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wavedream · 2 years

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Prime Directive #0 - let's get the ball rolling

Here we go. It's happening, just as I threatened. Let's start our look at Dreamwave's first Transformers G1 miniseries, Prime Directive, one issue at a time. Pray for me, folks, people keep reacting in horror to me telling them about this project and it's making me nervous.

Some context before we begin our comic today, though. When it came out in 2002, this miniseries was the first attempt to seriously reimagine the G1 franchise since it originally ended in the West. The then-contemporary mainline Transformers fiction was anime prouced either wholly by or in conjunction with Takara, and none of it was in the style of the original G1 cartoon. In 2001, the Takara-made Car Robots series was imported by Hasbro, dubbed, and tweaked a little into the Robots in Disguise cartoon. In 2002, when this comic came out, Takara and Hasbro's joint efforts had resulted in the Armada series. Both were complete reimaginings of Transformers compared to what had come before.

So unlike today, when G1 nostalgia is ubiquitous enough that a common complaint amongst the fanbase is that it's impossible to escape, when Dreamwave released this comic there hadn't been any G1-esque English language media of note in years. In addition, the early 2000s were the start of the nostalgia boom we're still living through today in terms of pop culture, where the process of old franchises being strip-mined for constant reboots began. 'That cartoon you liked as a kid is getting a new comic, and it's for ADULTS this time!' was still a selling point with some novelty to it. The stage was very much set for this to be a succesful endeavour, and Dreamwave was banking on that to be their big break as a comics publisher.

And with that, here we are, folks: the first issue of Dreamwave's big Transformers revival. ...Sort of?

Before Dreamwave published their first Transformers miniseries, Prime Directive, a 6-page preview was produced to be sent to retailers. If you've followed any monthly comics before, you'll probably know that ahead of an issue dropping, companies typically release 4-6 pages as a preview ahead of time; this, by contrast, is an entirely original piece, taking no content from the upcoming first issue. If nothing else, that gives a good indication as to how hard Dreamwave were banking on the Transformers license being their big break.

The thing this preview is most remembered for is probably that it features five pages of nothing but humans talking, with only one brief glimpse of any robots. We open on said humans in the arctic, a setting which is notable because a) it gives me immediate Bayverse vibes and b) it's very obviously been picked so Lee doesn't have to draw too many backgrounds. I mean, look at this.

And hey, let's be fair. It's a lot of extra work to draw six whole pages just for a preview. There'll be plenty of other reasons to call Lee a lazy hack as we go through this project, so I'll let him off easy here.

What I won't be as kind to is the dialogue.

Right off the bat we begin with a very clumsy attempt to get some themes in here. When you're working within such a small pagecount, that's a wee bit tricky. A deft writer might have a conversation pull double duty, telling you a couple of each characters' quirks so they immediately feel like more than cardboard cutouts while having it relate to a wider idea. Since Sarracini is not a deft writer, instead we get a sports metaphor that makes no sense whatsoever and which goes on for two whole pages.

Decompressed storytelling was a big thing in comics around this time, with western monthly releases experimenting a lot with the sort of slow moving, character-focused pacing found in other examples of the medium, like longer form graphic novels and manga. Unfortunately, a lot of the people who jumped on this wound up not understanding how to make it work on a structural level, and they really just made less things happen per panel and page to imitate the aesthetic elements. Dreamwave is an absolutely stupendous example of this approach. This is all foreshadowing.

What we actually learn in these two pages is that this Lazarus guy has taken the other guy to the arctic. He's some kind of potential investor in a project Lazarus is looking for partners on. Lazarus apparently hasn't explained why exactly wandering around the frozen tundra is important, and the other guy is understandably pissed. It's a little unclear why he came along to the arctic when he has no idea what Lazarus wants to invest in, but here they are, trudging through the snow.

So they argue, and then a very confusing set of panels happens.

I had to squint at this for a hot second to work out Lazarus is supposed to be grabbing him painfully. Lee is not a master of… much of anything, art wise. And clear, readable action is something he struggles with from the get go. Anything that needs a reader to understand implied motion and momentum has a good chance at winding up a dud.

No worries though. We get straight back to po-faced declarations of The Themes Of The Comic, Honest, which only requires that he draw people standing around.

I have a high tolerance for comic book-y expository nonense. But it's so entirely joyless here. Shoot me, I have to read the entire rest of this fucking series.

On the next page, we finally get to something Transformers related I can draw your attention to, though. There's a full page of them coming across a monitoring set up for something (oh my, I wonder what it could be) in the ice. It's more space filler of no real interest, but this particular text box might ring some klaxons in a modern day Transformers fan's head:

Now, this isn't an example of 'what do you MEAN, Dreamwave did that first?!', a refrain that will crop up quite a few times as we make our way through these comics. It's true that a shocking number of franchise staple concepts originate in Dreamwave, but the gladiatorial element isn't one of them. That goes back to Marvel, with the UK-only prose story "State Games" establishing it as part of the backstory for both Megatron and Optimus. But it is notable that Dreamwave is going to be where a lot of people encounter this concept for the first time, given that the prior story was not just a UK exclusive, but specifically a prose story tucked away in an annual rather than the regular monthly comic. (And yes, spoiler alert: it will crop up again in Dreamwave.) I would not be surprised to find out the revival of this concept in places like the Aligned continuity owe at least some debt to the idea resurfacing in this series.

Anyway, the comic then tries to persuade us that the thing most of interest when it comes to what can be gleaned from terrifying alien war machines with all the onboard tech and weaponry they have is that they turn into cars sometimes. No further explanation is forthcoming. Lazarus just sort of says this as though it's self evident and moves on.

Look, making the fact Transformers characters can transform central to the fiction is my whole thing. I want it. When Transformers media doesn't take advantage of that stuff, I am sad. But the degree to which this falls flat is a bit of a warning as to a problem this series is probably going to come up against a lot as we go on, and which plenty of recent Transformers media aimed at fans has struggled with. How do you do things like that in something that isn't made for eight year olds and running on "rule of cool"? Transformers turn into cars and planes and weird animals and such because that's cool to a child who wants to buy awesome toys. It's tricky to translate that into a story aimed at adults that takes itself remotely seriously. In no way impossible. But if you don't really consider how you plan to approach that part, and indeed a great many elements integral to Transformers, you're probably not going to nail it.

They talk for another goddamn page after this and oh my god, this preview should have been three pages tops. I'm not making you read all that. Just rearrange the words in one of the above panels, it's about the same experience.

Finally, FINALLY, we hit the jackpot with the last page: a full page spread of Soundwave, partially obscured in ice as they excavate him. (See? Bayverse vibes.)

Soundwave is pretty much the single most iconic non-Optimus Transformer in broader pop culture, so that tracks. (Honestly, he'd probably give OP a run for his money.)

And it is a very nice bit of imagery, though they really didn't need those damn speech bubbles down there. But you can see here where the concept for this preview originates. All the build up being so you can have the final full-page splash of an 80's-style iconic character to get the audience hyped up. In the hands of a better writer, that would probably have worked perfectly well. As it stands, the fact this apparently did get people hyped is really more just down to Soundwave being really cool, I reckon.

So that's the preview. It's on Earth, the robots came to Earth a long time before under circumstances we don't know about, and now some shady humans have found one of them. It's a decent enough setup. One so good it's been used in Transformers at least twice; seriously, that is just a description of Megatron in Bayverse, right?

After all this riveting comic content, the original version of the preview also featured some teaser art. This gives us a bit more of an idea what the upcoming series might look like, since we get all of one panel of Lee actually drawing a robot in this one.

Pat Lee's art is, of course, one of the more infamous elements of Dreamwave's comic. He called his style "anime inspired" a lot, which was a real exciting prospect in 2002 if you were a certain kind of nerd. You can sort of see some of it in his art. In that very 'western artist in 2002 working off an English language how to draw manga book' way that is a peculiarity of the time period. But it sure doesn't look like, say, the Transformers work of Studio OX.

More to the point, his artwork is frequently a mess, with terrible composition, incoherent proportions, very little understanding of perspective, and little to no emotion conveyed by its characters. He tends to draw his robots all very... puffy and inflated-looking, too. This style would form the basis of a 'house style' all other artists brought in were expected to follow. Even when much more competent artists than Lee are to be seen, they'll be somewhat shackled by the restrictions put in place there.

And that's a wrap on this wee little six page preview, so god knows how much I'll have to say about the series itself. Stay tuned to see if any robots get to speak next time!

#maccadam #dreamwave #prime directive #transformers

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princesssarisa · 1 year

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A Christmas Carol Holiday Season: "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol" (1962 animated musical)

Now we reach a pop culture landmark: the first animated Christmas special ever produced for American television. Before A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, or any other similar classics, there was this 1962 cartoon musical from the UPA animation studio, starring their most famous cartoon character, Quincy Magoo. A character rarely seen on TV today, because the comic mishaps caused by his weak eyesight aren't politically correct by modern standards. But this special, with songs by legendary Broadway composer Jule Styne (Gypsy, Funny Girl, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and more) and lyricist Bob Merrill (Funny Girl), has never lost its popularity.

The framing device of this Christmas Carol is that Mr. Magoo is starring as Scrooge in a Broadway musical of Dickens' tale. While the opening scene of Magoo's arrival at the theatre and the final scene of the curtain calls feature the standard Magoo slapstick, the Christmas Carol itself is played surprisingly straight, with only a few small gags hinting that Scrooge needs glasses. For the most part, it's a faithful, if abridged version of the story. There are only two really notable changes: (a) the character of Fred is cut, and (b) the order of the first two ghosts' visits is reversed, so that the Ghost of Christmas Present (voice of Les Tremayne) comes first, and then the Ghost of Christmas Past (portrayed as an androgynous golden-colored child, voiced by Joan Gardener). I can only assume the latter change was made because the Christmas Past sequence is more emotional for Scrooge than Christmas Present, so they were re-ordered to create a "rising line of tension," so to speak.

The result is a Carol that's both funny and emotionally effective, which both children and adults can enjoy. Especially worth appreciating is its poignant emphasis on Scrooge's lonely childhood, since so many other versions downplay or cut that plot point. UPA's impressionistic style of animation, simple yet colorful and vivid, suits the tone of the production well, and the voice cast is first-rate too. Jim Backus, Magoo's iconic voice actor since 1949 (also known as Thurston Howell III on Gilligan's Island and James Dean's father in Rebel Without a Cause), is a vivid, engaging Scrooge throughout every stage of his character development. Meanwhile, standouts in the supporting cast include Jack Cassidy as a warm, rich-voiced Bob Cratchit, Royal Dano as an imposing Marley's Ghost, Jane Kean as a touching Belle, and Joan Gardener doubling as an ethereal yet wry Ghost of Christmas Past and an adorable Tiny Tim (who looks like another popular UPA character, Gerald McBoing-Boing). Last but not least, Styne and Merrill's songs – "It's Great to Be Back on Broadway," "Ringle, Ringle," "The Lord's Bright Blessing" (a.k.a. the "razzleberry dressing" song), "Alone in the World," "Winter Was Warm" and "We're Despicable" – are all memorable and strike an excellent balance between childlike simplicity and Broadway quality.

The first-ever Christmas cartoon special is still one of greatest.

@ariel-seagull-wings. @thealmightyemprex, @reds-revenge, @faintingheroine, @thatscarletflycatcher

#a christmas carol holiday season #mr. magoo's christmas carol #1962 #animation #upa animation #animated special #mr. magoo #jim backus

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beevean · 3 years

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Opinion: How could Sonamy progress in IDW?

[note: the original article was written in Spanish by @latin-dr-robotnik]

Today we’re going to discuss a recurring topic on my blog, with a more complete perspective.

Today’s article was inspired by an ask I got a few days ago about my possible perspective on the future of IDW Sonamy. I thought it would be interesting to revisit and expand this topic, because it’s still something of great interest for thousands of fans all around the world, and because SEGA has recently adopted a very peculiar position on the couple and their dynamic. As I detailed on my article SEGA and its most recent Sonamy side – more canon than ever, the dynamic has been going through a shift that can be distinguished into two main parts: 1) the commercial potential of Sonamy as a merchandising and marketing icon; 2) the stability of the interactions in the comics, in the short monthly stories on Sonic Channel, and so on.

That being said, there’s no need to mention that we’re going to focus entirely and nothing more than on this ship. I usually suggest other articles for those who prefer to read on other subjects, but today I will recommend our Discord server [translator’s note: the server is mainly Spanish-speaking], where discussions about ships are limited on their own canal that is separated from other themes: general discussions, music, fangames and mods, fanfics, fanart and even gaming in general. As you know, if you want to bring something else to our community, or just avoid talking about Sonamy, you’re more than welcome to join. Now, back on track.

What’s going on with Sonamy in IDW?

To recap what’s happened in these last months: Sonic and his friends finally got through the nightmare that was the Metal Virus, he and Amy hugged a few times, and since very recently they’ve been involved in a short arc about Chao races in Twinkle Park Zone, with a sinister background. In these last months after the eradication of the virus, there have been much closer and warmer interactions between our two hedgehogs, and I suspect that part of this is what inspired that question in the first place: what’s going on?

As I commented in the article where I proposed that Sonamy is “more canon than ever” (I know that it’s an exaggeration, that was the point), SEGA is treading carefully and the main canon seems to be willing to negotiate a more open representation of the relationship between the two in their different continuities, from best friends to something more. What I did not expect to happen was reading an answer from Evan Stanley (artist and writer that replaces Ian Flynn) about their dynamic, summing it up with “they like each other”.

