mental note to treat him to coffee the next time he visited the café.

“Fine…” He huffed, sticking his tongue at Bambam.

When the others preoccupied themselves with the game once more, you risked a peek at the boy sitting behind you. Bambam looked almost bashful as he ran his fingers through his blonde hair, and you fought the sudden urge to feel the soft locks under your fingertips. “Listen, Y/N, I know this is a bit lame, but do you want to grab coffee with me tomorrow? At seven in the morning?”

Giggling, you felt your cheeks warm up. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Depends, do you want to go on a date with me?”

“We’re working tomorrow morning, Bam.” You gave him a playful shove.

“I know, I can pick you up at seven and drive us to work. You know, I make the meanest caramel macchiatos.”

“Well, I don’t know. They are my favourite.” You pretended to be deep in thought, purposefully delaying your answer. “I don’t think I trust your driving, though. You did sprain your ankle two days ago.”

“Hey! Don’t make fun of the wounded. That was my left ankle, thank you very much, and it’s nearly healed now. My right ankle is working just fine.”

You hummed, a teasing smile working its way onto your lips. “Okay then. But no accidents.”

“No accidents. I promise to take you there in one piece.” Bambam lifted his pinky and you hooked it with yours, sealing the promise.

True to his words, the blonde boy made you a caramel macchiato with a caramel heart on top of the foam, and sometime between the morning rush and the afternoon lunch hour; amidst the clinking of cups and the periodic hisses of the coffee machine, he asked you to be his girlfriend.

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bitchloveskcbaseball · 4 years

Text

Catch My Breath

Series: The Bones

Pairing: Bryce x Casey

Warnings: Language and slightly N*FW

Word Count: 1583 (I know, I’m a rule breaker, but, honestly, I’m not sorry LOL)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry

Song Inspiration: Catch by Brett Young (it’s also the song the lyrics towards the end come from)

A/N #1: This is my submission for @wackydrabbles Prompt #47 “Just lick it.”

A/N #2: This is my version of that first night in Donahue’s, and, by extension, the beginning of Bryce and Casey’s relationship. So, this is the new beginning of this series too. I really love doing things out of order, sometimes LOL

I also want to give a HUGE thank you to @burnsoslow for helping me work through a few scenes in this and just generally getting me out of my head. And also for being an awesome awesome friend!! I love you!! 🥰

A pair of arms wrapped around Bryce's neck as a familiar voice whispered, “Play some pool with me?”

Reaching up to lace his fingers with hers, he asked, “You sure you can handle losing to a scalpel Jockey, Valentine?”

“Well, if hell ever freezes over, I’ll letcha know.”

Without even thinking about it, Bryce brought one of Casey's hands up to his lips to brush a kiss across her palm before shrugging her off of his shoulders so he could stand up. “I hope you brought a jacket, because it's about to get real chilly in here.”

Already on her way towards the pool table, Casey called back over her shoulder, “Oh whatever. Are you gonna put up or shut up?”

As he was slowly following her, he rolled his eyes at her back before letting them trail shamelessly up and down her body. She was hot as hell, but he’d known that from the moment he first set eyes on her that morning. He hadn’t been able to completely rid his thoughts of her since, and even though it should have been driving him crazy, it wasn’t. And that was what was so unnerving.

He had lagged behind so far that she had the balls racked and the cue ball ready to go before he’d even pulled a cue stick off the rack. She turned to him, looking like she was about to suggest he break when he shook his head and said, “No, ladies first. You break.”

“Brave choice, Lahela. It’s not easy to come from behind.”

Unable to resist the opening she'd just given him, he waited until she was bent over the table, ready to take her shot. Leaning down with one hand on either side of her, he pressed his hips against hers and whispered in her ear, “You want me to show you just how easy it can be?”

There was a slight hitch in her breathing and he felt a shiver run through her just before she sent the cue ball flying across the table. He was so distracted by the way she felt under him like that that he didn’t even realize that she had managed to sink one on her break until she turned her head, her lips brushing against his as she murmured, “I’m solids.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by an intense need to taste her mouth, Bryce tried to press his lips more fully against Casey’s, but he ended up kissing her hair instead when she turned her head away. He couldn’t even call her out on it because in the very next instant, she was grinding her ass back against him, pulling a moan from his lips. When she did it again, her name slipped out on a gasp as he tried to wrap an arm around her waist to keep her pinned against him, but again she moved too fast. His fingertips just barely brushed across her lower back as she managed to slide out from underneath him.

She had taken four more shots, three of which were successful, before his heart rate started to return to normal and he felt like he could finally take a full breath. Even then, all it took was one come-hither look from Casey to have his thoughts scattering again. She wouldn’t have even needed to lean down as he lined up his shot to whisper, “Still think it isn’t hard?” in his ear to break his concentration. Her mere presence was enough to do that.

With Bryce being so damn distracted and Casey being so freaking good at pool, it only took her a couple more turns before she was sending the 8-ball into the corner pocket. Throwing her hands up in the air, she taunted, “And that’s game, baby! Guess I didn’t need that jacket after all.”

“Oh whatever. You know you cheated.”

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep your eyes on the table, Lahela.”

Knowing he couldn’t argue with her logic he just shrugged his shoulders. For the first time in his life, he actually didn’t care that he hadn’t won. His only focus was on trying to figure out if she was as into whatever this was between him as he was. He was in the middle of trying to decide just how he was going to go about finding out the answer when Casey let out a squeal and practically started bouncing up and down. Narrowing his eyes on her, he muttered, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, my god! I love this song! Dance with me!” It wasn’t a question, and even if it had been, there wouldn’t have been time for him to say no as she was already dragging him out onto the small dance floor.

Any protest Bryce would have made died on his tongue as soon as she turned back to him, looking up at him with those wide, gorgeous emerald eyes of hers. Her arms were draped around his neck and the height distance between the two of them meant that she basically had to plaster herself to him so that she could reach, not that he was going to complain. Instinctively, his hands settled on her waist and they started to sway in time to the song he didn’t recognize.

Needing to distract himself from the fact that her lips were right there, Bryce asked, in a voice that was surprisingly steady considering how fast his heart was racing, “Why do you love it so much?”

“Just listen to the words! It’s so…” Casey trailed off into a sigh and for a moment, Bryce didn’t think she was going to finish her thought. “It’s so romantic. But not in a corny sort of way.”

He quirked an eyebrow up at her explanation, but before he could say anything, she started singing along. Her voice was so rich and beautiful that he almost didn’t realize how close to home the lyrics hit until she got to the last verse.

Got me catching feelings I wasn't even tryna feel this I don't know how you started stealing my heart Like you are in this bar but I'm glad that you are

“Hey Casey?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you…uh…wanna…” Mentally face-palming, Bryce chastised himself, Could I sound like any more of a bumbling idiot?

Despite the huge smile on her face, Casey rolled her eyes at him. “I read about this ice cream shop that stays open ‘til after last call that’s close by. That sound good to you?”

“Ye…yeah. That sounds perfect.”

“Okay. Lemme just go tell the others that I’m taking off. Meet me outside?”

Not trusting himself not to holler his excitement if he opened his mouth, Bryce merely nodded his head once and forced himself to let go of her hips. As soon as she walked away, he felt like a part of him was missing. He knew that he should probably be worried about how fast he was getting attached to Casey, but he pushed the thought aside. Having never been one to shy away from an adventure or a challenge, he didn’t figure he was going to start now.

Ten minutes later, the two of them were sitting, hand in hand, at a high-top table with their multi-flavored ice cream cones. Apparently impatient to get to her next scoop, Casey took a huge bite of ice cream and immediately scrunched her face up. Pulling her hand out of Bryce’s, she rubbed at her forehead and let out a pain-filled groan.

Struggling to contain his laughter, Bryce asked, “You know how to avoid brain freeze, right?” When Casey only glared at him, he added, “Just lick it.”

Arching a brow at him in what could only be described as a challenge, Casey slowly trailed her tongue up one side of her cone before swirling it around the top.

Biting back the groan bubbling in the back of his throat, Bryce muttered hoarsely, “Don’t start something you don’t want to finish.”

When Casey murmured, “Who said I don’t want to finish it?” his breath caught in his throat and he damn near dropped his own ice cream cone. A teasing smile pulled at her lips as she continued, “This is so delicious, I could never let it go to waste.”

Shooting her a frustrated glare, Bryce muttered, “Why the hell did I want to take you on a date?”

He heard her soft but sharp intake of air and his pulse picked back up. Maybe she wasn’t as unaffected by all of this as she had seemed. “So this…this is a date?”