The redrawing of Sonic’s expression when Amy hugs him in a recent drawing of hers made people wonder if this was yet another example of SEGA’s “censoring” (comparison below), to which Evan answered that it was modified to keep Sonic in character: he’s a guy that does not show much emotional vulnerability or too many negative emotions, and this is why sometimes the artists have to adjust WIPs to keep in line with this official point of view. Evan assured that this is not any kind of confirmation that Sonic does not like Amy, and doubles down by highlighting that in the official material, in the wikis and on Sonic Channel they show that, and I quote: “They like each other, but Sonic just isn’t the kind of guy who is going to make goo-goo eyes at Amy or perform grand acts of romance. If you wanna see that, that’s what fan works are for.”

And Evan’s words are a great way to sum up what’s going on with IDW Sonic right now. When it comes to interactions, they’re working with two characters who deep down “like each other”, but both show it in their own way. Amy is much more proactive when it comes to express her feelings, while Sonic only sometimes shows a glimpse of his feelings, with a smile or a small gesture. But at the end of the day they’re still friends and, depending on the situation, the comic can focus more or less on these details.

Comparison between the first sketch showed by Evan and the final product. The modification of the expression was minimal: Sonic’s slight blush was changed into a smile, maybe being a little overwhelmed by the gesture of affection.

The “progression” of the dynamic in the future

A good part of the answer to this question is based on my idea that right now, when it comes to Sonamy, we reached some kind of comfortable plateau. What am I referring to? To the fact that there have been a lot of varied interactions in these last 3 years of the comic, and they’re everything I could have asked for and then some. When we talk about Sonamy in canon, as Evan said, we don’t tend to hope for great romantic gestures from Sonic, we barely even ask for a look that hints that they understand each other beyond what it seems at first glance, so the fact that the IDW continuity is betting so much on this ship is basically a dream come true. For this reason, I don’t think things will change much in the future.

If I have to make a prediction on Sonamy’s future in IDW, I believe that there are still a lot of possibilities that our known writers (and maybe new writers!) could explore more, to see what makes this dynamic work so well. Actually, about 10 years ago, Ian Flynn wrote that if they could take advantage of the abilities and similarities between the two characters as adventurous spirits and with a strong moral sense, they would be “like poetry in motion”. This largely happens in IDW Sonic if you look carefully, but there are always new stories to tell and opportunities for them to work together and explore a bit more their strong bond, stronger than other friendships that they share. When the next major arc comes (which seems to be getting closer), they could explore aspects of their dynamic that are slightly more experimental, like being separated for extended periods of time and under dangerous situations… as long as they don’t turn it into a painful experience like the Metal Virus arc.

What Ian Flynn wrote about Sonamy, what works and what doesn’t. This was written in 2011, when Archie Sonic was still the major comic continuity, and when, according to Ian, Sonic was still “tied” to Sally Acord, leaving little room to the writers’ opinions.

The reality is that I see a stable future for the dynamic in the IDW universe. Sonamy is not fit for a lot of drama (fights, breaking up, etc.) without feeling forced or completely out of place, and only fanfics and fanart could be capable of capitalizing on this kind of content. On the other hand, for reasons I detailed in past articles, SEGA would not dare to alter the established order of the dynamic, let alone new that they managed to recover and maintain control over the ways Sonamy is being portrayed everywhere. SEGA won’t pull a Dragon Prince, which ended up confirming the main ship and then they made them go through a crisis and break up in a heartwrenching way in the graphic novel that acts as a bridge between season 3 and 4.

In short

The future of IDW Sonamy is looking bright and stable. I don’t think there will be serious changes to what we’re experiencing right now, and this is why both Evan Stanley and Ian Flynn agree that the dynamic is practically in the perfect place, keeping in line to how SEGA wants them to be represented together. This means we won’t see more affectionate gestures than what we’re seeing now (I doubt we’ll ever see again Sonic offering Amy a rose like in Sonic X), but it also means that we have now a solid basis for our expectations. In the now old IDW Sonic #2, Sonic and Amy had the chance of seriously talking a bit about what they thought of each other, with Sonic being determined to keep living life his own way (although he wouldn’t mind Amy to accompany him… or even suggesting himself that she could come), and Amy being determined to respect his way of life, because that’s what she loves about him, and she doesn’t want him to change. Since then, all we have seen and we’ll keep seeing in the comic is a consequence of this key moment; the two philosophies that they have and they share, in a constant back-and-forth with some tense moments and some cute moments.

An interesting detail that wasn’t included in the ask and that makes me think is the possibility that all of this will feature in the games as well. This is a completely different matter for another day, but I like to think that there is the possibility that we’ll see SEGA being more interested in inserting more Sonamy in the games, even if in an indirect way like in Sonic Unleashed and its emotional support, especially if the rumors that we’re about to get a soft-reboot are true. Romance is not something Sonic games are famous for doing well… at all, but that doesn’t mean it would be a bad idea to add a little sprinkle of IDW Sonamy in the mix.

And finally, I think I’ve talked enough about this topic, As you know, we’re waiting for some news, and I hope we’ll see each other again here or on our Discord. We’ll see if on this 25th something interesting happens. In any case, see you next time!

The moment that shaped the present and future of their entire relationship, 3 years ago.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonamy #long post #translation #oh look just in time for that famous thursday 25th #keeping up the chronicles of sonamy's evolution #this was fun to translate lol #it's probably a little clunky in some places but it should be readable enough #anyway now i'm hyped lol

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 3 years

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COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: Thank you guys so much for being patient, I really didn't expect an update till after I had finished moving but your excitement and comments from this preview alone inspired me and I found moments here and there it got me on a roll so thank youu!!

⚠️: anxiety attack, kidnapping and nightmare sequence featuring the following; strangulation, kidnapping, possible claustrophobia triggers(??)/imprisonment [skip markers for all, one for anxiety the second for kidnapping and dream sequence] and finally, not a warning but I feel like I need to make this not so depressing but SO MUCH GAY FLUFF YALL 🌈🌈🌈

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and a sudden bright light filled the bathroom.

After leaving Heather's house, the three of us had decided to crash at Max's. Neither of us really wanted to be alone after everything happened today, so one quick call to my mom and a note at the cabin and here we are.

I stood before the bathroom mirror with slightly sunken eyes and the tap running on cold as I brushed my teeth mindlessly. The clothes Max had found that would fit me felt snug and warm, just out of the dryer and they smelled like her. It was a welcome change to my drenched clothes now in the wash.

The thunder was mostly muted from inside but not altogether, and I could hear the muffled voices of Max and El from down the hall as I brush my teeth. I try to focus on the gentle pitter-patter of rain on Max's roof and the calm lull it brought to the atmosphere but it was of little help. I could still hear Billy's voice clear as day,

"What a pleasure it is to meet you El. And of course, who could possibly forget..."

《•••》

I watched as Billy slowly wrenched his head towards mine, his hollow gaze falling over me.

•••

I step out onto the porch, slipping the hood back over my head when I feel it again.

•••

She winced as she whipped around to face him, his sunken, darkened eyes widening as they pierced her own.

•••

The sound of my name on his tongue made my skin crawl, his voice all the way in the back of his throat.

《•••》

You

[■■■■■■■■Anxiety Trigger■■■■■■■■]

Another clap of thunder explodes in the distance and I drop my toothbrush, gripping the edge of the counter. Swallowing deep gulps of air, I try to remember the breathing technique Joyce told me about.

Breath in for four.

I draw in a slow deep breaths, letting my eyes flutter closed.

Hold for seven.

As I count the seconds, I follow her instructions and try to focus on my other senses to ground me. I first notice the water running in the sink and the pitter-patter of rain on the roof. The smell of coconut from the hand soap. And even the warm feel of the clothes from the dryer.

Breath out for eight.

I release the built-up air in my lungs in a steady puff but I don't feel my grip on the counter loosen any. The chill is still in my bones, and I can still feel his eyes on me.

Breath in.

The cold, hollowness in his eyes.

Hold.

The blood all over this very bathroom, and El's frightened cries on the floors of the locker room.

I double over the counter, releasing the air tightening my lungs before I can even get to five. I sigh, steadying my breathing and regaining any I had lost as I stare nose-first into the running water disappearing down the drain. I feel hot tears stinging my eyes as the panic builds and I curse under my breath.

I haven't had an attack in so long.

[■■■■■■■■Over■■■■■■■■]

Sighing again, I cup my palms under the water and splash it over my face, fighting a wince when the hot water burns my face.

I wipe away the beads of water dripping over my cheeks and brow, feeling as the air turns it instantly to cool and that's when I frown.

Wait.

Quickly, I swipe the excess water off my eyes and look down at the tap.

It was all the way on cold, as it was when I first turned it on.

I look back at my hands, noting their usual s/c shade. No hint of light or heat in sight. I look back in the mirror, searching my eyes and lips for hints of my usual strain but I find nothing.

My eyes drop back to the running tap, my face written with confusion and head cocked as I watch steam pour out from the stream of running water. I test the metal spout pouring out water and sure enough, the metal is already warming confirming my suspicions.

A sudden familiar voice spoke out from the other side of the closed door, but it wasn't enough to pry my frown away from the running water.

"Y/n?"

It was Max.

"You alright in there?"

My heart was still beating sporadically and my skin was flushing familiarly but I tried to remind myself where I was. That I was safe. And clearly, the Mayfields needed to have their plumbing checked since their heating was flipped.

The thought was enough to expel a sharp breath of relief, and I seemed to snap back to reality. Mostly.

I switched off the water, the cold water tap squeaking as I did so. Quiet returned to the room, and I shook out my hands in the sink and cleared my throat.

"Yeah, I'll be right out," I say, wincing at the waver in my voice.

I picked up the dropped toothbrush and shook out the droplets, finally deciding to tuck it away on the counter where I could deal with it later. Thankfully, it hadn't actually been mine but a spare they had among a pack of unopened toothbrushes.

I look back at my reflection, drying the remaining water off my face with a towel, and sigh.

Clearly, it had been a stressful night and things were starting to get to me. That's all. I don't know what's up with Billy, but something's definitely wrong. I know I'm not wrong either if El can feel it too.

Breath in.

I double-check the counter, checking I have everything. The image pushes itself into my head again, and I wince but I don't stop my breathing exercise.

Hold.

"And of course, who could forget..."

Y/n counted each painful second as she held the air captive in her lungs, trying with everything in her to focus on her breathing over the hollow voice of Billy Hargrove echoing in her mind. As she did so, she turned and made her way for the bathroom door, unknowingly leaving behind the still undrained ice bath that was now beginning to boil.

"You."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Which one?" Max asks with an adorable grin.

"I don't know," El mumbled weakly with a shrug. She peered up at me as I returned to my spot in between them on the floor. "What do you think?"

I settle myself under Max's comforter and into her rainbow sheets on our makeshift nest on the floor. As I readjusted myself on the pillow, I shrugged half-heartedly, not really trying my best to act totally present.

Max sits up, growing serious, and grabs both our gazes.

"Hey," she says, her voice soft. "there's nothing to worry about anymore, okay?"

The fake smile fell off my face and my eyes fell to my hands. They were wringing together in my lap. El's eyes flickered to me, her face dropping a little as if she recognized my state and spoke up.

"It doesn't make sense,"

"What doesn't make sense?" Max asks.

"What does?" I say under my breath, wringing my hands tighter.

"Heather," El continued. "The blood. The ice."

"Heather had a fever, so she took a cold bath, but she's better now. That has to be it," Max says, sounding almost as if she's trying to convince herself as well. "I don't know where that blood came from, but... we saw her."

She looks between me and El, trying to look as reassuring as possible.

"We all saw her. She's totally fine."

El didn't seem to buy it any more than I did.

"What about Billy?"

"What about him?"

"He seemed... wrong." She says and I nod.

Max gave a weak chuckle. "Wrong is kind of like his default. But it's nice to know he's not a murder, because that would've totally sucked."

I finally break my silence with an involuntary scoff. My next words come tumbling out without me thinking.

"Yeah, especially on top of everything else,"

Max replicates my scoff and I look at her almost desperately.

"Okay, but you get what I'm saying, right? I've met him and he does not act like that Max," my voice lowers a bit from its almost defensive pitch. "I don't think I need to remind you what he did to Lucas, or you, or how he treats me. I may not know him like you, but he's never that polite, even to people he likes, and I know you know it too,"

Max just stares for half a moment, not saying or doing anything but biting her lip. Finally, she sighs at her lap, pensively.

"I get what you're saying," she says, looking between El and me again. "Both of you. He was being totally weird, I'll give you that. I just really think we need to be careful about this." She shrugs. "For all we know, he was probably trying to impress the Holloways."

She makes suggestive eyes with a disgusted, uncomfortable laugh as she elbowed me. "Maybe he really wants to get closer to Heather,"

I laugh, making a face.

"Oh, barf,"

A small smile finds its way onto El's lips and she reluctantly joins into our laughter with a frown. "What?"

"You don't want to know," I chuckle, burying myself further under the sheets.

El seemed satisfied enough with my answer and followed my lead. She shivered a little on my right, as Max got settled back in on my left. I looked over at El when I felt her shifting around. She was snuggling closer, and her arms wrapped around my left like a koala bear, her eyes threatening to close. I watched her with a small flutter in my stomach as she nuzzled her head into my shoulder and gave a content sigh. "Warm," I heard her mumble.

I didn't dare move, other than grinning down at her and tucking my head on hers as we both looked over at Max and the pile of comics she had.

Not letting go of my arm, El sat her head up a little and pointed to the only cover with Wonder Woman on it with a curious look in her eye.

"Who... is that?"

Max and I both perk up as she grabs the comic.

"See, this is why you can't just hang out with Mike all the time." She explains. "This is Wonder Woman. A.K.A. Princess Diana,"

The three of us simultaneously lean back against our propped-up pillows on the wall, snuggling into one another. I take hold of the comic for Max, turning to page one as Max and I begin pointing out different pictures on the page.

"She's from Paradise Island, which is, like, this hidden island there are only women Amazon warriors."

El smiles and I point to her lasso of truth.

"Yeah, and she's devoted to bringing good to the world, like most superheroes. She even has this lasso - which is kind of a long rope tied in a circle - that helps her fight crime, and it can even make people tell the truth..."

"It's super cool," Max jumps in.

That flutter grows as I watch El point out different things on the page with a smile that only grew the more she learned. Or the more Max would light up with another Wonder Woman fact. And minute by minute, as the night crept on just like this, the more I forgot about the horrifying questions of today and more on my best friends beside me.

I was safe.

For now.

[■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■]

When Tom Holloway awoke, he immediately knew something was wrong.

His hands were bound behind his back, some sort of cloth was wrapped around his head and stuffed in his mouth as a gag and he felt nauseous. Never mind the fact his head was throbbing and bleeding, and he was somewhere dark, cold, and unknown.

That's when he remembered.

Heather.

The girls in his living room had just left, his wife Janet was acting strange and... she was drugged. And it had been his Heather. His little baby Heather and that boy.

He had to get out, he had to find them. He had to get to his family.

He fights with a grunt against the restraints around his wrists. He winces as the rope stings his burns his skin and as he squirms he gets a better feel for what he's tied to. It's some sort of pipe.

And yet he's so focused on his escape and finding his family, he doesn't realize his wife is by his side.

Her muffled, horrified shrieks as she comes to.

"Tom!"

He lets out a sob when he sees her, in his voice a jumbled mixture of relief and sorrow. She looked no better than he felt, and steady tears streaked down her cheeks with mascara.

A pair of footsteps grab their attention to two figures approaching from the shadows. The very same people to have brought them here.

Heather and Billy.

Tom lets out another involuntary whimper as his daughter approaches him, a blank faraway look in her eyes.

"Hi, Daddy,"

He watches tearfully as she kneels down to his height, and removes the bounds from his mouth.

"Heather..." he gasps, swallowing fearful tears and the lump in his throat. He throws one cautious glare over her shoulder at the young man before softening again at his daughter. "Sweetie... whatever this is, whatever he's got you into, you don't have to do this. You can stop this."

"There is no stopping it, Daddy," she says in an unusually cold voice. "You'll see."

With the ghost of a smile, she cups his tear-stained cheek and he cries again.

"No," he silently begs.

But she's already on her feet, returning to Billy's side as he approaches Janet as Heather had Tom.

Her whimpers grow more frantic as he reaches for her, and before she knows it she's wriggling free from the cloth gag he removes from her mouth. She wastes no time in crying out to her baby girl.

"Heather, please! Heather!"

The words died out into a fearful whisper when Billy's finger pushes against her lips, silencing her. She feels her whole body tremoring as he leans in close, his voice that same gravely tone he let slip earlier that night.

"Try not to move."

They fear the worst only to watch confused as he rises to his feet and retreats up the steps with their daughter.

"No," Janet mumbles tearfully after them. "No!"

"Heather!" Tom cries, fighting hard against the restraints no matter how hard they hurt. "Heather!"

Something in the dark abyss of shadows stole their attention. Something Tom almost misses at first It was a most unusual sound. Something low and otherworldly... almost like a growl reverberating off of tin.

They watched with widened, bloodshot eyes as they try to make out the great beast emerging from the shadows.

"Jesus Christ,"

It's all Tom can bring himself to say, his voice in a trembling whisper.

What marched out from the shadows on its six, wobbling legs was something else entirely. A monster, he was not sure he was seeing. A demon he was not ready to face. A horror, he could not possibly fathom.

The Mind Flayer.

He had evolved past his shadowy form, yet he always lurked in darkness. He was darkness. His features remained spider-like, six long legs as tall as the ceiling it was now scraping, branching out into smaller tendrils like one grotesque, haunched tree.

But the worst part of all - the sickening detail that revealed itself as it grew closer.

The Mind Flayer was made entirely out of flesh and bone.

Tom's cries for help were stolen right out of his mouth when he felt the first touch of the monster.

Tom couldn't register much through all the fear. He felt the cold, slimy grasp swallow up his face just as surely as beard his wife's horrified shrieks. He tried to scream, tried to breathe but any and every effort in doing so brought with it more icy sludge entering his system from the source. It was like swallowing sand as he drowned, gasping in large gulps of seawater that slowly filled his lungs.

Only worse. Tom was alive to feel it. To live through it, to breath through it.

All Tom Holloway could do was peer up at the snarling monster from his one uncovered eye as he feels the icy darkness envelop him completely.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"What on earth are you doing here?" He asks. "Is something wrong?"

"We just... wanted to make sure everything was okay," Max stammered, just as confused as her friends.

A look of concern flashed over Billy's face as he inched closer. "Okay? Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"You know damn well why," I grumble, my gut lurching at my sudden bravery but Billy doesn't seem to notice.

In fact, no one did. I look at Max and El, but they haven't even flinched, neither have the man or the woman sitting in the dining room.

I looked to my left at El expectantly, as if I know she's going to speak. As if I've lived this moment before.

I'm relieved to see she doesn't seem to buy into Billy's act either.

"Where is she?" El all but growls.

I shifted on my feet, barely noticing the familiar tug of those words in the back of my head. But what would Billy say?

His eyes snap to El, and she could have sworn she almost saw that mask break.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Where is who?"

"Well, they're a little burnt, I'm sorry,"

All eyes turn to the chipper young girl striding in with a tray of cookies in her hands and a lingering smile on her face.

"Heather," I gasp, feeling a wave of relief and fear all at once.

The only troubling thing about her was the crisp cinnamon cookies in her hands. She had trailed off upon noticing the three young visitors.

"Heather!" Billy smiles, welcoming her as if she was an old friend.

I just felt like I'm seeing a ghost.

"This is my sister, Maxine," Billy chirps, turning back to the three confused girls. "And I'm sorry," he says to El, with an almost edge to his voice. "I did not quite catch your name."

I inch closer to her, my shoulder wedging over hers in a protective stance but that felt useless.

With a determined look in her eyes, she matches his steely gaze.

"El."

I grimace as Billy forces a smile. It was chilling. Truly haunting. But he was still angry, I could tell.

In fact, he was livid. Why was he so livid? What had El done?

"El." He hums. "What a pleasure it is to meet you El. And of course, who could possibly forget..."

His eyes lurched to mine and I felt my stomach drop, maybe as fast as the temperature in the whole house. Like I was plunged into ice.

I wanted to move, I tried to run but I couldn't. My legs were rooted to the spot like they were when it really happened.

And then...

His voice was a growl that grew in the back of his throat, his lips curling back in a snarl as he bared his teeth.

"You."

His hand was around my throat and my feet left the ground. I tried crying for help but my voice was gone, leaving me no choice but to claw at Billy's arms as I fought for breath. My legs were finally moving again, kicking and squirming as I tried to reach him or even the ground but they never did, no matter how close.

I had to fight to look at El and Max but they were gone, as were the Holloways. Fading away like smoke.

"Let me go!" I somehow cry. "Let me go, now!"

He blinks at me, his face a clean slate. Nothing in his features, he's almost like a projection.

My feet return to the floor and tears flood my cheeks. But I'm not free, not any more than he had listened.

He started off down the hall, where we first came from, my throat still in his grip. I was dragging along the floor, my feet kicking and shoes grabbing the wood linoleum for traction but the hall just kept getting longer.

I was crying heavily, pleading with him to let me go. I tried and tried with all my might to hurt him, but no matter what I threw at him he just kept dragging me down the hall.

He took a left and I watched behind us, still fighting as the walls gradually changed from olive-green to grey.

I sent another long, hot burst of air up at him but he didn't flinch.

The grey paint turned to white.

I clawed and scraped and melted his skin, or at least I tried to but his grip never loosened.

The white painted walls turned to a white brick.

I got more frantic, kicking and even harder and screaming at the top of my lungs, embracing the hurt. The walls shook and cracked but Billy kept walking, dragging me along.

The white brick turned to white tile as we made another turn.

"No! No! NO!"

Billy looked down at me for the first time since he grabbed me. There was a haunted, almost painted-on smile on his face as he peered down. The large fluorescent lights above our heads tinged a sickly green, hurting my eyes almost as bad as the pad of my feet trying to grip the linoleum floors.

"But you belong here."

"NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

I continue to wail and kick and scream, even as we come to a slow. He yanks me to my feet, and I hear a dreadful click of a lock that makes me shudder.

"No," I sob. "I can't. I don't... I don't want to be here,"

Billy looks deep into my eyes, feeling like a whole other person entirely. A third person, more specifically.

Not only that, he sounds horrifically familiar.

He pushes something over my shoulder and I hear the creak of a door. And before I can protest, my body is thrown into an all brick white room as the voice continues I believe to be Billy but I realize is an all too familiar doctor.

"You don't mean that, my dearest Nine," I hear his withering voice echoing all around me as I catch my breath on all fours where I had fallen. "I know you don't want to upset your Papa,"

Tears fall from my cheeks, my rage and fear building as I prepare to throw everything I have at him. No matter what it costs.

With heaving breaths I push myself off the cold tile floors and turn to the door I was just thrown through. But all I'm met with is the same white walls. There's no door, no way out. And no one else around.

I'm all alone.

It's then I remember, I've been here before. I'm brought here often. Somewhere in the back of my head I finally register this is a nightmare but I'm too deep inside to pull myself out. Instead, in a plight of anger, I throw my fists in the wall repeatedly as I cry out in anguish until I have no breath left.

My eyes snap to my arm when I feel an excruciating pain concentrated onto my left inner wrist. I choke on another sob as I stare at the three black numbers tattooed into my skin.

𝟶𝟶𝟿

Growing more frantic, I pace the walls as my tears return, running my hands along the wall for any sort of false door or hatch until my nerve ending in my hands are shot and numb.

I collapse into the corner, hugging my chest and the white, spotted lab gown over my body.

Everything's building in me, heat sizzling off my shoulders and melting the wall and for a moment I think I found my way out. I can melt the walls, break them down but I try and try and-

[■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■]

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Y/N!"

The girl shot awake, kicking off the sheets that clung to her sweating skin, and gulped down desperate breaths of air. Max and El jumped when she did, but it Y/n moments to realize they were sitting opposite her. Farther away.

Realizing what had happened, she doubled over and threw her face in her hands with an exasperated sigh.

"Shit..." she mumbles, rubbing at the sleepiness in her eyes. "Guys, I'm sorry. I should have warned you. I've been having really bad nightmares lately and... guys?"

Y/n had to really look to see them, more specifically the looks on their faces. Hardly any light was streaming in through the windows, the sky a light and bright cobalt. But it was enough to barely accentuate the worried frown on El's face and the painful wince Max wore as she clutched her forearm and the thin layer of sweat coating their skin.

"What-? What happened?" She croaked, looking to Max. "Are you okay?"

Max shot you a quick, forced smile as she still clutched her arm.

"I'm fine, but... are you?"

Her stomach dropped and turned all at once, her mouth falling into a gasp as she brought her hands in towards herself and away from her friends.

"Did I... did I do that to you?"

She shook her head quickly, trying to examine her arm in the dark and that's when Y/n barely makes it out: a spot on her paled skin was almost the size of a coaster; dark and festering.

"Oh, my god, I didn't mean- I am so sorry, I-" Y/n's mouth remained open but the words kept getting stuck in her throat.

Finally, she jumped to her feet and kicked off the sheets still sticking to her legs, and made her way to the door.

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god,"

El and Max watched as she began speedwalking out into the hall and heading for the linen closet, her voice trailing off with her in a familiar Henderson fashion. They knew they would be unable to stop her, especially in this condition.

Instead, they looked to one another, silently sharing their worry at what had just transpired.

El had stirred from the sudden and intense heat that took over Max's room, her plastic water bottle now nearly half empty and filled with condensation. And Max had awoken not from the heat but the sudden, subtle tremors shaking the house and the small glow that was peaking through her eyelids.

When she had cracked her eyes open, she had seen Y/n on the neighboring pillow, a pained look on her tinted face. Hints of her veins were cropping up on the edge of her lips and she had then felt the light kicks of her friend. She had pulled herself up, rubbing at her eyes and that's when she noticed how much she had been sweating.

The room was still in a steady rumble and El was already awake.

"What's going on?" El had whispered from across their friend.

"I don't know, I think..." Max peered down at Y/n with a pitiful look. "I think she's having a nightmare. I think she's mentioned those lately."

"What do we do?"

Max shrugged, jumping slightly when the rumble had grown loud enough for concern.

"Well, we gotta wake her," Max had said, anxiously.

Y/n's kicking had returned and soft whimpers were escaping her lips and Max felt something tug on her heart.

She reached forward, only for a hand to grab around her forearm.

Max looked down at El's hand then at El with a confused frown.

"What?"

El shoots an unsure look between her and Y/n, her face written with unease.

"Try another way," she whispers.

"I'm not sure what else to do," Max says with a shrug. "Do you?"

El frowned again, finally shaking her head in defeat. Whimpering cries grew louder and they looked to Y/n who was freely crying. And looking less than compliant, and against her better judgment, El let's go.

Max wasn't naive. She knew the likely dangers of waking her friend but she didn't want her to suffer. So instead, she bunched up the blankets over her hand and began to softly shake her.

"Y/n..."

No response. She just continued to cry, and Max had continued to shake the more she grew worried. Before she knew it, Y/n had thrown herself on her back, her hands grabbing for Max's.