Enjoying the tables turning on her for a change, Bryce scrunched his face up as if he was thinking about something unpleasant. “Well…”

“Bryce.”

There was something almost desperate in her voice that stole any thoughts had about teasing her further. “I was really hoping it was a date. I just…wasn’t sure what you wanted it to be.”

For the first time all night, Casey’s confidence seemed to falter and she dropped her eyes to the table as she whispered, “I…I was really hoping it was a date too. I just…I wasn’t…I didn’t think you’d want to date me.”

“Oh, babe.” The warmth flaring through his chest with the knowledge that she also wanted this almost rendered him speechless, so he said the only thing that came to mind, hoping it would convey all that he didn’t know how to put into words. “Girl, you got me tryna catch my breath.”

A/N #3: I know that the end of this night was when the group decided to be roommates, but me changing this doesn’t change that. They just invite her to join the apartment search the next morning in the locker room instead of while they were waiting for the train after the bar.

Tag List: @burnsoslow @anotherbeingsworld @darley1101 @lahellacute @mrsdrlahela @mvalentine

#bryce x mc #bryce lahela #n*fw #open heart #choices

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cassiecasyl · 4 years

Text

Empty Space

prompts used:

Whumptober Day 8: Abandoned + Whumptober Day 19: Grief, Mourning Loved Ones

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Warnings: Sad, Heavy Angst, Panic Attacks, Blood Note: Among Us AU

Read on Ao3

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sure, they had heard about the imposters, and their lethal games, and about their previous appearances on the Skeld. In fact, the ship seemed to be one of their favorite hunting grounds. Peter had never understood the motivation behind trying to kill a whole crew just for fun. It was horrible. But still, they had hoped it wouldn’t happen on their trip There were enough accounts of the Skeld making it to her destination safe and sound, and it was just damn Parker luck that this was one that wouldn’t. They hadn’t had much choice, with the Skeld being the only ship in their price range to cover their destination, and the imposters always seemed like such a faraway thing. Something that happens to other people. Not them.

Yet, here he was, holding his aunt’s hand through their blue suits, pleading, shaking, hoping for her to respond. “May?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breaking from crying. Peter didn’t know how long he’d been here, all he knew that he had missed the meeting following the discovery of his Aunt’s corpse. His Aunt’s corpse. Aunt May is dead. The words still sounded faint and far away, like the whispers of a ghost. Peter couldn’t, wouldn’t let them sink in.

May was now no more than the discovery of imposters among them, a stepping stone for them to win their sick game and a clue to start the crewmates’ investigation. Peter knew he should care about at least the last one, but he hadn’t been able to attend the meetings. He wanted to know who did this to her, who ripped open her body into half, who caused this unnecessary bloodshed. Who would kill an innocent bystander? Such a lovely, lively, and caring person as May? Just for fun?

“Please, May,” he begged, “Wake up! You’re gonna miss the Kasterborous Supernova. We were so excited to see it, remember?” He felt terrible to remind her about this event only he really wanted to witness it. Sure, it was a once in a lifetime thing, but May had only been as excited because he was. It seemed like such a small thing now.

He couldn’t remember her last words. Oh god. How was he ever to know that those would be her last to him? And now he didn’t remember them. The last thing she gave him, and he simply forgot. It felt like a sacrilege. Warm tears left cold stains on his cheeks before they dropped towards the ground, wetting his suit, or landing on May’s.

He had taken off his helmet to help him breathe. There was oxygen on the ship so he didn’t really understand the rule to wear the suit at all moments, and no one had bothered to explain it to him. Peter hadn’t dared to dismantle May’s face though, and he regretted not being able to see her. Before him lay an anonymous suit, the same color as he wore, ripped apart, and stained with drying blood. It was all too easy to convince himself that this wasn’t May. They had made a mistake, and May was still alive, in another colored suit, somewhere on this spaceship. Somewhere an imposter could lurk and just wait for the right moment to repeat the tragedy.

Peter wanted to get up, to sprint to her and protect her, warn her, but he couldn’t move. Something had glued him on the ground, trapping him here with a dead body and his thoughts. May is dead. No. She would never laugh again, never scold him again, never mess dinner up again and then order take out. No. She would never fall asleep in front of the TV again, never bother him to eat or sleep when he was too engulfed or stressed in his work again. Nonono. Peter cried out, balled his hands against the unfairness of it all, but there was nothing to fight.

“I larb you,” Peter remembered her to say, but her voice was all ghostly and not quite there, and it cut like reality.

Peter’s breaths came out in gasps that never reached deep as if he was drowning in shallow saltwater. His dark blue suit was stained with blood just as May’s was, only instead of his middle, it was painting the ends of his limbs as he kneeled in the crimson puddle next to his guardian. He couldn’t breathe. The red seemed to climb up the fabric in little veins that almost looked like a spiderweb, the blue succumbing to the guilty liquid. Tears landed on them, washing some of it away, and falling to the ground tainted. Peter watched them in a trance, his ears not picking up his own wheezing gasps, and the pain in his chest only throbbing dully.

Despite all their efforts, the veins spread and reached out to him. He didn’t know whether they were accusing him, or indicating him to be the next victim. Peter panicked at their implications yet didn’t, his emotions strangely numb to his brain’s instincts. His battling head started aching, and he felt slightly dizzy, but still, he didn’t care. Aunt May was gone, and he sat there covered in her blood like her murderer, and he hadn’t been there, and he couldn’t breathe so what if he just passed out right here? It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, would it?

A gentle hand caught his falling body, removing him momentarily from his thoughts. He flinched away way too late, only now remembering his need to be alone. Then, with a flare of false fear, he realized that this could be the imposter. Anger bubbled up but depleted before it reached the surface, only coming out as hot air in quick breaths. Peter didn’t have the energy to fight. “Just take me,” he whispered, barely audible, and closed his eyes. He just wanted to lay down and be comforted by his Aunt May. This all was just a bad dream, right? It must be. He would wake up at any moment. This all would be over.

“What was that?” The man in the red suit now spoke up, “I’m not the imposter, bud.” Peter opened his eyes to muster the stranger.

“Why should I believe you?”

The man shrugged. “You’re not dead,” he simply stated.

“Yet,” Peter replied.

“Look, bud, I don’t care if you believe me or not, but I’m not gonna kill you.” Peter could almost feel worried eyes staring at him, and somehow, he felt inclined to believe him. His shoulders fell as some tension left his body, and he frowned. “Mind if I join you?” The man asked yet sat down without waiting for an answer. Peter only stared at him, slightly annoyed yet strangely relieved. “How you’re doing?” He continued to inquire, but Peter simply continued his stare. He didn’t feel like talking. It would make it all true. Why was he supposed to answer anyway? Ah, yes, manners.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, was it?” He meant to faintly remember his name from the introductions earlier, “but I’d rather be alone right now. Thank you though.”

Silence fell on them for a minute, before Mr. Stark answered. “I don’t believe that’s true,” his voice had now softened, “Something terrible just happened to you and I’m no good with emotions, but even I know that you shouldn’t just wallow here like this. It’s no good for you. Congrats on getting my name right, by the way. Tony Stark.” He offered Peter his hand, “And you are?”

Peter blinked, trying to digest the words. They were too fast, too much, and he didn’t want them at this moment. His fingers tightened around May’s hand. “No,” Peter then spoke in a rough, yet definite voice, which sounded a bit too much like a spoiled child to him.

“No?” Tony echoed, “Now that’s a peculiar name.” Peter shook his head. He was more there now, but he didn’t want to be. Here meant that his aunt was dead. And the man in the red suit was getting it all wrong. Or was he doing it wrong?

“No,” he repeated, slowly, trying to let his mind catch up, “I’m Peter Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I wish it’d be under nicer circumstances though.” Peter looked back at the body next to him at that and the words cut deeply. No. It seemed his go-to word now. Too bad it wasn’t changing anything. No. May was dead. There was nothing he could do. No-no-no. He wanted to scream, and maybe he did, and the tears that had depleted under Tony’s distraction returned. “No,” he whispered, sobbed out from a body that had never felt this heavy.

Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around him, slowly, testingly, and for some reason, Peter fell right into them. He felt safe here. Why? “May?” he asked weakly, but she was lying there in front of him, unrecognizable, motionless, dead.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Tony whispered, rubbing soothing circles over his back, “Was she your mom?” It was Tony, Peter then realized. Tony who comforted him, just a kind stranger. Yet why did he feel so safe?

“Aunt,” Peter corrected before burying his face in the stranger’s chest, fighting another sob. Soothing warmth engulfed him, but he was so cold and far away. It barely had a chance against the spikes of pain that were working their way through Peter, again and again, only to pause for a little while before hitting again.