Y/n kept tossing, speaking in a clear voice. "Let me go."

Max felt the intense flare of heat in her arm and she yanked it back, scrambling backward as she hissed an impressive string of curses. El had jumped, looking desperately to Max as they both felt the air grow increasingly hotter.

She watched wide-eyed as she clutched her arm, and it hadn't been until El intervened they finally got her awake.

El returned her eyes to the lesion on Max's arm and her face grows soft.

"Really okay?"

Max nodded. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

On cue, Y/n had returned from the hall with a wet washcloth, aloe vera, and a thin bandage.

"Again, Max, I am so so sorry,"

"It's fine, really. I know you didn't do it on purpose," she winced again when it stings. "Can't say it feels great, though,"

"Here,"

Y/n flipped on the light on Max's bedside and returned to her friends' side with the supplies.

"I hadn't realized how bad it's been getting lately," Y/n explains as she begins tending to Max. "My dreams I mean, and all this,"

She looks between El and Max with a weak wince before giving Max a warning look. The redhead nods and Y/n places the washcloth onto the wound and Max hisses. It was barely colder than room temperature but that helped.

"Sorry, sorry, I know," Y/n says. Thinking twice, she hands it off to Max with a guilty smile. "Probably better you hold onto that,"

Max nodded and took the washcloth in hand as Y/n prepared the aloe vera.

"What happened?" El asked suddenly.

Y/n looked curiously at El before she realized she was asking about her dream. Her stomach dropped again, and she fought the urge to touch her throat.

"Just some freaky, memories and... well, not memories I guess. It's hard to explain."

"You can tell us," El said, touching her arm as she remembered the words Y/n had spoken to her so long ago that she had always cherished. "If you need anything... at all... we're here."

A grateful smile broke out on her face as she looked at her best friends. "Thank you."

Returning to the twist cap, she pours out a quarter-size drop of the green sludge and Max peels back the washcloth, reluctantly.

"Don't worry, I'm all cooled down," Y/n laughed. Max nodded and handed out her arm and Y/n got to work as she talked. "It really is hard to explain," she sighs. "It was last night, with Billy... but it wasn't. He was after me, and he... he hurt me. And the next thing I knew I was being dragged back."

"Back where?" The two girls both ask.

Y/n pours another drop on her fingers and continues to spread rub gentle circles into Max's skin as she looks between her friends. She bites her lip, almost afraid to bring it up in front of El.

"...at the lab." El subtly stiffens. "Which I know is impossible cause I've never been there. But it felt so real. To be honest, I've been having dreams like these - of there - a lot lately."

"That's awful,"

"I'm sorry,"

Y/n shrugs, grabbing for the ace bandage and thin square of gauze. She delicately places it over the wound and she grimaces when she gets a better long-term what she had done. It was dark red and puffy, and Y/n hoped her makeshift treatment would work.

"Not really much I can do," she says, Max holding one end of the strip as Y/n began to wrap. "I just try to remind myself I made it out."

Securing the bandage, she instinctually places a hand over the cloth, securing her work, and smiles. She turns to El, a new seriousness in her eyes and Y/n takes El's hand in her own, giving it a quick squeeze.

"We both did,"

El's smile returns and she feels a warmth spread through her and into her chest. A comforting one, much unlike the heat still lingering in the room.

At the thought, El looks at Max curiously.

"Do your windows open?"

"Yeah," she frowns. "Why?"

El flicks her head and a soft click goes off behind them, followed by the suction of air leaving the room suddenly. Y/n and Max yank their gaze to the window to see it peeled open, letting in a cool breeze through the half-shut blinds.

She swipes at her nose, and the room falls silent as the three meet eyes and a grin breaks out on all three as they begin to laugh.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

First Nations: "Invest in Native Communities"

A Aide Variety of Links and Info on Multiple Native Owned Businesses to Support

Navajo Water Project

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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puckyess · 3 years

Text

Gold-digger | Dylan Holloway

In a perfect world, all of my boys win gold

Words: 4K

It was surreal how you could sense his presence. You went from anxious excitement to a feeling of warmth, all within one breath. You watched from a distance as his frame cleared the tunneled gateway. An outsider may have pegged him as an athlete, heading back to school, with the way his broad shoulders filled out that red maple leaf hoodie and thighs that looked thick even in his grey sweatpants. They would have no idea that the boy who was ducking his head was a World Junior Champion.

His head lifts, features set into a frown as he searches the busy airport for you. When his eyes finally catch yours watching him, he breaks out into that goofy grin that you love so much. You let him make his way to you even though you want nothing more than to run to him, simply because you find it adorable that he clearly double times it to get to you. His arms engulf you and you swear he feels stronger than when he left 54 days ago. He lifts you off your feet, crushing you into his chest and yet it’s still not close enough. The act is softened when his hand comes up to cup the back of your head and he buries his face into your hair. A word hasn’t been said between the two of you but it doesn't have to because this moment says it all.

He exhales as he sets you on your feet again, the smile still on his face though it’s softer now. “I’ve missed you”.

Your arms still wrapped around his waist you pull back just the slightest to look up and reciprocate the sentiment. “You’re not allowed to leave me again, like ever”, you inform him.

He chuckles and his finger finds his way under your chin so that he can do what he’s been thinking about for months. “You have yourself a deal” he mumbles before smashing his lips against yours. He’s never been one for PDA, always remaining lowkey and content with keeping things private. So this takes you by surprise, it’s way more heated than he’s ever been with you in public and you’re not complaining one bit.

It doesn’t take more than a second for you to give into his lips, letting his tongue slide into your mouth. Your arms come up to snake around his neck, pulling him down to you. He has one hand on the small of your back, supporting you both as he leans into you, the other finds its way to the back of your neck, trying to leverage you even closer to him to deepen the kiss. All of the emotion of the past two months is evident in the way you both pour yourselves into each other.

When you just about moan into his mouth, you have to pull away. You know what you must look like when you see the way his eyes are blown. His lips are well kissed and still parted and his cheeks are the color of his sweatshirt. He looks both stunned and perfectly pleased, a smirk creeping its way onto his face.

“Welcome home, baby”, you greet him, holding his hands as you raise up on your tiptoes to give him one last, much more innocent kiss before grabbing one of his bags.

“Let’s go home”. Your heart flutters at his use of the word “home”. You know exactly where he’s referring to and love that your home has become his too. His dimple pops as he throws that sweet smile your way. He picks up his other bag and slings an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

As you make your way through the airport he pulls you closer and places a kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you for picking me up. I really missed you” he breathes out.

Suddenly you stop in your tracks, almost taking yourself out as your fridge of a boyfriend keeps his arm looped around your shoulders as he continues moving forward. He turns around startled.

In all of the excitement of having your baby back in your arms and that kiss knocking you off of your feet you had completely forgotten, but now that you remembered you could barely contain your excitement. “Don’t you have something you want to show me? Like, I don't know...maybe something shiny?” you tease.

He suddenly looks bashful, his face turning as red as it was after he very publicly marked his territory moments ago.

“Come on, D, let me see that gold medal of yours” you squeal.

He pulls you and his bags off to the side so that you’re not in the way and then his hand ducks into the collar of his sweatshirt and comes back out with a beautiful gold medal.

Awe is the only word Dylan can think of to describe you when he finally shows it to you. Your eyes are wide and your perfect lips are formed into a little “o” as you take it all in, the little skater ensignia, the perfect roundness of the medallion, the weight of what it all meant. And then you’re grinning at him with glassy eyes.

He looks so proud watching you take in what is one of his greatest accomplishments so far. But his pride doesn’t even compare to how proud you are of him for working to get to where he is and battling adversity for that medal. You know how much it meant to him to be on the team in the first place, to represent his country, but to actually be part of bringing home the gold brought about a whole slew of emotions for you.

He was a champion and he was yours.

“So what do you think?” He finally asks you, sliding the ribbon around your neck.

“I think you make me the proudest girlfriend in the whole world.”

—

Once you get to your car you throw his bags in your trunk. He walks to the passenger side and opens your door and you smile to yourself, not believing how much you missed such a mundane action. He leans in for yet another kiss before shutting your door and sliding into his side. Immediately his right hand finds yours and he brings it up to his lips to kiss, releasing your hand only to do that really hot thing that guys do when they back a car up and then his grip is in yours all over again.

With the music playing softly in the background and your sunshine back in the car with you it’s like you’re in your own little bubble with him, the good kind this time. You know he feels the same way because he’s much more talkative than back in the airport, in fact there’s hardly a second where the car isn’t filled with his voice. It’s a sound that you’d missed more than you thought your heart would allow and you were more than grateful to have it back. His smile is contagious, as always, but today especially. With every glance your way, his grin accompanies it. He gushes about his journey to the gold medal that was now hanging around your neck.

You make him start from the beginning, how he felt when he first boarded his flight back to his home providence. He admitted how nervous he was since at that point, he was unsure if he would make the team and he knew it was his last chance for that honor. He told you of all things he did to keep himself motivated and hopeful while he quarantined, twice, even though he knew the other guys were out there playing and earning their spots with every minute he wasn’t able to be on the ice. When he says that your daily calls and check-ins were one of those things, you give his hand a squeeze that matches the one your heart does in your chest. He tells you all about the guys, doing his best to describe their personalities and special moments that they shared while in that bubble together.

He indulges your every question, like the best round of 20 questions you’ve ever played in your life. He shares the lows of losing his captain right off the bat to the highs of the calm feeling of the locker room right before that final game. He makes you feel like you were right there by his side.

You don’t want this little moment to end as he pulls into the parking garage and apparently neither does he because he doesn’t make a move to get out of the car. So you continue your attack and ask him what he thought he was doing, looking that good in all of those suits.

When you finally get up to go to the bathroom, Dylan starts to follow you and you have to put your hand on his chest to shove him back on the couch. “I can pee by myself, D, thank you” you laugh. Since the minute you walked through the door, no, the minute you got out of the car he had not left your side.

He looks so sad for a moment and you almost change your mind until you snap back to reality with how ridiculous that would be. “I’ll just be right across the room” you assure him, pointing to the bathroom that was literally across the living room.

“At least leave the door open”, he grumbles.

You roll your eyes, but give him a quick kiss anyway. “You’re so weird, Dylan”, but you do as he requests anyway and he starts a full on conversation with you as you go about your business.

You emerge from the bathroom and head for the kitchen instead of your spot in his arms. When you don’t hear him complain, you turn and look at your boyfriend in alarm, “Are you not going to ask me where I’m going?” you tease him.

He looks guilty like he actually messed up and should’ve asked and you laugh. “You’ve been my shadow for days now, I think this is the first time you’ve actually let me out of your sight”.

The only word that could be used to describe his behavior lately is clingy. You weren’t complaining of course after not having access to your boyfriend in so long, but it was kind of comical how much attention he required. He would follow you everywhere, and demanded to be touching you constantly. Whether it was holding your hand to go get a water bottle or moving your feet onto his lap on the couch to watch a show, he had to be connected to you. If you got up for any reason he would question you, like a lost puppy until he knew what you were up to.

He blushes at your observation, but he doesn't deny it. “That’s the longest we’ve been apart since we met, I guess I’m just readjusting”.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it” you tell him as you crawl back into your spot in his arms after retrieving your drink. “I missed you too”.

The next few days you get reacquainted with each other, falling back into your routines and of course pressing each other’s buttons.

“Stop glaring at me, you asked for this. Literally, if I remember correctly” Dylan points out.

His comment only makes you furrow your brows even more, your glare deepening as you stare at your god of a boyfriend. There he lay on the couch, sprawled out in all of his golden glory. His blonde hair was perfectly tousled, loose strands dancing across his forehead as he shook his head at you. He was wearing your favorite sweats, the ones that sat low on his hips and hugged his ass just right and to taunt you even more, he was shirtless. But that wasn’t even the best part. The ribbon around his neck, the gold medallion laying against his skin was something you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

You had a paper to write and his appearance was not helping you get anything done. “Well when I told you to wear it around this morning, I didn’t know you’d look like that” you grumble, still unable to look away.

His laughter bounces through the room at your apparent distaste. “You have to wear the medal, Dylan. No, don’t put a shirt on, I like you just like that.” he mimics you from this morning in a high pitched voice. You don’t know what it was about that gold medal, but it turned you on and he knew it.

You roll your eyes, shutting your computer. You go to chirp him, but he picks that exact moment to raise his arms and stretch out, letting out a groan in the process. Your eyes go wide as you watch every muscle in his body flex, the glimmer and shine of his medal matching the one in his eyes. The smirk that spreads across his face makes you want to choke him, or maybe to be choked you’re not quite sure because your mind is a mess.

“I can go put a shirt on, if that’s what you want” he offers, moving to get up off the couch.

The rate at which you jump up to stop him as you yell, “No!”, is almost embarrassing.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused at how worked up you are.

“What?” you ask him, trying to brush it off, but there was no hiding how flustered he was making you. He had always been more than attractive to you, that much was obvious. Maybe it was the amount of time you had been forced apart, but he was somehow driving you even more insane every time you looked at or even thought about him. You were obsessed, knowing your man was a gold medal champion.

You thought you could handle seeing him walking around your apartment, shirtless, donning that medal, hell you even thought you wanted it. However, the minute you walked into the living room earlier and saw him standing there with his cup of coffee, leaning against your floor to ceiling windows, the city his backdrop you knew you were fucked.

You swallow hard, trying to push the image from your mind and get your head out of the gutter. “You’re the worst”, you glare at him again. Who knew it would be the absolute worst thing you could’ve said. His already apparent smirk widens.

“That’s not what you were saying last night”.

And with those 8 words, he unleashes a monster. Your composure is gone, if it was there at all and you full on whine his name.

This is when you get the confident hockey player side of him. He grins at his work, propping his head up behind one arm and beckoning you with the other.

“C’mere, my little Gold-digger”.

The end of the day was always your favorite. You thrived at night, even when you were exhausted. You loved looking out and seeing the night sky lit up with the city lights, you loved feeling small, tucked away in your own quiet corner of the world. But most of all, you loved those midnight talks with Dylan. Nothing was off limits with him, from outrageous would you rather that had you questioning whether you were dating a budding NHL player or a middle school boy to deep talks that had you believing with every fiber of your being that he was made just for you.

Tonight as you lay in bed with him, you had a question for him that kept slipping your mind. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why didn’t you just ask one of the boys to pick you up?” you ask, lifting your head off his chest, instead propping your head up on your arm. “I know Ryder’s been dying to see you, he’s been sending me withdrawal texts since we put you on a plane” you joke.

“They don’t know I’m here yet”, he shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

The hand that was tracing patterns on his chest stops and he turns to look at you, anticipating your question. “You didn’t tell them you were back?”

Again he shrugs, “They think I went home for a bit before I’m coming back”.

“Ohmygod your family. Dylan! Did you even see them while you were out there?” you ask sitting up suddenly. As selfish as it was, you had only thought about him seeing his family when he first left. It hadn’t even crossed your mind for him to stay with them before coming back to campus. Now you felt bad that he was with you and not his family, you knew he didn’t get to see them very often.

His hands shoot out to grab yours and he pulls you back into his chest. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I saw them for a little bit before I left, they knew I wanted to get back though. I’ll be out there soon enough, I didn’t want to keep you waiting”.

You know your eyes are glassy when you look up at him to confirm he meant what he said. “And as much as I love the guys, they’re kind of dominating you know? I just wanted to spend a few days with my girl before we get our third wheel back” he says, giving you a squeeze.

At that you have to laugh because Ryder really had become your third wheel and honestly Shay was your fourth. Whether they did it to bug Dylan or genuinely could not be apart from him you were still undecided, but either way, where there was your boyfriend, there was also your two other boyfriends.

“He’s going to be so mad when he finds out” you tell him giggling at your little secret.

“Not if he never finds out”

“I think he has some kind of radar, D. I’m surprised he hasn’t already come knocking”.

“Don’t say that too loud” he laughs.

And as if on cue, your phone dings asking if you knew when Dylan was coming back. Once your laughter dies out you settle in and relish in the warmth of having Dylan next to you in bed again.

You’re on the verge of sleep when his voice cuts through the darkness. “Y/N?”

You hum in response.

“Are you awake?” he asks, as if your response wasn’t enough.

You roll over so that you’re facing him to see what’s keeping him up.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? Go back to sleep” he whispers.

“You’ve got me, babe. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitates and you think he might’ve gone to sleep after all and so you call his name.

“I’m here. I just-. You know what I was thinking of the whole time I was over there?”

You raise your eyebrows even though you know he can’t see them in the darkness, but he continues on anyway.

“I kept thinking everytime I walked into that building that this was going to be my future. That this is where my career was really going to start”.

You had wondered about that, how he felt and what it was like for him to be spending so much time in the very place where he was going to be playing for the next three and maybe more years. But you had been too afraid to bring it up, for fear of starting a talk about the future that you were unprepared for.

But you swallow your fears and ask anyway, “What was it like?”

You can hear the smile and excitement in his voice when he talks about his future home. “It’s amazing. It was such a privilege to be able to experience that before I get there, to get a taste of what’s to come, ya know? Like I can’t believe that that locker room is going to be mine and those stands are going to be filled with people that want to see my team play. It was surreal and humbling. It started to feel real”, and there’s something about his voice and the way he’s talking that you can tell is leading to something big.

You brace yourself for impact when he swallows hard. He doesn't say anything else, he reaches up and brushes your hair back from your face instead. “Come on, Dylan, you’re scaring me. What aren’t you saying?”

“It started to feel real,” he repeats. “I was in my home, so close to achieving my dream and all I could think about was how I wanted you there with me.”

You don’t feel like it’s safe to let out the breath you’re holding quite yet.

“I thought getting to the next level was the ultimate goal and in a way it still is, it’s what I’ve been working for my whole life, but Y/N it just didn’t feel right to not be able to share it with you too. I know it’s early and I don’t know where I’ll be this time next year, but when I do get there, I want you there with me. Edmonton might be where I’m going, but it won’t be home without you”.

When he feels the wetness of your tears falling on his chest he’s concerned. But he knows you so well and knows what your love language is and so he tilts your chin up and kisses you hard. He tells you with his lips how much he loves you, how much he adores you, how much impact you’ve had on his life. And you kiss him right back, knowing you won’t be able to get the words out at this point. You kiss your relief, your love and your commitment into his soul.

“So I’ll take that as a yes?” he asks breathless as he pulls away.

You nod, equally as out of breath, “I’d follow you anywhere, Dylan Holloway”.

No more needs to be said, the perfect words already professed. He tugs you a little closer to him and shuffles down the bed until his head is resting on your chest and the rest of his body is nesting itself a home in yours. It never fails to amaze you how much he loved to be the little spoon and how his fridge of a body managed to fit with yours perfectly. You fingers card through his hair, earning a content little sigh. You feel his breathing even out and you feel yourself nearing the edge of sleep too.

You swore you would never get enough of the way he held onto you, tight enough to know you were wanted and loved. You would never get tired of the way his voice dropped, in tone because he was fighting sleep for you, but in volume because no one else needed to hear him but you. You would always crave the way his fingers would manage to trace light paths all across your face and arms as he opened himself up to you. There was something so vulnerable and honest about your nights spent with him and you prayed that they never ended.

But his raspy voice breaks through the silence yet again, this time to ask, “How do you feel about silver? I’m bringing you home a Stanley Cup next”.

He lifts his head to flash that goofy grin your way as he soaks up your laughter.

“Silver sounds good to me, baby”

With that he’s satisfied, but even with the new goal, your new pet name still sticks. “Goodnight, my little Gold-digger.”

#dylan holloway #wjc 2021 #ryder donovan #shay donovan

193 notes · View notes

ssamie · 3 years

Text

three. “stalker vibes”

kozume kenma x fem dazai!reader

(bsd x hq)

tw: mentions of suicide, probably a lot of spelling mistakes

masterlist. suicide freak!

"class, today we have a new student joining us. please be nice to her" the teacher announced with a smile

kenma flinched at the sudden news. he kept his head down low, discreetly playing on his PSP under his desk, but he listened attentively to their teacher.

as the students started whispering to each other, kenma simply prayed that it wasn't the weirdo that kept bugging him last night. he didn't really know why he was suspecting it to be her. but with her out of context words last night, he couldn't help but be wary.

call it a gut feeling, if you may.

"alright, quiet down!" the teacher said "cmon in, l/n-san"

and just then, kenma swore he lost faith in both god and humanity all in one second.

he shakily looked up to see the same girl from the cafe. her (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, and her fairly tall stature was interesting.

but what seemed to catch most of their attention was the bandages covering her arms, legs, and neck. some parts of it could be seen through the uniform jacket and undershirt, while the bandages on her legs could be seen through the thin material of her black tights.

"good morning! im l/n y/n. please take care of me~" she cooed.

she sent them a close eyed smile, along with a wave. it was something about the smooth tone of her voice.or maybe it was her effortlessly captivating smile. maybe it was just the insane amount of bandages she had..

but there was something about her that just somehow had the whole class wanting her attention.

in all honesty, its probably just because she was insanely attractive.

"anything else you'd like to share about yourself?" the teacher asked her

"hm, maybe find out for yourselves~ let's be friends" she mused

kenma raised a brow at her awfully vauge answer. though he decided to shrug it off.

meanwhile, in her perspective, she was pretty much watching every movement of kenma's body. just before she took her seat, she whispered a small request to the teacher.

the teacher nodded along. "alright, you cam sit with kozume-kun, l/n-san"

"kozume-kun? will that be okay with you?" the teacher asked him

kenma froze as he felt multiple eyes land on him. his palms grew sweaty as he nervously nodded. he didn't like the attention he was receiving.

"i'll let you guys get to know each other for now. i'll be in the faculty room if you need me!" the teacher announced before walking out the classroom.

she grinned and skipped over to him.

"why." he muttered in annoyance "just why."

"hehe, well i did say i'd see you tomorrow, did i not?" she said with a cheeky smile

kenma simply stayed quiet, side eying her, before looking back down on his PSP. "stalker." he said

she gasped in offense and dramatically put her hand on her chest. "im no stalker, excuse you!"

kenma scrunched his face up and looked her up and down. "stalker." he said.

"coincidence? not quite! fate?" she raised a brow amusedly "i mean, what else could it be than that!"

"please don't talk to me." kenma sighed

she blatantly ignored him and carried on talking. "or maybe! i specifically asked to be transfered to your school and class!"

kenma looked up at her with a look of irritation and disbelief. "you what?" he scowled

"oh my.." she pouted and placed a hand on her heart dramatically "i was just kidding! do you really think i'd do something like that?"

kenma huffed and put away his console. "yes." he answered

"well then, you're absolutely right!"

"but what i didnt plan was to be able to sit next to you!" she pouted "so now some gentlemen are getting me a desk of my own" she smirked and looked over his shoulder "so for the time being, i guess there's just no other option than to sit on your lap" she chuckled

"oh, since it can't be helped. can't be helped" she said with a small hum

just before kenma would have had to resort to dropkicking her, the said boys waltzes in carrying a desk and a chair

"l/n-san! we got you your desk, sorry for the wait" one of the boys said

"damn." she muttered with a scowl

"damn?" the boys repeated with a nervous smile

"i mean, thank you! what kind gentlemen you are" she sent them a smile as she took a seat beside kenma

the boys all flushed pink and nodded back at her.

her smile quickly dropped as she turned to look at kenma. he was now playing his game again, and blatantly ignoring her.

"ke-n-ma~" she sang out

"kenma-kun~" she called out again

she smiled and slid her desk closer to his, her chair and herself following. she hummed in content as she felt their shoulders brushing.

"what are you doing" kenma asked with a huff as he scooted away from her

"what are you doing? were supposed to use this time to get to know each other" she said with a hum

"no thanks. i know enough." he responded blandly

she pouts and rocks her chair back and forth. "suit yourself. i might just woo the boys and girls for the time being" she said as she send a wave to a group of girls a few tables away from them

"i'd ask them on a double suicide, but no one could ever beat you" she cooed as she nudged his shoulder with hers

"i don't care" he said as he turned away from her

"meet you later at lunch pudding~"

"dont talk to me"

as lunch time ensues, kenma practically bolted out the door. luckily for him, she stayed true to her words of 'wooing the boys and girls'.

currently, y/n was trapped in a circle of hormonal teenagers. she was merely smiling and laughing, throwing in flirtatious words here and there.

"eek! l/n-chan, come eat lunch with us!" one girl exclaimed

y/n blinked and smiled blankly. she was slightly concerned on how quick these girls' sexualities flipped a 180°.

"sorry, but i made plans with someone already" she said as she slyly pushed her way through the crowd "maybe tomorrow!" she exclaimed before walking out

"if im still alive~" she cooed to herself

"now.." she muttered to herself as she stopped by a hallway. "where's that pudding head.."

she looked around a few more times before giving up. she shrugged it off and made a bee line towards the rooftop

"fresh air, nice view, conveniently placed rope.." she listed out with a content sigh. she looked around the seemingly empty rooftop and nodded with determination. she picked up the 'conveniently placed rope' and started tying a noose

humming a small tune to herself, she tied the rope around her neck with a smile.

"who would've thought that doing it in a school rooftop would be the trick?" she mused with a small laugh

meanwhile in poor kenma's perspective, he was merely trying to play his game in peace. he had ran away from kuroo, and the only possible hiding place left would be the rooftop.

all he wanted was to play his game.

what he didn't want, was to see someone trying to hang themselves with a huge smile on their face.

"w-what the-" he stuttered out

"oya?" she muttered out as she made eye contact with him

"kenma! great timing! perfect, actually!" she cheered

she slipped the noose off and waved at him, holding the rope with her hands.

"i was initially gonna be alone, but with you here, the whole game plan has changed!" she said with a hearty laugh

"y/n?! what are you doing?!" he asked with a look of panic in his eyes. he gripped his PSP tight as he warily stepped closer to her.

she cocked her head to the side and gave him a confused smile. "what else? im gonna hang myself, of course"

"dont do that! are you crazy??" he exclaimed

"of course im not! but this-" she motioned to the rope "this will be my way out! who knew the oldest method in the book would be the answer" she hummed

kenma didn't answer. but he slowly put down his PSP on the ground and creeped up on her. as she started singing some weird suicide song, kenma was already behind her. she simply thought he was planning on joining her so she left him be.

"alright! time to d-"

before she could slide her head in and wrap the noose around her neck, kenma was already tackling her.

"stop it, you suicidal maniac!" he exclaimed as he pushed his body against hers

her eyes widen comically as she slipped on the chair she was standing on, sending her flying in the air. as funny and as impossible as it is, she, for some reason, ended up having her leg stuck to the noose, leaving her dangling upside down.

kenma, however, was on the ground laying on his stomach. y/n looks at him with her (e/c) eyes, a look of confusion and irritation lacing her features.

"damn." she scowled

"damn?!" he repeated with a scoff

kenma stood up, dusting his uniform as he glared at her with his cat-like eyes. "i just saved your life." he glared at her "and why are you doing that anyway?"

she then smiled sheepishly and placed her hands on her chest. "i just thought that ending it here, without atsushi and kunikida-kun or anyone else to interfere, would be the perfect way out!"