“Shh,” Tony shushed him, rocking them slightly back and forth, “Just let it out. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Peter replied through a hiccup of tears, “It’s never gonna be okay.”

“No,” He agreed. Peter halted a moment as Tony used his word before remembering that words belonged to nobody. He was just being selfish. Another sob rattled through his body that never seemed to run out of tears.

After a while, Peter calmed down again. For a moment, he remained where he was, not ready to move yet. Then, he sat up, purposefully avoiding to look at the dead body. “Sorry,” he said, brushing his hand against his running nose.

“Don’t apologize, kid. It seemed like you really needed to cry it out. You know, crying floods some stress hormones out, which makes you feel better, or something like that. Bruce could explain it to you. He’s the one in the green suit.”

“Neat.”

They sat in silence, neither of them willing to move even if only to not sit in blood anymore. Peter was perfectly content on being here, well, as content as he could be at this moment, and Tony was just there to grant him company. His hands still trembled from time to time though, which did not go unnoticed.

After watching them for a while, Tony reached out to take Peter’s hands, stilling them. “They caught him. Thought you wanted to know,” he said, carefully observing Peter’s reaction.

“Who was it?” Peter suppressed the anger in his voice almost successfully as grief overtook him again. The one who did this would pay for it. They’d meet justice, just as they deserved. Still, he was angry, he wanted to punch whoever it was, wanted to scream at them, and above all, he wanted to ask why. Why May of all people?

“Some ugly guy named Thanos. He was in the purple suit.” Peter nodded.

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

“Already did. They threw him out of the spacecraft. Standard procedure for found imposters.” Tony shrugged slightly while Peter imagined the freezing coldness of space, the absence of air, the nothingness. Floating there, freezing to death in minutes. He shuttered.

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah” Tony agreed, looking at the kid who had sympathy for his aunt’s murderer. Before, Tony had thought him too young to lose a parental figure, but now he seemed too good to ever have that happen to him. “If you want, you can help me with my tasks,” he offered, delighted to see some light reappear in the teen’s eyes.

“That’d be nice. I was helping May, but, you know…,” he stilled, waiting for the tears to come, but they seemed to have run out for now. Tony nodded and stood up, holding a hand out to help Peter up.

“I think a change of scenery will do you good,” he decided, “but first, you gotta abide by the dress code.” At Peter’s confused expression, Tony pointed at the helmet that lay forgotten on the floor.

Tag List: @starrynightdeancas, @insaneasgardian (tagging you bc Among Us :))

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spacecakes20 · 4 years

Text

Begin Again

(Chapter 4)

Chapter 5: Luna, Pool Night

Friday came so quickly; Luna barely had any time to even notice. All her days were starting to blur together now that she wasn’t in charge of scheduling meetings and appointments. Looking through her planer, she had nearly forgotten about the plans she made to meet Sam and his friends at the Stardrop Saloon. Well, she didn’t make any promises, but she was still planning to go. She just didn’t want to commit just in case she chickened out and didn’t show. First things first; she needed to wash up and change. She wanted to look more presentable; her current mud crusted overalls didn’t exactly scream “Friday Night Out with Friends.”

Friends. Would she consider them friends? Acquaintances perhaps. She’d only been living here since the start of spring, and summer was fast approaching. But despite her short amount of time in Pelican Town, everyone seemed to welcome her with open arms. Well, almost everyone. Some were warmer than others, but Luna didn’t really blame them. She still considered herself a stranger here, and it’ll probably take a while for her to find her footing.

After a nice warm shower, Luna went through her fresh clothes. It was surprisingly hard for her to find anything casual that didn’t scream “business party” or “important meeting.” Most of her wardrobe consisted of dress suits and cocktail dresses. Only at the very bottom of her unpacked boxes of clothes did she find her more casual wear. Zuzu University shirts that were way too big for her, sweats, and short-shorts that were way too short. Luna made a mental note to go shopping in the city sometime soon for more casual wear.

Don’t overthink it, Luna. I’m sure no one’s going to pay attention to how you’re dressed. Unfortunately for her, overthinking seemed to be one of Luna’s hidden talents. Working with the higher-ups at Joja HQ, she had no choice but to be self-conscious about how she was dressed around other people. Especially if she was with Charles...

Luna shook those thoughts away, and decided fuck it, she’ll wear what she wanted; and decided to put on the tee-shirt and shorts. It was supposed to be a relaxing and fun night after all, and Luna was tired of overthinking herself into oblivion. Throwing on some socks and her favorite pair of high tops, she grabbed her keys and was off to the saloon.

The sun was still up, but it was still comfortable outside, despite summer being just around the corner. Her stroll wasn’t too long, but she took her time to enjoy the soothing sounds of spring. She made it to the saloon, already able to hear the music and chatter from outside. Upon entering, scanning the inside, she noticed there was more than just a few people in here.

She noticed Leah off at her own table. She had a glass of wine in hand, tapping her foot to the beat of the music playing on the jukebox. Pam was seated at one of the bar stools, nursing an ale while holding a conversation with the bartender, Gus. Next to Gus was a blue-haired woman. Emily, if Luna remembered correctly. She was conversing with a man in a worn-out blue jacket with a five o’clock shadow. Shane, right? Marnie’s nephew? Before she even had time to think about it any further, she heard her name being called. Searching the room for the source of the voice, she saw Mayor Lewis seated at one of the tables near the entrance. She smiled and made her way over to him with a small wave.

“It’s nice to see you out and about Luna.” Lewis smiled kindly, “Your grandfather could be quite stubborn, I feel like he rarely ever took breaks.” His smile turned bittersweet.

Luna couldn’t help her own sad smile gracing her features. She remembered how hard-working her grandfather was. Remembered the pride and joy that always decorated his face whenever he spoke about his farm. How frustrated and heartbroken he was when his old age started to slow him down and keep him from his work… Shaking those sad thoughts away, she decided to try and lighten the mood, “You’re speaking too soon!” She chuckled, “According to my dad, I’m just as stubborn as my grandpa. I just haven’t shown you my fullest potential yet.”

That got the amused response she was hoping for. Lewis simply shook his head, a light laugh escaping him, “Of course. Just be sure not to overwork yourself, okay? Your grandfather would haunt me for the rest of my days if I let anything happen to his granddaughter.”

Luna smiled warmly at that, “Don’t worry sir, I’ll take care of myself.”

Lewis took another sip of his drink before shooing her off, “Don’t let me keep you. Grab a drink and relax.”

“Will do,” Luna nodded. She did another quick scan of the saloon before she noticed the game room that was off to the side of the building. She made her way over to one of the arcade machines. Reading the cabinet, she realized it was Journey of the Prairie King. Luna was suddenly hit with a strong wave of nostalgia. She remembered she used to play that game with her dad. Lola wasn’t too good at video games, so she’d usually just watch. It was how the three of them would spend time together on the rare occasion their dad wasn’t too busy with work. Before her parent’s split…

She was mercifully brought out of her thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She froze for a second, unaware someone else was here too. Turning to the source of the noise, her heart stopped at the site. A familiar tall man in black high-tops ripped skinny jeans and a black hoodie. But what caught her most off guard were his eyes. Of course, she wouldn’t forget those eyes. They reminded her of quartz. So cloudy, like a rainstorm, yet crystal clear and cool, like filtered water. And they were looking right at her.

Sebastian mumbled out a, “Hey.” Before getting back to chalking the end of a cue stick. That was when Luna noticed there was a pool table in the middle of the room.

“Hey.” Luna returned the greeting, slowly making her way to the said pool table. “I’m sorry, did I show up too late?”

He shook his head, eyes never leaving the table, “Early, actually.”

That did make her feel relieved, but also a bit nervous. This would be the first time Luna and Sebastian were truly alone together since the door incident. Sure, they made amends at the Flower Dance, but they had Sam and Abigail there with them as a sort of buffer. Come to think of it, had she ever been alone with Sebastian before? There was their first meeting at the docks, but she hadn’t even known his name and they were only together for a second. Did that even count?

“Do you play?” His question caught her off guard.

“Huh?”

“Pool.” He finally looked at her, “Do you play pool?”

“Oh.” She was a little surprised at the fact that he was the one trying to start the conversation. Was he trying to make her feel more comfortable? This was probably awkward for him too, so perhaps this was just his way of breaking the ice? “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”

He hummed out as a response, and the room filled with silence again.

“What about you?” Luna asked, trying her best to fill the stillness, “Do you play?”

His eyes never left the pool table as he smirked to himself. Something about it looked cocky and she had to admit; it looked good on him. “Yeah, I play. Me and Sam play every Friday. He still hasn’t managed to beat me.”