"but then you came.." she gritted her teeth

kenma scoffed in offense and picked his PSP up from the ground.

"i actually thought you were finally gonna join me!" she whined "imagine the hurt i felt after your betrayal!" she exclaimed dramatically

kenma sighed and clutched his pulsating chest. it was definitely his first time doing something like that.

"ne, kenma-kun" she whined "since you're already here, you might as well eat lunch with me"

she wiggled around in hope of freeing herself but sighed in defeat when she failed to do so. "also, maybe come help me out of this?" she asked sheepishly

"just die like that." kenma replied bluntly. he took a seat next to her dangling body, cowering in the shade as he continued to play his game, though he sneeked some glances at her from time to time.

"but i snuck in some alcohol and i was dying to try it out" she sighed dejectedly

"alcohol?" kenma cringed

"well, yeah. i was hoping i'd consume so much i'd just die from it" she said nonchalantly "and because i like the taste of it"

"help me out ke-n-ma~" she sang out "ke-n-ma~"

kenma simply ignored her and continued playing.

"..." she paused

"kyanmaaaa!! ~" she called out while waving her arms around

"fine!" he snapped and stomped over to her, blushing once he caught sight of her lifted skirt. though there wasn't really much to see since she was wearing shorts.

"hold still-" he huffed as he tried to untie the knot

"hehe, this is real intimate, don't you think?" she chuckled and hugged his torso, though she ended up hugging his lower waist due to her current position. she nuzzled her face into his midsection, making him flinch

"yeah. real cute. romantic. wow." he retorted sarcastically as he started sliding her leg out

she let out a yelp as she suddenly fell on the hard ground. she looked up at his unamused face with a sly grin. she was laying the the floor while he looked down at her.

"so.. you come here often?" she snickered

"die."

"that's the plan!"

85 notes · View notes

jaeminscoffee · 4 years

Text

Nemesis (m.)

Nemesis- a formidable rival or opponent.

Pairing- Seo Johnny x reader

Genre- Smut.

Word count- 3.68k (these just keep getting longer)

Warnings- rough sex (is it a Lyra smut if this isn't included), edging, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), size kink, masochism, unprotected sex, begging, Johnny is cocky af. Could be more but i have no clue pfft.

Summary- From your local club, you find yourself in Johnny's bed

You hated Johnny. No, let's rephrase that.

You hated Johnny's guts. Having him around always made you the second spotlight of the performance. Doesn't matter where, wherever Johnny goes, people swoon over him like a bunch of wasps. Granted, He's got everything a girl could ask for. Looks, attitude, sweet talks, money, body, you name it.

You had them all too, but Johnny's popularity made you the centre of attention, that is, after him.

You would've been fine with that if it weren't for his tauntings. He's inevitable. He's everywhere you go.

You, till date don't know what the universe has against you, but the pair of you got accepted into the same university, the same company, even the same branch. There too, you're the second, Johnny's the ace.

So having had to hear 'Johnny this' 'Johnny that' 'oh look Johnny's this' had you fuming by the weekend. And here, you've found yourself in the club, two of your girlfriends beside you, trying to calm your about to erupt veins.

You felt a little free here, maybe even conceited. No Johnny, you had the spotlight. Oh and you knew it. You'd specially picked out your best club outfit, low cut v-neck, the black fabric barely reaching down your ass, tight fitting, highlighting all of your best features.

Eyes followed every single move of your body as you vibe on the dance floor, letting loose of all previous tension. With your friends beside you, rooting for you, it was perfect.

It was only after you'd worn yourselves out, you walk towards the bar, each sitting on one of the bar stools, ordering a drink, you hear your friend's fangirl over some guy or girl, could be any them. You down shots after shots, not paying attention to your surroundings feeling way better than you'd felt the entire week.

"Yo, he just winked in our direction" Stella said from beside you, continuously hitting your arm as you slightly shove her to the side, "One of us is gonna get some action today and i hope it's Y/n" Lola exclaimed, wriggling her eyebrows at you.

You give her disgusted glare, chuckling as she kept going with her eyebrows.

"Eesh" you rasp out, feeling the alcohol start to burn your throat. "Why would you even want that" you inquire, Lola turned towards you dramatically, placing her hand on your shoulder, "Because, you look like a sad hot mess, darling. That can't do" she stated, "Agreed" Stella remarked, eyes still undressing the guy she previously mentioned, maybe even the other guys in the room.

"What? No? I look fine?" you say, more like questioning yourself. "you look fine as fuck and sad. So stop wasting yourself here and go get some" Lola retorted, patting your back and then mixing herself up with the crowd.

"Yeah you see Y/n? I think this guy's absolutely perfect for you" Stella said, once the both of you stood up to go up to the dance floor again. "Which one?" you ask, eyeing the entire place quick, not actually caring.

She smiled sweetly at you, turning you around, and pushing you with all the force she could muster up.

"What the fuck-" you exclaim, feeling your body collide with someone. "-That one, babe, have fun!" she said in a singsong voice, joining Lola.

"I'm sorry-" you look up to the body you just crashed with, feeling yourself turn solid from spite. Why does he appear every fucking where?

"Johnny." you sneered, pulling yourself out of his grip, dusting invisible lint from your dress. The lad in front of you did nothing but smirk, taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss there, taking you off guard. "Y/n." he responded.

As much as you hated him, you felt yourself drowning in his honey eyes, the party lights in the club making him look ethereal, pulling you out of your facade for a second, before you step out of it, glaring at him again. "Here alone?" he inquired.

"None of your business" you said, comically as he'd have clearly seen you with two other girls.

"I see, What got you here?" he further asked.

"None of your fucking business." you hiss. Johnny let out an airy chuckle, "Aren't you in a bad mood" he asked. "Does that have anything to do with you" you ask through gritted teeth.

"Practically, no. But I need to make sure if my runners-up is doing fine or not" he said, double tapping your cheeks with his palm. You felt the coldness you previously had melt down, replacing it with nothing more than pure hatred and annoyance.

"Fuck you, Seo." you reply in a tight voice. "Oh, she's getting annoyed, isn't she?" he said, voice teasing clearly trying to get up your nerves.

"No." you retort, turning back wanting nothing but to leave the room in order to not breathe the same air as Johnny. "Really, doll?" Johnny asked, bending down to look at you straight in the eye. It felt intriguing, you were drawn to his gaze, trying to break out but to no avail. You look away, clearing your throat, looking back at him. "Yes." you say. Johnny walked closer, "Say.. Does my presence annoy you?" he inquired, obviously knowing the answer, "Yes.." You said, lowly due to the proximity.

"Then why aren't you walking away?" he asked, you let out a sigh, knowing even if you want to walk away, your friends won't take that well. "Because I can't," you reply, gesturing at your two friends standing still, watching your exchange of words. He looked at them, then back at you with a smirk on his face.

"I see. That's good. Because I've been dying to tell you this one thing" he moved closer, pushing your hair back, pulling you close by the waist, leaning into your ears,

"I've got this strong urge to rip that dress and fuck your attitude out of you."

-x-

That's how after a 10 minute ride, you find yourself, flat against Johnny's wall, hands on either side of your face as the lad didn't fail to explore even one corner of your mouth.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, he looked extremely appealing. That sentence he'd spoken had gotten you all weak in the knees, palms flat against his chest, as you immediately pressed your lips against his at the club.

This was another thing you hated about him. He's just so fucking fine not even incubus or other sex gods could say no to anything he says.

You try breaking away from his grip on your hands, wanting desperately to touch him, feel him.

"Stop squirming." he said sternly, breaking the intense kiss having a string of saliva connect the lips still. His eyes roaming all over your body, technically eye fucking you.

"Then let me fucking go" you roared, chest heaving from the previous make out, breathing in the air containing his manly musk. Johnny's head made his way towards the side of your face, nuzzling on the flesh before retorting to your earlobe, nibbling on it, you hear him hum. "Hm, why should i do that, doll?" his voice deep.

"Do you need a fucking reason to let me go?" you ask, rubbing your thighs together, his height making you feel extremely small, turning you on incredibly.

"If you want the dick better watch your attitude baby, i don't like brats." he replied, biting down on the skin of your neck, making you hiss slightly.

"Does it seem like i care-ah!" you yelp, feeling yourself get lifted off the floor, you look at him.

"Behave." he said slow, having the freedom of moving your hands now you immediately pulled his head closer to yours, locking his lips with yours, biting down on his bottom lips.

He broke away first. Looking at you with nothing but shock and lust.

"I get what i want, Seo. You don't tell me to behave" you remark, a smirk evident on your face. You hear him let out a chuckle as you felt yourself being thrown down onto the bed. "Not with me baby, you behave, you get what you want. Act like a fucking brat i won't hesitate to put you in your place." his eyes had gone dark, voice dangerously low.

Johnny made his way towards the bed, shirt already disposed along with his black denim jacket, he eyed your spread our body, admiring each and every curve as you gawk at his toned middle, chest chiselled adding onto why Johnny Seo is oh so perfect. The anger you felt, turning into pure lust, desire of wanting nothing more than for him to ruin you.

"Behave you say, well you're in for a long ride, Seo. I don't like behaving" you taunt, sending a wink in his direction, moving back the bed as he crawled forward towards you.

His demeanor was intimidating as he stared down at you with his cold eyes catching your ankle stopping you from crawling further up.

"I shouldn't even give you anything with that attitude of yours, baby." he said, pulling his body over yours, placing hands on either sides of your face, weighing his body down in order to not crush your bones.

"You're saying that cause you know you can't satisfy my needs. Poor baby boy," you feign empathy, running the back of your fingers down his face slowly, feeling his jaws clench.

With one pull, he had himself seated towards the edge of the bed, with you on the floor in front of him, seated between his legs, looking down at the floor as you try calming yourself from the sudden movement.

You felt hands grip your hair, pulling it back, forcing you to look up into his eyes. They were now void of any emotion. It scared you the slightest, but you didn't show it.

"When i said behave. You should've fucking listened, brat." he said, voice dripping venom, making your clench your thighs together, the feeling of vulnerability and how small you felt, made you needier than intended.

His grip on your hair wasn't soft, your roots felt like they'd detach any second, but you enjoyed every second of the pain.

You open your mouth to make another cocky retort, when the force of the tug intensified. "Better shut your little mouth and put it for another use." he said, pulling you in closer, his pants discarded behind you as the red angry shaft his toned stomach, the red tip dripping precum making your mouth water, the knot in your lower abdomen tightening.

He looked at you with a demanding look, eyes narrowed as you look up at him, eyes basically begging.

"Suck." is all it took, and you pounce at his member, earning a throaty groan from Johnny. You start at the tip, licking the slit, clearing of all the white substance there, then slowly wrapping your lips around the head, sucking in gently, wanting to tease him as much as possible.

Johnny rested both his hands on your head, pulling the hair back in a makeshift ponytail, trying to push your head further down.

"Stop teasing or you'll j-just make it worse for yourse-fuck.." he couldn't complete his sentence as you lower down completely, almost till the base, before pulling away feeling the head hit the back of your throat, activating your gag reflex.

Not letting you pull away fully, he pushed you back down, mouth open ajar, hitting your throat again, resulting in tears forming in your eyes.

You bop your head up and down, "That's right baby, uh-" he inhaled sharply as you hollow your cheeks, sucking in too hard.

You kept moving your head up and down, Johnny setting the pace with his hands still on your hair. You feel your jaws starting to hurt, neck starting to cramp a bit so you move your head faster, desperate to get him to his orgasm. But he had other plans.

You reach out between his thighs, still sucking and licking on the shaft, hands palming his palms, causing him to jerk his hips forward.

"Fuck Y/n stop" he tapped your cheeks as he felt his high approaching, but you didn't stop, rather you started bopping your heas faster, with more aggression.

"Ah! s-stop" he said, growing sensitive having his orgasm just by the doorstep.

Seconds before reaching his high, he tore you away from his dick with a sharp pull, causing you to hiss in pain, and whine in desperation of wanting to taste him.

You sat there still, wiping your mouth as drool had managed to escape amidst the blowjob while Johnny sat by the bed, looking at the floor trying to catch his breath.

Once calm and normal, he looked up at you, eyes burning with anger and lust.

He got up from the bed, while you stayed seated on the floor, making his way towards you with slow, agonizing steps.

"When i say stop.." he took a step forward, the anger in his eyes scaring you completely, making you crawl back.

"You stop." he took another step forward, you moving backwards.

"Then tell me. Why didn't you." he bellowed.

You stop your chest from heaving that fast, as he keeps moving forward, you soon find your back hit the wall, nowhere else to escape.

"Because i didn't want to" you rasp out.

Johnny took one large step forward, bending down, wrapping his fingers around your throat, standing up, pulling you by your neck, causing you to stand up along with him.

"You are such a fucking brat.." he rasped out through grit teeth, jaw tense.

He tightened the grip, moving closer as his figure towered yours, "You look so small, yet you have that attitude. Fucking respectable" he roared pulling you along and throwing you onto the bed the second time. You let out the breath you didn't know you holding in, eyes shut tight, opening once you regained the oxygen he'd cut off a few seconds away.

Johnny moved up to you, pulling your body towards the edge, ripping your dress off your body, the material of your panties being ripped into two too, as you moan silently at his sudden aggression.

"You're so fucking wet, just like a good little slut. But nope she has to have a fucking attitude" he said, shoving two fingers straight into your core without a warning, causing you to scream. Your juices splattered around from the movement of his fingers, squelching noises produced by how wet you are as Johnny showed no signs in slowing down.

"John oh!" you moan out.