Luna hummed, amused by his slight change in demeanor. She decided to humor him. “How do you play?”

“Huh?” He blinked at her, the confidant gleam in his eyes now replaced with genuine surprise.

She smiled up at him and asked again, “How do you play?”

He stood there a while, still as a statue. For a minute, she wondered if she might have said something wrong. Her mind was set at ease however when he grabbed the other cue stick and handed it to her. She graciously took it and watched as he took the balls from the table and organized them in a triangular rack.

“The goal,” He said, giving the rack a light shake, “Is to pocket all of your designated balls, and then the eight ball.” He pointed out the round black orb with an “8” written on it in the middle of a white circle.

Luna nodded in understanding, but her brows were furrowed, “That sounds… simple…”

Sebastian just chuckled. What a wonderful sound. She wouldn’t mind hearing that again.

“Simple huh?”

“I mean…” She looked away, distracting herself by looking at the pool table, “What’s to stop me from just, getting the eight-ball pocketed on my first try?”

“You’re not allowed to do that.” He said, “You’ll have to sink all of your designated balls first,” He explained simply, “I’ll go first.”

“Okay…” She fiddled with her cue stick and watched Sebastian’s form closely. He gracefully knocked the white ball, crashing it into the other colorful round orbs. They rolled around the pool table easily, but none fell into any of the pockets. He bit his lip, eyes focused, brow set in concentration before looking over to her.

“Your turn,” Sebastian said simply.

“Huh?” Luna looked to him and the pool table in confusion, “Wait, how do I know which balls mine are?”

He gave a soft lazy smile, “Just pick stripes or solids. I’ll take whichever you don’t.”

She nodded silently, walking around the ends of the table, searching for an advantage. Finally, she decided on solid colors, leaning over the table and knocking the cue ball into a red one. She missed the pocked by a mere inch.

“Close.” Sebastian sounded almost impressed, and Luna couldn’t help but feel a little proud. The two went back and forth like this; analyzing their moves, looking for strengths and weaknesses. It was a surprisingly strategic game, and Luna felt a little silly for underestimating it.

It was nice seeing Sebastian look so relaxed. Which was an amusing thought, because Luna also noticed he seemed to have a bit of a competitive streak. But it wasn’t like she didn’t have one herself. She did enjoy problem solving and challenges, and he felt like the perfect opponent. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding back.

“Not bad.” Sebastian’s voice took on an almost teasing tone, as he hit the eight ball into the closest pocket, “But looks like I win this round.”

Luna shook her head with a hum, “I can’t help but feel like you went easy on me though.”

He gave her a half-smile, and she could have sworn he had a dimple, “Do I seem like the type who does that?”

She didn’t know if she could believe him or not. Sure, he really didn’t seem like the type that would hold back in a game, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was showing some restraint.

“You don’t look so sure.” His expression was unreadable, “Want to play another round?”

She agreed to it without a second thought. She watched him closely this time around. He seemed to be in his element; much more at ease here then he seemed to be at the Flower Dance. Perhaps if they had met someplace as relaxed as the saloon, their first meeting might have gone a lot smoother.

“Hey, Seb!” The new familiar voice caused Sebastian to lose his focus, making him overshoot his target. The cue ball missed the pocket, deciding instead to roll off the table, hitting the floor with a thud and a roll. Sebastian sucked the air between his teeth, eyes darting in the direction of the new voice.

Sam and Abigail had finally made their way to the saloon, entering the game room with a tray of drinks at hand and a pizza. Sam had seen Sebastian’s missed shot, and gave him a sheepish look, mouthing “sorry” under his breath.

Luna tried to stifle a giggle, drawing the attention of Sam in the process. “Luna!” He sounded surprised, “You made it!”

“Yeah,” She smiled a bit sheepishly. “I did.”

Sebastian had picked up the fallen cue ball, placing it on the table. He gave Luna an embarrassed smile, “Looks like you win by a technicality.”

Luna wrinkled her nose, “That’s an anti-climactic win.”

He simply shrugged, “Wanna play another round?” He offered.

“Wait!” Sam interrupted before Luna could give her answer, “You two were playing pool together?” His eyes looked almost pleading, “Please tell me you won, Luna?”

She shook her head with a grimace, “Nope. He’s just too good.”

This answer must have amused Sebastian because he let out a very light chuckle.

“Don’t encourage him, Luna!” Sam said dramatically, “His ego’s already big enough as it is!”

Luna just shook her head with a giggle. Looking up to Sebastian, she said, “I’d take you up on your offer, but I know when I’ve been beat.” She smiled simply. Her innocent smile seamlessly morphed into a teasing one, “But I promise, I won’t lose next time.”

That got her the reaction she was looking for. His lazy smile melted into a smug smirk, “Don’t get too cocky.”

Abigail cleared her throat, interrupting the playful banter. She grabbed Luna by the arm, surprising her in the process, “Alright,” Abigail said, “You guys can finish this later. I want to get to know our new farmer.”

Come to think of it, out of the three here, Luna did feel like she interacted with Abigail the lest. They had run into each other a few times in town, only to give out a “hello” in passing. She hadn’t even realized she was a friend of Sam’s, until the Flower Dance.

Abigail’s bright blue eyes looked over to Luna’s green ones, “Have you ever played Journey of the Prairie King?”

That earned her a lopsided smile from Luna, “I used to play it a lot as a kid.”

Abigail’s smile seemed to have brightened upon hearing this. “Think you could help me out than? I’ve been stuck on this one level, and this game is so much easier with two people.”

Luna looked over to Sebastian and Sam with an apologetic smile, but Sam just waved her off. “No worries Luna.” He said, “I’ll avenge you in pool!”

Sebastian let out a snort at that, “I highly doubt you can.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” Sebastian answered dryly, without missing a beat, “I could use the extra cash.”

Luna couldn’t help but giggle at their banter.

“Try not to lose all of your money, Sam,” Abigail added while placing some change into the arcade machine. The screen blinked to life, and Abigail stepped aside to make room for Luna.

“You two have no faith in me.” Sam whined dramatically, before pouting at Luna, “You’ll root for me, right?”

Luna bit back a laugh, “Sure. I’ll cheer you on.”

Luna was happy she didn’t place any bets by the end of the night. It turned out Abigail and Sebastian weren’t joking; Sam truly was just that bad at pool.

(Chapter 6)

#Stardew Valley #stardew valley sebastian #stardew sebastian #stardew fanfic #sebastian x farmer

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phrynewrites · 4 years

Note

50 and scyvie please! thank you, i adore your writing 🥺

Thank you for the ask hun! I had so much fun writing this little glimpse into my Girlfriends Without Benefits AU.

Girlfriends Without Benefits is a Scyvie fake dating AU, where Scarlet, freshly dumped, asks Yvie to pretend to be her girlfriend to make her ex jealous. Yvie of course agrees, deciding that she’d do anything to help her best friend, especially if it helps her get over her terrible ex, who Yvie was never fond of. And besides, Yvie’s straight, so it’s nothing more than a kind gesture on her part. Until, that is, Yvie realizes it’s far more than a gesture. And Scarlet? Well Scarlet begins to wish there were benefits.

I hope you enjoy!

***

“Scarlet, I need to shower now!” Yvie yells, rapping her balled up fist against the bathroom door one more time.

Not that it was Scarlet’s fault, of course, Yvie reminds herself, continuing to bang against the door. Scarlet always took her shower directly after Yvie’s, around 7:30 or so, giving her enough time to fuss around with her hair styling products and complete her extensive morning skin care routine in peace, before heading off to work.

But today Yvie had woken up late, finding herself right in the middle of Scarlet’s bathroom time, in desperate need of a shower — and fast.

“Scarlet!” Yvie tries once more, but louder, assuming Scarlet can’t hear her over the running water and her own carelessly off key singing.

“It’s open.”

Yvie turns the knob without thinking, fully unprepared when she sees Scarlet standing in the fogged up shower stall, reaching up to grab a bottle out of the corner shower caddy. She’s encased in the scent of sweet mint and honey. It’s intoxicating and entirely Scarlet, reminding her of when they’d take the train home from the bar late at night, and Scarlet, still a touch too tipsy, would fit her head in the crook of Yvie’s shoulder and ramble on about how Yvie was the best fake girlfriend she’d ever had because Yvie knew she always wanted her hair played with when she was drunk.

“What do you need, babe?” Scarlet shouts, pumping out some of the product, pausing, turning to look at Yvie, before running it through her hair.