His fingers were knuckle deep inside you, curling and pumping in again, brushing the soft spot. You jerk forward, hips moving along his fingers as he pressed the pad of his thumb onto your clit, driving you closer towards the edge. "Mm fuck.. " your voice small, feeling yourself clench around his fingers at the thought of being completely in his mercy. And oh is he merciless.

"Oh? You seem close, right, pretty doll?" he questioned. You were unable to answer as his fingers moved faster and faster, not able to form a comprehend able sentence only letting out lewd noises.

His free hand came flat down on your clit, causing you to jerk forward, "Fucking answer me." he resumed playing with your clit. Your knuckles turned white from how hard you were gripping the sheets. "y-yes, i..oh fuck.. I am!" your face contort out of pleasure, feeling the orgasm just two steps away, immediately fading away as Johnny removed his fingers from in you.

"Come on!" you cry out, feeling your high go further and further away.

"Hm? What happened baby?" he said, face portraying fake sympathy.

"Johnny, I was so close!" you let out a sob, unknown to the fact that tears had started falling. You hear him let out laugh, "Yeah you made that clear, didn't know your pussy that strong" he replied, removing the last piece of clothing article from your body, both of your bodies covered in sweat, glistening the light reflecting from the window.

"Johnny.. Please" you desperately try voicing out, wanting nothing more than a release. "oh she can beg! Pleasant surprise" he marveled. "Say, will you behave?" he asked, eyes narrowed looking at you as you let out a chain of sobs.

"No if you can't make me fucking cum-" you scream out before being able to complete the sentence, his fingers shoved back into you.

You were sensitive, shitless, your walls hurt and your orgasm denial was still fresh. "So being treated as a slut it is." he grunted, moving his fingers in an inhumanly pace, his other hand over your waist, holding you down flat onto the sheets as you grip that hand in a tight hold.

"Oh fuck.." your breathing fastened, feeling the previous orgasm come back to life.

"you look so fucking good, so small, so desperate for me" Johnny added pressure back onto your clit, rubbing fast circles.

"Ah!" you yelp when you feel him add a third fingering, curling and twisting inside of you, as you feel yourself reaching your high. You let a cry, orgasm almost there, but one last shove and he removed his finger, leaving your core desperate and pulsating.

"Johnny please!" you cry out louder, tears pouring down your cheeks faster as you grip onto his hands. He looked at you with a smirk on his face.

"Want to cum?" he asked, shoving his fingers into his mouth, licking your juices off of it.

"Yes! Oh yes please!" you reply, nodding your head frantically.

Johnny acted as though he was thinking for a while, "Well.." he started.

"You gotta work for it babe" he placed a kiss on the inside of your thigh. "So. Be a good little girl and beg for my dick." he said, seeing you all fucked up, hair all over the place, lipstick smudge, tears running down your face and so small, vulnerable yet you looked gorgeous.

Now you see, all the rationality you'd previously had was all thrown out the window. You wanted the release. You needed that release.

"Please, please fuck me Johnny, i promise I'll be a good girl! Just.. Please put your dick inside me, I swear I feel good!" you cry out, spreading your legs further open, as he sees your core glistening. Johnny let out a low growl, wasting not a second, holding you by your hip as you aligned himself by your entrance, the tip poking in.

He looked at you, seeing you stare back at him, and kept his eyes on you as he pushed in all the way, watching your face contort out of pleasure and maybe the slightest mix of pain.

"You're fucking right, princess-" he started, pulling his member out completely, before shoving it in, you scream, extremely sensitive but nothing you couldn't take.

"You feel extremely good. So fucking tight" his pace was fast, hips steady, no signs of it going sloppy anytime soon. Your orgasm was fast approaching, the build up begging you for it to be released, he pushed in further, leaning down and capturing your lips in a slow kiss in contrast to the pace of his hips.

"Joh-n.. I'm g-gonna.. fuck!" you couldn't complete the sentence yet the message was delivered. "Let go baby, it's fine" he said, going faster, rubbing circles onto your clit to encourage your orgasm.

You cum with a loud moan, clenching around him, trying to shut your legs close from the intensity of the orgasm, but his legs in between stopped you from doing that.

Johnny slowed down for a movement to help you calm a bit but not stopping completely. Growing impatient as you take your own sweet time to calm down, he gripped your thigh from the bottom, lifting it up to let your leg dangle off his shoulder.

He started fast again, your clenching pulling him closer and closer towards the edge.

You pant heavily, "Johnny i can't.." sensitive from all the edging and the high that not even a second ago. Causing a faint pain in your core, getting you all worked up ready for your second orgasm again.

Oh how you were a sucker for pain.

"Yes you can. And you will" he said, going deeper, slowed to feel each and every inch of your inside, feeling you clench around him again.

"Shit.." Johnny rasped out, feeling his high approaching from your constant pressure on his member.

He went faster, the only sounds in the room being those inhuman sounds coming from both of you, skin slapping and the sound of your wet core being pounded at.

"Johnny!" your voice wobbly from all the cries and moans, clenching around him faster wanting him to cum faster and get this over with.

"Fuck baby, scream my name again, I'm so, so close" his voice cracked, hips stuttering, but shoved into you powerfully once again.

"Johnny, ah!" your feeble voice screaming, your small cunt taking him this well, and your constant clenching pulled his last string.

You felt him twitch inside of you, then seconds later his seeds coated the walls of your core, driving you to your second orgasm, as Johnny rode the two of you out of your high with his deep voice letting out gasps and groans.

Johnny flopped down beside you panting from the action, the room smelled of sex.

After a while of quietness filling the air, Johnny broke it first.

"Well that was.. Something" his voice was more raspy than ever, as you gulp down the dryness from your throat.

"Yeah.." you reply tiredly.

"Want to go for a second round and see who lasts longer this time?" Johnny let out jokingly with no actual intention of doing so.

You turn to your side with a little bit of struggling, wrapping your hands around his torso as you pull your body closer to his.

"Just shut the fuck up and cuddle me"

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

Lightning in a Bottle | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Music is Edmund’s love language, apparently.

Request: Hey! Could you possibly do a cute high school au with Edmund? Maybe they’re both crushing on each other and everyone knows except themselves, anything you wanna do really haha 😂 thanksss :)

A/N: Thanks for the request!! God, I love Edmund so much. And here, we have indie boi Ed. This oneshot is inspired by Electric Love by Børns. (Specifically, the video linked) This is one of my favorite songs, and I thought it fit the indie-main-character-high-school vibe :) I didn’t really nail the “everyone knows but them” thing, but still crushes! Enjoy ~

masterlist | here is a playlist of the songs in the mixtape mentioned | read on ao3

Edmund Pevensie was obsessed with listening to music, particularly with old musical technology. While it wasn’t uncommon to have a fascination with cassette tapes or vinyl records, it hit a special chord within Edmund’s heart. Something about listening to music, old and new, on the outdated tech made the music sound better, hit harder, and stick in his mind better. He was the type of guy who took the AUX on long car rides to play one of his thousand Spotify playlists.

Another notable thing about Edmund was that he was very intelligent with very high standards for himself. He was a natural at academics, having been in advanced classes since he was young, and he was the guy everyone hated in math class. After dozing off in class, and mouthing off to the teacher every now and again, he still came out as the teacher’s favorite and a straight-A student.

The majority of the time, though, he tended to keep to himself. While he was genuinely liked by his peers and was rather charming, he didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Unlike his older brother, Peter, he liked to remain closer to the shadows with earbuds in his ears. He knew he could never fill his brother’s shoes; Peter had basically come into Cair Paravel High School to be captain of the soccer team. He was so good that even though his grades were subpar at best, he received a full-ride scholarship to Archenland University to study sports medicine and play on their soccer team.

Then there was his older sister, Susan, who won her Student Body President campaign by a landslide. Everyone liked Susan; she was patient, gentle, and got along with pretty much everyone. She too got a pretty large scholarship to Beruna State College and is double majoring in child education and European history.

Finally, there was Edmund’s little sister, Lucy. She was only a freshman at Cair Paravel, and very into student council. Edmund thought she was practically made to be an ASB kid; she was excited, friendly, and much too kind. Lucy made the switch to high school seamlessly and had a big group of friends by the time the final bell rang on the first day.

Edmund was a senior now and he couldn’t wait to get out of high school. The people were unintelligent, he was constantly compared to his siblings and he was ready to start his life. Edmund had high ambitions to become a lawyer, specifically criminal law. He didn’t really have much to leave behind at this school, so he was just trying to get through it as soon as possible.

One thing he would miss was the quiet girl that sat behind him in his music appreciation class. Edmund didn’t really want to take the class, but at the last minute, he discovered he needed to fulfill an arts credit to graduate. He appreciated music and liked easy classes, so he chose this one. Little did he know it was mostly analyzing classical pieces.

Y/N was super cute in Edmund’s eyes. She always mumbled sarcastic comments whenever their easily excitable teacher, Mr. Tumnus, would stretch when over-analyzing a stanza of music. By the time October passed, Edmund had grown quite fond of the girl. She almost always was reading a comic book of some sort instead of paying attention in class. Y/N even ended up lending Edmund a few for his viewing pleasures; he always made sure to return them in the exact condition he received them. Batman seemed to Y/N’s favorite.

Y/N loved watching Edmund write. He held his pencil wrong and always had ink smudged all over his hand. Maybe it was because he was a leftie, or maybe it was because he wrote too fast. Probably a little bit of both. His handwriting was also weirdly slanted to the right, which didn’t make any sense to Y/N. He was left-handed but his letters slanted to the right? Not the mention how half of it was in cursive and half of it was in print. It was definitely messy but, oddly enough, still intelligible.

“What are you listening to?” Y/N asked Edmund. “Better not be Christmas music. Christmas was last month.”

Edmund pulled an earbud out of his left ear and turned so he was sitting horizontally in his chair. He leaned an arm on the top of her desk and grinned. “Currently, I’m listening to Can I Call You Tonight? By Dayglow. What are you reading?”

“Currently, I’m reading Volume 1 of The New Teen Titans,” Y/N copied Edmund. “I’ve never heard of Dayglow, are they good?”

Edmund smiled, offering her his earbuds. “Listen and see for yourself.”

As she listened Edmund searched her face for any clue to what she’s thinking. Her face housed a small smile so he concluded that she enjoyed it. Once the song ended, she took out one of his earbuds and placed it on her desk.

“I like it,” She concluded, listening to the next song.

“Good, so do I. It fits my mood for today.”

“What’s got you so happy today? You have a great way of showing happiness, by the way.” Edmund was dressed in all black with his hood up. Edmund rolled his eyes.

“What I can’t be in a good mood?”

“I never said that, Pevensie. You just look very Edmund-y today.” Y/N pulled the other earbud out of her head and held them out to him.

“No, keep listening. I’ll play some music for you throughout class and maybe you can tell me what you think at the end?” He pulled his hood off of his head and smoothed out his hair. “And what do you mean Edmund-y?”

“I don’t know, all black, hood up, dead look in your eyes.”

“I don’t have a dead look in my eyes!” Y/N giggled at her own joke. “Just for that, I’m going to take this.” He snatched the open comic book that laid open on her desk.

For the remainder of the class, Edmund dictated what Y/N listened to from his phone. He played everything from The Beatles, to The 1975, to COIN, to Duran Duran. Every now and then, Edmund would peek his head back to see her eyes glued to the back of his head. Her body swayed to the music almost lazily, and a smile graced her features. For some reason that made his stomach feel fuzzy.

She returned his earbuds at the end of class, and he returned her comic.

“That was fun,” Y/N complimented, shoving her materials into her bag. “I like the get better song you played.”

“I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers,” Edmund corrected her as they left the classroom. Music Appreciation was the class of the day for them, seeing as they were seniors who left at lunch, so the two started making their way towards the parking lot.

“You have to meet your sister right?” Y/N asks, pulling out her I.D. so she could leave campus. “The really sweet freshman girl? Honestly, you two are so different I wouldn’t have guessed you were siblings.”

“Oh, Lucy, yeah. We grab lunch every Thursday before I drop her back off for the remainder of her classes.” The two showed their I.D.’s to the campus aid and walked into the parking lot.

“That’s sweet. We should grab lunch sometime, or something. It could be fun! We could do our analysis questions about Bach.” Y/N started to walk in the opposite direction and Edmund felt his cheeks warm. Luckily, Y/N’s back was now towards him.

“Yeah, sure. Don Giovanni, right?”

Y/N’s laughter could be heard as she grew further away. “That’s Motzart, Pevensie!”

Edmund shook his head and met Lucy. She was leaning against his car looking bored.

“Who was that? Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, opening the door once Edmund unlocks the car. This made his cheeks flush more.

“No, she’s just the girl that sits behind me in Tumnus,” Edmund puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not, Lucy. It’s just hot in the car, it’s been sitting out here for ages.”

One day in the middle of March when Y/N walked into Music Appreciation, she noticed a small rectangle box on her desk. Upon opening it, she found a cassette and a note. The note looked as if it was typed using a typewriter.

Y/N,

I’m not very good when it comes to words, but I’m good when it comes to music. Hopefully, this says it all. Enjoy, my love.

Side A //

Electric Love / Børns

I Love You So / The Walters

Fallingforyou / The 1975

Your Song / Elton John

Someone To You / BANNERS

Side B //

Babe, Can I Call? / The Hunna

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy) / The 1975

Luv, Hold Me Down / Drowners

love somebody like you / joan

TV Dream / Larkins

Y/N didn’t recognize most of the songs, but just reading the titles made her blush.

“Mr. Tumnus? Did you happen to see who left this on my desk?” She held up the cassette so he could see. He shook his head.