Yvie swallows at the thought, diverting her eyes. “I need to shower before work,” she says, more to the woven bath mat below her than Scarlet. “I woke up super late. And I still smell like last night's weed.” Yvie laughs, thinking back to the two of them sharing a bowl, watching House Hunters: International, ripping on a couple from Iowa who decided to move their whole family to Paris and were shocked by the fact that they’d be paying nearly a million dollars for an apartment no bigger than hers and Scarlet’s.

This led to Scarlet asking what would happen if they moved to Iowa and got a huge house instead of living in this glorified closet, then laughing about somehow finding herself back in the closet, elbowing Yvie until she made the connection that their home was closet sized and Scarlet wasn’t straight, and then coming in closer, leaning against Yvie’s side, letting an arm lazily fall into her lap and asking “no really, what if we just picked up and moved to Iowa? We could get goats and shit. Big kitchen we never use. Think about it.”

Yvie did think about it. She thought about it, up until she woke up late, realized she’d have to teach chemical bonding to a class of tenth graders today at 8 a.m., came into the bathroom, and had that thought forcefully replaced by a never ending and increasingly intrusive slew of thoughts about Scarlet in the shower.

“I mean, I’m kind of in the middle of it here.” Scarlet says, pulling Yvie out of her trance, calling her gaze to meet her own. Scarlet piles her conditioner coated hair up on the top of her head, reaches down for a clip, and fastens it. “Fine, come on in.”

Yvie’s eyes blow out as Scarlet elbows the stall door open, inviting her in. The crack in the door teasing her, rendering her silent and still as she stares at it, like she’s waiting for the shower door to flinch before she does. She wants to ask Scarlet for her reasoning, or maybe even consider dousing herself in the Warm Vanilla Sugar body spray Scarlet kept in the console drawer for ‘emergencies.’

Avoiding being sopping wet and naked only a few inches away from your roommate, who inexplicably made your stomach tight and heart press urgently against the wall of your chest every time you thought too long about her, who in this scenario is also naked and wet, seems exactly like an emergency, Yvie thinks.

Scarlet cleared her throat before crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought you had to shower?”

“Right, yeah,” Yvie fumbles, trying to psych herself up as she pulls off her pajamas, pushing them into a neat pile in the corner with her foot. She reminds herself that she just needs a shower. So she can go teach school. That she doesn’t need to think any harder about what she’s going to do here at all. She just needs to open the stall door, get in, clean herself, and get out so she can go to work.

And that Scarlet’s emergency warm vanilla sugar body spray is also filled with glitter because of course it is.

She opens the door tentatively, maneuvering carefully around Scarlet, desperately trying to avoid any contact, cursing their stupid, small shower at every turn. Scarlet, however, seems unbothered, squeezing some shower gel onto a loofa, holding it under the water to let it suds up before trailing it over her body. She throws her neck back and hums, letting the soap cover her chest.

Yvie doesn’t think about the tattoo she knows is under Scarlet’s left breast, the detailed ivy leaves trailing from her ribs to her sternum.

She tries very hard not to think about it.

She definitely thinks about it.

Just past Scarlet, who’s now humming a few notes again, Yvie spots her shampoo, immediately reminded of the plan she set in place, the plan to shower and get out, which she immediately deviated from. She grabs the bottle and concentrates on the pearlescent liquid pouring out and onto her hand, beginning to spill out of her palm as she begins to wander from the shampoo to the curve of Scarlet’s back.

“Shit,” Yvie mutters before raking the shampoo through her hair and weaving her arm past Scarlet’s waist, placing the shampoo back in it’s spot. She pulls her arm back a little too quickly, brushing against Scarlet’s waist, halting her humming, making Yvie slink away quicker, forcing her other hand into her hair, as though if she looks occupied, Scarlet won’t notice the touch she clearly already registered.

“Uh, can I get under the water?” Yvie asks tentatively, still adamantly massaging the shampoo into her scalp.

Scarlet hangs her loofah back on the hook and nods brightly. “Perfect timing. Let’s switch, hun.”

Before Yvie could manage to press herself against the tiled back wall of the shower, and strafe across until she was under the water like a video game character trying to avoid assassins, Scarlet grabs her by the arm and pulls her closer, skin to skin, the two sharing the water for a moment before Scarlet reaches behind Yvie to take her razor and shaving cream, her chest just grazing Yvie’s back.

And before Yvie registers it all, Scarlet’s already gone, setting herself up a few inches away, facing the back of the stall.

“Needed to shave anyway,” Scarlet explains, propping her foot up on the unused soap ledge next to her, shaking the shaving cream, and spraying it in a puffing line up her toned calf.

Scarlet bends to lather the cream and Yvie’s sure she’s teasing her, though she can reason that Scarlet might just want to shave her legs. And that maybe she’s just teasing herself with the image of Scarlet bent just so, right in front of her, how if Yvie moved forward only two inches or so, she’d have the gentle curve of Scarlet’s ass pressed against her thigh.

Yvie washes harder, until she feels her hair squeak between her fingers, wishing the stream of warm water did a better job of soothing her.

At least they’re further away now, saving Yvie from any more close encounters. Yvie can simply turn away from Scarlet, drawing her razor up her leg as tantalizingly as she possibly can, Yvie’s sure, and face the shower head — you know, like serial killers probably do — and wash herself off. Just shower gel, wash cloth, wash her body, rinse, and out the shower she goes. It would be very simple, Yvie decides. She’d make this very simple.

She takes her shower gel out of the caddy and searches for her wash cloth.

Scratch that. It would not be simple. She could not make it simple.

Scarlet’s foot is on her wash cloth.

Scarlet, who is wet, naked, objectively mind-numbingly physically attractive, shaving, and back to humming Dolly Parton to herself, is also standing on her wash cloth.

“Ugh, fuck me,” Yvie whispers to herself before looking back up at Scarlet, who seems not to have registered what Yvie said, still focused on shaving and humming the chorus of 9 to 5.

She could just ask for her wash cloth, Yvie reasons, but then Scarlet would stand up and face her and Yvie’s not sure she can handle looking Scarlet in the eye right now. Instead, Yvie decides to just snatch it from under Scarlet’s foot, like a magician swiping a tablecloth out from under a full course candle-lit Italian meal. If she can do it quickly enough, maybe Scarlet won’t notice and Yvie can continue with her shower.

She crouches slightly, extending her arm just enough to hook her finger around the hole she cut in the corner of her wash cloth. She curls her finger. She pulls sharply. The wash cloth hangs from Yvie’s finger.

And Scarlet yelps.

Then hisses.

Then says “fuck” about twelve times.

And when Yvie sees the shaving cream turning pink, candy red blood running down Scarlet’s ankle and onto the sky-blue tiled floor of the shower; when she feels her heart sinking until it’s pressing against her stomach, Yvie’s sure she made the wrong choice.

In hindsight, she should have just spread her shower gel all over her body without the wash cloth. Or maybe steal Scarlet’s loofah — then she still could have lathered, and smelled like warm sweet honey, had the scent of Scarlet lingering all day.

“God, Yvie,” Scarlet begins, before yanking the washcloth out of Yvie’s hand, pressing it against her ankle to stop the blood. “What the fuck?”

“Oof, that looks like it hurts,” Yvie says before cursing herself. The blood’s just hitting the drain. Of course it would fucking hurt.

“Uh, yeah. It does.” Scarlet quirks a brow.

And in what feels like an instant, Yvie opens the shower door, scrambles out, and decides that dousing herself in the sparkly body spray is probably her best option now.

#for dawningofdrag #rpdr fanfiction #scyvie #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #girlfriends without benefits au #gwb #tw: blood #gwb au #ask phryne #asks answered #drabbles #phryneff #gwb scyvie

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stargazing-enby · 4 years

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Fics I wrote in 2019: masterlist

I wanted to do this on New Year’s Eve, but I decided to wait till @hdowlpost reveals so I could add the fics I wrote for the fest, too. Lo and behold: the fics I wrote last year!

My most popular fics posted in 2019:

Highest kudos: Everything a Word Can Mean (Drarry, 2.3k, 1023 kudos). The soulmate AU I never intended to write! I was so sure this fic wasn’t anything special that seeing all the love it got baffled me so much, but upon re-reading it (and listening to @hptruefan-cheekytorah‘s podfic 😍) I realised I loved it too!

Highest comments: Falling for a Golden Boy (Drarry, 44k, 93 comment threads). My wireless! This fic gave me so many headaches and so many moments of happiness, but ultimately I’m just proud I could prove myself capable of writing a long fic in English--and I’m also so proud of my OC, O’Neill, because she wrote herself out of nowhere and she’s honestly the best.

Highest hits and bookmarks: the above fics again! 2019 clearly has two winners 😂

Below the cut are all the Drarry fics I wrote in 2019 (minus some unfinished collabs), the sole fic I wrote that wasn’t Drarry (it’s Fleur x Cho), and finally the fics I wrote in Spanish. Enjoy!

Drarry fics

Not Rated:

Of Ink and Rhymes (231 words). A collection of Drarry poems written for this year's inktober prompt list.

General Audiences:

You’re the Universe I’m Helpless in (411 words). Draco and Harry stargaze.

Matching Hats (323 words). Harry likes bickering with Draco, but not as much as he likes hugging him.

I Want... You (470 words). Draco and Harry slowly discover that feeling safe has a lot to do with allowing yourself to feel respected. And that includes being allowed the little things in life.

Crumb(ling Willpower) (706 words). Are they just Auror partners? Are they an old bickering couple? Who knows — definitely not them.

As Long as We’re Together (1.9k). Draco and Harry are going through a rough time as parents, but it's okay — they've got each other.

How to Ruin the Perfect Proposal (and Still Get it Right) (2k). When Draco's plans for Harry's birthday end up showered in (quite literal) blood, Draco has to find a quick solution. Featuring spaghetti, hot-air balloons and a proposal ring. (A collab with @drarryruinedme7! 😍)

So You May Remember This (486 words). Draco meets the wrong end of a curse and has to reacquaint himself with his life for a day. (A collab with @tepre 💕)

We Fall Apart, We Rise Together (102 words). The story of how Draco and Harry get together, as told by tree leaves.

Teen and up:

New Year, New Harry (223 words). In which Harry learns that life is a series of starting points.

An Enlightening Session (2k). Harry confesses a secret and makes a decision.

A Golden Ball of Fluff (375 words). “In my defence, Luna said dogs helped with anxiety.”

Hatred? Not Quite (346 words). Just two idiots fighting in detention.

Are You Okay? (1.5k). “Could you come over?”

Only Each Other (419 words). Harry's as lost as the boy crying in his arms. All he can do is hold on tight.

Crucio (3.4k). "It is our choices that show what we truly are." But what about those who don't really have a choice? This is how their journey together starts: with an Unforgivable, a confession and the incessant dripping of a faucet.

Lost Boys (1k). When the first shriek pierced the air, Harry muted it with a groan and a punch to the wall. Draco's pain hurts Harry beyond relief, and Harry's pain hurts Draco, too. At least they have each other to hold on to.

Just Them (100 words). About how painfully easy it can be for them to get together.

What it Takes to Stay and Fight (1.1k). Harry's had enough of Lucius's words worming their way through Draco's head.

Constant Flux (527 words). Harry Potter is the one constant in Draco's life, only each time in a very different way.

The Art of (Not) Being Broken (308 words). Draco reads an article that explains a few things. And so he shares it with Harry.

700 (280 words). A string is broken.

What They Need (388). A few days after the Sectumsempra incident, Harry decides to go to the hospital wing to apologise.

To Save a Soul (376 words). Draco's and Harry's souls bond the moment Harry saves Draco from the Fiendfyre flames. Before any of them realises, Draco is Disapparated to Azkaban, and their soulbond—their souls—broken.

Pumpkin Boy (6.4k). It's Halloween night, and the line that separates Harry's world from the one he truly belongs in dissipates when he meets a peculiar, white-blond boy.

Help Me Remember I’m Free (412 words). Of what happens in Draco's mind during a PTSD flashback.

Everything a Word Can Mean (2.3k). In a world where magical people are born with the nickname their soulmate will call them by tattooed on their skin... what does it mean that the word on Harry's chest is the thing he hates to be called the most?

What Can Be Found (in a Game of Truth or Dare) (8 words + memefic!) Here's what happens when Draco is dared to give Potter a love bite... as told through memes.

Mature:

A Pointy, Posh Grindylow (1.5k). “Why don’t we duel, Malfoy? Just you and me, tonight, in the Room of Requirement.”

Who We Are at Night (708 words). “Just… hold me. Please. That’s what I need.”

A Dream About a Boy (445 words). Draco Malfoy had a very particular dream once. A dream about a boy draped on top of him.

Stubborn as a Cursed Vault (1k). Harry and Draco are assigned a case together. Feelings ensue.

Amortentia [FANART] (203 words). 'I'm going to be just right for you.'

(Mis)calculations (5.6k; WIP). This is how they find each other: at 2 am, in the Eighth year common room. Draco wanting to fall, Harry wanting to sink, and both of them in need of someone to hold on to.

Floppy Socks (359 words). Harry arrives home one day to Draco wearing peculiar socks. Bickering ensues.

When Green Shines (2.4k). The legends say that a fine, red string of fate connects those whose souls are destined for one another. And the legends are true, except the string isn’t always fine and it isn’t always red. It’s different for everybody. For some it’s silk, for some lightning. Some people are connected by a ribbon of clouds, and some by electricity.

So why does Harry’s have to look like the bloody Killing Curse?

Explicit:

Alone at Last (1.9k). All they'd done so far was make out behind library shelves and the occasional groping in the Quidditch showers when they both arrived earlier than their eighth-year team. But today — today everyone had left for Christmas and they had the Gryffindor dormitory to themselves. And so Draco was naked on Harry Potter's bed.

Falling for a Golden Boy (44k). Merlin. Why couldn’t Draco have moved to a forgotten village in the Alps? He could have turned into a shepherd, learned to make his own damn cheese and given up his damn magic. But no, he’d had to come back to his Eighth year, hadn’t he? And this was his life now. Draping himself over Potter to hear words from him that he knew Potter wouldn’t ever mean.Great. The school year ahead of him looked simply great.

“All I know is—when I’m with you, I…” Potter, the heathen, grunted when he read the rest of his line. “Do I really need to say this?”

“What, scared of believing your own words, Scarhead?” Draco spat.

“Boys,” O’Neill warned them.

“All I—all I know is you’re the most amazing person with weak ankles that I've ever met, Meg.” Potter scowled. He was blushing again. “And when I’m with you, I feel less alone.”

Or where a drama play, a grumpy pompom and a bunch of well-intentioned friends help Draco and Harry find peace—and each other—after the war.

Traditional (3k). Harry makes a discovery. Draco makes a promise.

A Glance at the Past (In Our Journey to the Future) (7.6k). It's Christmas Eve. It's also Lucius and Narcissa's last chance to accept Draco and Harry's relationship before they stop trying to make the Malfoys come around and move on with their lives.

Draco also happens to have a plug up his arse. One that Harry can control with his mind.

(You’re a) Revolution (23k). “Will I—Will I see you around?”

Malfoy snorts.

“Careful, Potter,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as his fingers linger on the doorknob. “One might think you actually enjoy my presence.”

Eight years after the end of the war, Draco Malfoy stumbles into Harry’s shop in the middle of a storm—no wand, no backstory; no signs of having lived in the country since the Battle of Hogwarts.

During their first encounter, Harry promises Malfoy—and the words sound like an old mantra—that he'll figure out Draco's secrets eventually.

And then he does. He does, except…it doesn't quite feel like a victory.

Other ships

Smooth as Ice (Fleur/Cho, Gen, 398 words). Cho slips in more than one way.

In Spanish (Drarry)

Estaciones (641 palabras, Gen). Dicen que todo nace, crece y muere.

Como un ciclo.

Como las estaciones.

De tal palo, tal astilla (8.1k, Teen and up). A veces es necesario echar un vistazo al pasado para comprender el presente… y el futuro. (O donde Draco conoce a alguien con quien quejarse de Potter).

Recuerdos que duelen (318 palabras, Teen and up). Dos chicos rotos hablando sobre los recuerdos que los persiguen.

El chico de mis sueños (481 palabras, Mature). En una ocasión, Draco Malfoy soñó algo muy particular: soñó con un chico recostado sobre su pecho.

Calcetines de gelatina (369 palabras, Mature). Harry llega a casa y se encuentra con que Draco lleva puestos unos calcetines peculiares.

Flujo constante (562 palabras, Teen). Harry Potter es la única constante en la vida de Draco, pero de muchas formas diferentes.

Pumpkin Boy (Español) (6.9k, Teen). Una noche de Halloween, la línea que separa el mundo de Harry de aquel al que realmente pertenece se diluye cuando Harry se encuentra con un niño rubio bastante peculiar.

#otpshipper98 #drarry fics #2019 masterlist #drarry #drarry squad #drarry fic rec #my fics #harry potter #draco x harry #harry x draco

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rowanthestrange · 4 years

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How To Make A Build-A-Bear Dye Without Killing It:

Me: If this is Paddington, why is he white?

Build-A-Bear: Oh my god Rowan, you can’t just ask why Paddington’s white!

Paddington is currently one of Build-A-Bear’s cutest and plushiest options. However he’s also significantly lighter-furred than either the recent movie, the classic television show, or even the original illustrations made him. My sponsor being a fan of the Paddington TV show, I was asked to experiment to see if I could correct this by dying him, in a long-lasting, no rub-off way, whilst maintaining the gorgeous fluffy texture of the fur.

And shockingly...yes. Yes, you actually can.

(Instructions and more adorable pictures under the cut)

Now as far as I can tell, if you can do it with this plushy baby, you should be able to do this with any Build-A-Bear. Probably any bear full-stop, but I’m not responsible if you re-dye that toy tiger you’ve had since you were a baby and it crozzles into a little plastic ball. Be smart, be responsible, be sure you can buy another one of whatever you’re dying in case you screw up. Remember even if it all works, you might still not get the colour you want. Dying’s a lottery.

Disclaimers over, you will need,

A Bear.

Rit DyeMore Synthetic in the colour of your choice. (Cocoa Brown if you’re doing this Paddington).

A big metal pot than can go on the stove. Bigger than the one you’re thinking of right now.

A cooking thermometer is highly encouraged - look you’re buying the dye, you might as well spring for this too, you’ll find uses for it.

Nice smelling washing-up liquid.

Rubber gloves if you’re not an idiot.

A big wooden spoon that can reach the bottom of your pot.

Basic sewing supplies (don’t panic, nothing arduous)

Ideally an extra person in case of emergencies (these include: when it turns out you can’t stir a pot continuously for over thirty minutes, when you splash yourself with scalding-hot dye and need someone to stir while you hold your hand under cold water, when you apparently don’t have the coordination to stir, check temperature, and keep track of time all at once, etc.)

And before you begin, offer a prayer and thanks to @tokozdragon whose own experimentations allowed me to stand on the shoulders of a giant. Theirs was one of the most helpful bits of information I came across in my research, and is how you’re gonna hopefully keep that fluff nice and gorgeous.

So. Build-A-Bears are seemingly synthetic top to bottom. Certainly this one is. I couldn’t find any tags saying anything other than 100% polyester, man-made fibres. Now this is a bad thing when it comes to dying, because the dyes can’t penetrate and hold in the same way. You wash it, everything’ll immediately rinse out. But Rit Synthetic Dye, does work. The only catch is, you’re gonna have to get it to just below boiling point. And if you’ve ever left a cuddly toy against a radiator before, you might know that these things do not like heat.

But there is a trick to this. You’re gonna diverge from your dye instructions just a little bit, but it’s going to work so long as you’re really on the ball.

First of all, check to see that your bear will fit in your pot - physically put it in there - and check if it could move freely and be covered with water. No? Then you’re gonna do what I did, and frankly what I suggest: You’re going to unstuff your bear. Get a clean box, find a seam (the BAB tag is perfect for this if it’s still got it on) pull until you see threads, have courage, and snip. You can put them back together, I promise. I left the head and arms stuffed for Paddington because it would fit, and they’d be more difficult to restuff. You might want to as well. Keep your heart (and tracking barcode) safe, as well as all that stuffing. Now you may have someone who looks like this:

Next, it’s bath time. No, don’t skip this step. Get a little of your nice washing-up liquid, just a small drizzle, and some warm water. Nothing hot, not close to hot - baby bath temperature. Give your bear a gentle wash, to remove any coatings or oils or dirt, and rinse them out well under more warm water. Make sure to squeeze it through any remaining stuffed bits too. You don’t need to go overboard though, a bit of soap left over is gonna be fine.

While you’re doing that, you’re going to heat up your dye to just below teddy bath temperature.

This is where we start to deviate from instructions.

You’re gonna put that dye in right away, while it’s still cool. I needed about 5 litres of water for my pot, and used about a quarter of a bottle of dye (somewhere between 6-8 tablespoons). You can see how Cocoa Brown turned out here. Obviously if you want a weaker colour, use a few spoons less. If you don’t get it perfect straight away, don’t worry about it, you can add more later if you have to, but again remember your ideal colour is not guaranteed.

Then add a small trickle of washing-up liquid to the dye. Less than a teaspoon, but it’s going to help the dye catch.

When your dye is just about bear-temperature, still really low, you are going to immerse your bear, while the temperature’s still going up. That’s right, we’re doing it now. What we’re trying to do is not shock the fur by giving it a sudden temperature change - plunging it into 90°C dye like you’d usually do. Instead we’re gonna boil it like a frog in a pot.

You are gonna stir this baby continuously, and treat it like a video game level you can’t afford to fail. Bits that float, squeeze em and squish em back down. Nothing stays still. You stop stirring? You’ve failed. And never, ever, ever, let it touch the bottom of the pot for even a second without you moving it away. Treat this early temperature where you can still put your hand in it as your test, and get a rhythm up. Using your gloved hands (or not, but it’s gonna make your nailbeds look weird for days), squeeze the dye thoroughly through your still-stuffed areas, make sure everything’s evenly covered, because once this dye goes past 50°C you’re going to be using your spoon only.

Then just keep stirring. If your arms get tired, this is why you have your emergency standby buddy. Check the temperature occasionally. When it gets up to about 80°C this is when the dye will actually start activating. Keep the heat going, but check your time. If you can’t easily see a clock and don’t have a buddy, you definitely can’t afford to stop stirring now, so start counting one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, up to about 240-Mississippi. For everyone else, go to about 4-5 minutes, maybe having your buddy check the temperature as you go. If you hit a boil - you’re seeing bubbling - turn the heat off. What we’re aiming to do is give it about 4 minutes in the 85-max 95°C range, so you choose when to shut your heat off - you know your cooker better than I do.

After your heat is off keep stirring as it drops its temperature, remembering it’s just as delicate a procedure as when you were heating it up, it still can’t touch that hot metal for too long. When it gets down to about 60°C, if you or your emergency buddy can easily (and I mean easily, with no difficulties at all) lift that pot to put it in a cold water bath in your sink, you could do that, but if your wrist suddenly gives out or something that is a hell of a lot of hot water that will mess you up. If in doubt, you gotta just keep stirring for as long as it takes for the pot to cool back down to bath temperature. Don’t try and lift the bear out and put it in the sink early, just do it properly.

Once you’re down to relatively cool again, lift the bear and squeeze the dye out. Then transfer them to your sink. Run water at about the same temperature, and rinse them thoroughly.

When the worst of the dye stops coming out, then it’s time for bath time yet again. More of that nice smelling washing-up liquid, soap them up good, and watch that sink get all colourful again.

Then keep rinsing them, replacing the water until it stays clear and free from soap.

And then all you need to do is wait for them to dry!k

(If you don’t have a hairdryer that works on a cool setting, then just squeeze them with paper towels to get the worst of the water out, and fluff em up a little bit every now and again, moving that fur, and making sure it ends up roughly in the direction it should be so it doesn’t dry too oddly.

Then the next day when they’re dry, brush them up a bit, and give them a re-stuff, making sure to give that heart-wish a little booster when you put it back in. (And put that odd little barcode you probably found in there right next to it - that’s one of the ways a lost bear can find its way back to you. You never know). Then to stitch up the hole, use a ladder stitch. Google it to find instructions that work for you, but that’s the clever invisible stitch you’ll need. And if you can’t do that last bit for any reason, I’ve never found a Build-A-Bear shop that won’t help fix up a bear (and they’d probably be interested in your dye test. You could probably even get a scent put in if you’re good at sweet talking).

And voila, one spiffy bear.

Who in this case, had all his stuffing given a rub down with sweet orange essential oil, the perfect scent for any bear who carries an emergency marmalade sandwich.

Of course if you’re going the full Classic Television Paddington, then a bit of work with some black felt and ribbon is still required. The red hat should be enough for you to mirror a pattern. I suggest 2mm or 3mm thick felt (and you’ll need a metre/whatever rather than A4 if you want to do the...sticky-up-bit of the hat all in one go like the red hat). And 1.5-2cm ribbon (but I had 1cm so that’s what I used). The brim is about the size of a dinner plate, and you could cut the circle for the top out of the middle of that if you’re trying to conserve materials.

Bonus cuteness: I think Orlando the Thirteenth Doctor Bear makes a very good movie Paddington.

#toy making #toy modding #paddington #build-a-bear #feat #orlando the #build a bear #Arts and Crafts #mine #tutorial #props to the furry community #y’all are more helpful #than any teddy bear website #of pinterest moms

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perfeggso · 4 years

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Noir (yutae)

Week I pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 1.7k (will progressively get way longer)

Yuta was easily recognizable. He was of about average stature, but that was the first and last thing about him that could be described as “average.” Yuta reckoned that anyone living or working in the areas in and around Ueno Park and Akihabara could describe him to the police if they felt like it, but they all knew better, didn’t they? He had a striking face, which others often remarked could have landed him in an idol group in another life. He kept his hair in an undercut which swept over his head suggesting ever so faintly the shape of a mullet, but he would never call it that. Mullets were for Mötley Crüe, not for men of taste. Although he kept the bottom of the haircut in its original black, the long part was died white – an aesthetic choice that Yuta not only liked but which also made him feel nearly invincible in its destruction of his anonymity.

Yuta was freshly 24, a prodigy of sorts in his own world of the Inagawa-kai family, where he had been promoted to Shategashira lieutenant last year and was now the commander of a small gaijin and zainichi unit operating in Shitamachi. There was gossip that his position was due only to his relationship with Oyabun Hirai Goro’s daughter, but he knew better than that which was all that mattered.

It was late October and a crisp evening as Yuta weaved his way down Chūō Avenue. He drew plenty of looks: of fearful recognition but also of admiration from certain young women. Not one for subtlety, he wore a double-breasted dark blue snakeskin suit and a jumble of rings and piercings. A scar transversing his right eyebrow and the tendrils of tattoos reaching out from his sleeves and collar confirmed his connection to the underworld for anyone who saw him, but that was alright if it gave Yuta some space to walk in the crowd.

He took a right into an arcade where Mark was sitting absently behind a yellow desk and flipping through the pages of the latest Young Magazine installment of Akira . When he saw Yuta, he immediately straightened to attention.

“Good evening Shategashira!”

“At ease,” Yuta said casually, “how’s business today?”

Mark went back to slouching over his comic and shrugged as Yuta surveyed the room.

“Average,” hazarded Mark, “I’ve been hearing the machines in back pretty consistently my whole shift and Jungwoo’s still somewhere fixing shit and trying to get people to buy computers.”

Yuta rapped his knuckles against the desk. “Having any luck?”

Mark shrugged again. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Yuta withdrew from the desk with a performative huff and straightened his jacket. Sometimes he wondered if he should be less familiar with his subordinates, but he couldn’t imagine acting strict like some other lieutenants; he liked most of his men too much to be anything but personable. So as usual, Mark’s cautious sass went unacknowledged.

Yuta made his way to the back of the low-ceilinged white room. The walls were lined with cubbies full of manga, tech and porn magazines, and cassettes; string lights; mirrors; Nintendo arcade games; and in the center of the space, you could peruse tables of PC’s in various states of disuse alongside Mazinger Z figurines. Jungwoo had stationed himself in the middle of the clutter, fiddling with the hard drive of an ’82 Apple.

“Jungwoo!”

“Shategashira!”

“At ease.”

“This just came today!” remarked Jungwoo, referring to the computer. “The computing power on this thing is off the charts! A shame I have to fuck with it.”

“A necessary sacrifice,” said Yuta, not giving a damn about the technical side of this business since he couldn’t begin to understand it. “How many have you sold?”

“Seven today,” said Jungwoo, sinking into a chair with his whole weight and pushing at his cuticles with the end of a screwdriver, “so that’s 225,000 yen, give or take. I can get the books if you want.”

Yuta smiled, catlike. “No, that’s alright. Good work. Although I’m confident you can do better still.”

Jungwoo stood again sharply. “I assure you I can, Shategashira !”

“Good.”

In reality this was not a bad amount of revenue for the day so far. The Inagawa-kai paid the property and business taxes on the building to shore up favor with the local government but didn’t technically own it. The real owners covered all other expenses and utilities, meaning the Inagawa people ultimately could keep more of their profits than the average business owners, and this setup wouldn’t change because the landlords knew the local precinct had Inagawa’s back and that Yuta – or if not him, someone else – would not hesitate to pull a katana on them if they suddenly took issue with the arrangement.

No, thought Yuta, this is good. Jungwoo was selling near his quota, and with the viruses he had installed, many of the unsuspecting customers would eventually be bringing their devices back for costly repairs.

Yuta looked at the unassuming door behind Jungwoo.

“Johnny in there?” he asked.

Jungwoo nodded curtly in response and Yuta passed him to open the door, stepping into the windowless back room. Smoke hit Yuta instantly, warming his lungs along with the stinging scent of hard liquor. The room may have been devoid of natural light, but it did have plenty of colorful artificial illumination: a wall of well-populated pachinko machines making brassy noises so loud Yuta could have sworn they were coming from inside his skull. Each machine was a hypnotizing box of glowing neon, flashing lightbulbs, and shiny silver balls clacking in a perverse rhythm with the players’ chorus of disappointed groans and victorious whoops. The men at the pachinko machines were all around middle age, smoking their heads off and depressing the shit out of Yuta.

Yuta swept his gaze over the rest of the room; the weathered purple booths on the other wall, the checkerboard tile on the floor, the mildewy walls; until he landed on Johnny. He was in the bar in the back, under a dusty glass chandelier, smoking with a young woman seemingly attached to the front of his mahogany suit.

Johnny didn’t notice Yuta until he was a few paces away, and Yuta sensed a flicker of disappointment on Johnny’s face when he did look up, although Yuta couldn’t reproach him for that and he did well to hide it.

“Ah, Shategashira ,” Johnny greeted languidly, and Yuta acknowledged him back with a nod of his head. Johnny was a few months older than Yuta, so he could afford to be more casual with his superior. The only reason Johnny didn’t have Yuta’s position was that he indulged too much in life’s vices and wanted to keep it that way.

“Can we speak somewhere a bit quieter?” Yuta asked, and Johnny nodded, whispering something to his companion before leading Yuta out the back doorway into an alley. Yuta breathed the crisp autumn air in once outside, a relief from the stuffiness of the pachinko bar. Yuta reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, smoking to match Johnny and giving Johnny time to get situated next to him against the wall. Yuta had to look up to speak since Johnny was a good bit taller than him and when he did, Johnny’s face was sharper than usual in the shadows of twilight. Yuta took a long drag of his cigarette.

“So,” said Johnny, “you know when yet?”

“A month and a half from today,” said Yuta, “gives us enough time to finish preparing, I think.”

Johnny nodded, grinding the burnt-out end of his cigarette into the brick behind him. “Good. Can you relay the details? What do I need to do?”

“You and I and the other Sokaiya members will be going into the Mitsubishi executive offices with the goal of getting 130,000,000 yen and the right to ship arms and drugs to our Triad allies in Hong Kong disguised alongside the company’s car and electronics exports.”

“Goro’s getting ambitious, huh?” Johnny figured aloud.

“Yes,” Yuta answered, “in return we’re offering our own men as indefinite security details for commerce in the South China Sea and for members of the executive board, personally.”

“Mercenaries and bodyguards, I see.”

“You could call it that.” Yuta took another drag of his cigarette and let the smoke escape his mouth in a meandering cloud. Once it dissipated, he said, “but as to your role, you’re in charge of gathering information on Sato Kenichi. He runs Mitsubishi’s finances and although we’ve found ample evidence to use against the CEO and I’m still working on some leads for the VP – Miyazaki is his name – we need dirt on as many of the higher ups as possible. They can’t refuse us or we’re dead.”

Johnny nodded, lighting himself another cigarette. “Sato Kenichi. Understood. Any leads on the guy?”

“Yes, I have them here.” Yuta pulled a small sealed folder out of the interior of his jacket and handed it to Johnny, who slipped it into one of his inner pockets without opening it.

“Thank you, Shategashira .”

“Just do a good job,” said Yuta, adding, “please.” Then he dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “We have almost enough stock to make the shareholder’s meeting so that shouldn’t be a problem. Also, the Triads are sending a group of emissaries to advise us on their priorities and join us at the meeting. They should be here in a few weeks or so. That is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet the princess for our joint birthday dinner. We decided to combine this year.”

Yuta and Johnny pushed themselves off the wall and exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

“Tell her I said omedetou ,” said Johnny, backing away to return to his post at the dingy Pachinko bar, pulling the packet on Sato Kenichi out of his pocket and passing it between his hands. “I can’t wait to see what this Sato-san gets up to in his spare time. These executive types are all extortionists and perverts. And they call us the criminals.”

Yuta chuckled to himself. It was ironic, wasn’t it? He saluted Johnny and turned on his heel with a “work hard, please,” and that was that. The sun was setting, hot pink. He’d be late to meet Momo if he didn’t hurry, but this was important business after all. A month and a half. What could possibly go wrong in such a short time?

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