“No, sorry.”

Other students started to trickle in and soon the bell rang, no trace of Edmund. It wasn’t uncommon for him to skip this class, it was basically pointless, but it made Y/N sad every time he wasn’t there.

The door swings open and a drenched Edmund steps into the classroom. Without even looking up, Mr. Tumnus addresses him.

“You’re late again, Mr. Pevensie.”

“Sorry, I got stuck behind a group of Sophmore girls who wouldn’t move.”

“In the rain?” Mr. Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

“No, if it was in the rain I would be wet right now, sir.”

He plopped into his seat and started raking his hands through his wet hair. His cheeks were slightly rosey, as were his nose. His lips were pinker than usual and they stayed slightly parted. Hair stuck to his forehead as he ran his fingers ran through it and the hair on the nape of his neck dripped down his back. Y/N had to stop herself from staring at him with her jaw unhinged.

“What’s that?” He whispered, noticing the open present on Y/N’s desk. He had taken up sitting horizontal in his chair at all times so he could more easily talk to Y/N.

“It’s a mixtape. It was left on my desk when I got here,” Y/N responded and handed him the note. Edmund took it and began to read; his eyes scanned the paper and his lips moved slightly as he read. Y/N couldn’t help her this time, so she allowed herself to stare. His lips were always so pink and so puffy. She fantasized about how soft they must be.

“Wow, looks like someone really likes you,” He comments, placing the paper back on her desk. “Do you have a cassette player?”

Y/N didn’t even consider that. Who the hell has a cassette player in the year 2020? Apparently, her answer was evident on her face, and Edmund chuckles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a walkman and a pair of earbuds.

“Here, you can have mine. I got a new one last month and I don’t really use this one as much.”

Oh, Edmund has a cassette player in the year 2020.

Y/N smiled, taking the player from his hand. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on those songs. Whoever made that has good taste, you’re lucky.”

When Y/N got home tonight, she took out her walkman. It sat easily in her palm, just big enough for the cassette to fit inside. On the bottom, “E.P.” was scratched into the plastic. She smiled and put her mixtape inside.

As she listened, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Edmund. They had grown much closer in the past few months, even going lengths to hang out outside of school. Y/N learned that not only was Edmund extremely intelligent, but he was the funniest person Y/N had ever met. He always had a sarcastic comeback or joke to offer her, no matter the subject. He had also let many of his walls down, letting Y/N get to know him better. It all felt so comfortable and natural. No longer was he just the cute guy from Music Appreciation, but he was the pain in the ass that Y/N had fallen for. And Y/N had fallen hard.

Against her first impression of the mixtape, Y/N had actually heard all of these songs. After the first day in January, Edmund had lent her his earbuds near-daily and she would listen to whatever he played for her. Her eyes widened.

Why would Edmund carry around a cassette player he didn’t use? And to school for that matter? And the note; it was typed because Edmund had such distinct handwriting! Y/N rewound the cassette and listened to it again. Why didn’t she realize in the moment?

“Hello, Y/N,” Edmund greeted in the parking lot the morning, he happened to park next to Y/N. He gripped the coffee in his hand and got his backpack in the trunk. “How are you on this fine morning?”

“Tired, I stayed up, like, half the night listening to that cassette I got yesterday.” Y/N slung her own backpack over her shoulder. He closed his trunk and locked his car.

“Yeah? And what did you think?” The two started walking towards the building.

“I thought that the songs all sounded oddly familiar.”

Edmund took a long sip of his coffee. “Like you’ve heard them before?”

“Mmhm,” Y/N hummed and walked onto campus. She held one of the straps of her backpack as she walked. “Almost as if this dumbass guy I know played them for me a while back,” Y/N’s voice was teasing and light.

“Yeah? Who is this guy?” Y/N stopped walking and looked up at Edmund.

“Thanks for the mixtape, Ed.”

“Whaaaat...just because this guy has great taste in love songs doesn’t mean it was me. I’m flattered though, really,” Edmund took another long sip of his coffee.

“Oh, what a pity. I actually got excited when I figured out it was you. Considering normal people don’t just carry cassette players in their backpacks. Especially not ones they don’t use anymore.” Y/N’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Excited?”

“Yeah. I’ve kinda liked that Edmund guy for a while, but he doesn’t like me back so…”

“You like me back?” Edmund was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, babe, I like you back. I have since October since I started letting you borrow my comics,”

Edmund placed his coffee on a bench and pulled Y/N closer to him by the hips.

“October, huh?” Y/N smiled bashfully at Edmund’s tone but nodded.

“What? You’re cute, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, now you make me cute mixtapes.”

Edmund leans down and places his lips against hers. They were just as soft as she had imagined. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers quickly finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers.

“Be my girlfriend, then?”

“You nerd,” Y/N took a small step forwards and pecked his lips again. “I would love to.”

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #edmund pevensie fanfic #edmund pevensie fanfiction #king edmund the just #king edmund #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #modern au #fluff #c.s. lewis #c. s. lewis #skandar keynes #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction

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0first0holder0-moved · 2 years

Text

Character study.

Layer 001: The outside.

Name: Ahane Yoichi née Shigaraki.

Eye color: Green

Hair style / color: Pure white, fluffy and goes to his shoulders, bangs hang in his face and cover his eyes.

Height: 152 cm ( 5'5 ).

Clothing style: Like a color blind elementary school child with unlimited money. Lots of colors and patterns all mixed and matched in ways that would give fashion designers fits. Shops at thrift stores a lot, so many of his clothing items are second hand and have unique touches from previous owners. Fuzzy socks are a must, his feet are always freezing. His favorite pair of shoes are a pair of red converse sneakers.

Best physical feature: His hair and eyes, really bring the whole ‘pretty fairy’ like aesthetic together.

Layer 002: The inside.

Fears: Iatrophobia ( doctors ), nyctophobia ( the dark ), claustrophobia ( small, enclosed spaces ), sedatephobia ( silence ), his brother.

Guilty pleasure: Eating the semi-sweet chocolate chips meant for pastries out of the bag by the handful.

Biggest pet peeve: People who don’t cover their mouth when they cough or sneeze, people who pick at their nails.

Ambitions for the future: Wants to live a peaceful life with his husband, child, and other family and friends.

Layer 003: Thoughts.

First thoughts waking up: ‘Gotta pee gotta pee. Where’s Niji? Is Gin up? What’s the special for today? Need tea. Gotta pee!’

What they think about most: Niji, Gin, Hifumi, where his brother is.

What they think about before bed: ‘Is Gin asleep? Does he need anything? I should journal tonight. Does Aster need her bedding changed? Maybe some tea. Gotta brush my teeth. Is Niji going out tonight? Do I need to call Hifumi? Gotta take my meds. Are the doors locked? The windows locked? Are the ovens off?’

What they think their best quality is: How selfless he is, or tries to be. He second guesses a lot of his actions and wonders if he’s doing the right thing.

Layer 004: What’s better?

Single or group dates: Single dates for sure. He just prefers to focus directly on his husband in their quiet, private moments. But he wouldn’t say no if Hifumi or Hikage wanted to bring a partner and make it into a double date.

To be loved or respected: Being loved.

Beauty or brains: Brains. But also considering that Niji is build like a Roman god...

Dogs or cats: Both! He loves all animals, but cats would probably squeak past dogs by a small margin.

Layer 005: Do they…

Lie: He doesn’t like to lie and tries to avoid doing so. But has had to in the past for self preservation reasons.

Believe in themselves: Not really, but he’s learning to.

Believe in love: Absolutely, a hopeless romantic through and through.

Want someone: Only Niji.

Layer 006: Have they ever…

Been on stage: No, and his anxiety would make him freeze up for certain.

Done drugs: Nothing illegal, any drugs he’s been on were for his various health issues ( though who knows how legal anything is in Garaki’s lab ).

Changed who they were to fit in: More like, ‘changed to lessen any pain and abuse he was forced to endure because his brother doesn’t like to be told ‘no’.’

Layer 007: Favorites.

Favorite color: Greens and blues, especially pastels. Also fond of white and grey.

Favorite animal: Loves all animals but has a soft spot for doves and rabbits.

Favorite book: Give him any superhero comic or manga; but his absolute favorite of all time is Captain Hero.

Favorite game: Yoichi isn’t a big video game person. He does like the Animal Crossing series though and has a coloring app on his phone. His favorite non video game is chess.

Layer 008: Age.

Day their next birthday will be: October 12th, he’ll be 128.

Layer 010: Finish the sentence.

I love: my husband, my son, my family and friends.

I feel: tired, anxious, but also hopeful.

I hide: many secrets.

I miss: when he was still sane.

I wish: that this will end with minimal causalities and all my loved ones will be safe.

Tagged by: @simvlacrums

Tagging: @evilendures for the bastard brother :3

#♢~☆~♢ OOC #♢~☆~♢ Character Analysis #♢~☆~♢ Dash Games

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i-rely-on-you · 3 years

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44!!!!!!!

Thank you so much dear!

This is the 50 Ways To Say “I Love You” thingy so here you go @faytalepsy

My ask box for those is still open in case anyone is interested and you can find this prompt list here 50 Ways To Say “I Love You”

You don’t have to pretend with me

He found her sitting at her desk on this late September evening, still working on grading papers. Hunched over forms, an uncharacteristic hand to her forehead seemingly worried.

He had come to check up on her as he had taken to doing since she had come back from the dead.

It was hard for him to be parted from her for more than a couple hours at a time and he knew she felt the same.

After she had come back and they had fought off Rosalind he had been adamant about not leaving her side, fearing their old mentor could come back to finish the job should he not have his fairy within reaching distance at all times.

He had clung to her like his life depended on it when she had started breathing again after they had dug her up. Soil and vines of the surrounding flowers still clinging to her.

He had carried her inside their school and up to her quarters and taken off her clothes, helped her shower and put her to bed, keeping vigil over her until she had woken up again several hours later.

Her sleep muddled brain still in the throes of a nightmare of being trapped underground had not been able to discern dream state from the real world until he had slid into bed beside her, holding her to him tightly. He had soothed her gently, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances into her ear until she had fallen asleep again.

Seeing her like this now, agitated him. She looked stressed and almost frail. A look he didn’t like seeing on his fairy at all.

Looking up from her work upon hearing him enter she gave him a small smile. It was a genuine smile but strained nonetheless making it seem almost fake if he hadn’t known her better.

Quickly closing the door behind him Saul strutted into the room, a concerned expression marring his features.

“Farah what is it? Are you alright?” The questions tumbled from his lips without pause as he came to a halt by her side.

Reaching for her upon coming to a standstill right next to where she was sitting he laid a hand on her shoulder, the other grasping her hand delicately.

Leaning back a little in her chair the headmistress looked at the forms in front of her again, a big sigh escaping her lips.

“It’s nothing, really.” Casting a warm glance up at him she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. Fixing him with a deep meaningful stare. ”I’m fine.”

Not believing her for a second the soldier stooped down a little and crouched next to her to be more at eye level with her.

Sliding his hand to the crook of her elbow now he murmured softly, “What is it?”

Shaking her head the woman sighed again before loosening his hold on her hand. Letting her face fall into both of her palms dejectedly she let out another sigh.

This worried the man greatly and he wound his arm around her back and took hold of her upper arm gently, his fingers encircling her biceps. Angling himself so as to see her more clearly he tried again. “Talk to me love, what’s wrong?” But the fairy just shook her head once more.

Letting go of her back and arm Saul began to scoot back the chair in a way that she was facing him now and not the desk anymore. He then loosened her hold on her own face as gently as he could taking in her sorrow stricken face and the frown marring her beautiful lips.

She had her eyes closed as he took in her features.

Laying his hand on her cheek softly he made her look down at him with the words, “Hey, look at me.”, to which she obliged instantly.

Her soulful deep brown eyes were pooling with unshed tears and it made his heart stop for a second.

Taking all his willpower not to bundle her up and flee the realm all together right this second the soldier murmured instead, “Come on now, Farah. You don’t have to pretend with me, you know that. Tell me.”

Biting her lip momentarily she looked at him and whispered, “I’m worried, Saul.”

Now it was his turn to shake his head as he frowned up at her, clearly not understanding.

Yes, they hadn’t defeated Rosalind completely and she was still out there but they were careful and had doubled their efforts to keep unwelcome guests from passing through the barrier. He had seen to it himself to have guards patrolling the building at all times.

But they also knew how powerful Rosalind really was and that scared the soldier too. More than he would like to admit.

Standing up tall again he chanced a glance outside the window half expecting to see their tormentor standing at the edge of the training grounds looking up at him mockingly. But of course there was no one there.

Turning back around to look at the headmistress again he wondered, “Did you see something? Was anything amiss today? Has something happened that made you believe something might be off?” He knew when to trust her instincts, as they had rarely ever been wrong. So he contemplated the possibilities that could have spooked her so while letting his eyes scan the training field again.

Her voice shook him out of his observations gently.

“No, nothing was amiss. It’s just-…”, her voice trailed off slightly as if unsure how to proceed.

“I’m just so worried for the children, Saul.”

This he understood. They were under an extreme amount of pressure caring for all of these lives every single day, keeping them safe and away from harm. He instantly knew where she was coming from with this.

“I would not be able to look myself in the eyes again if something happened to one of my pupils. I am so afraid she’ll come back and do something terrible to them like she did to us.” Halting as her words grew more shaky with each syllable passing her lips the fairy closed her eyes again in shame.

Seeing her like this, all worried and frightened made his heart ache in his chest.

Feeling the need to be close to her again he took the half a step towards her and enclosed her in his embrace.

Her arms settled around his lower hips snugly and her head came to rest on the spot between his chest and belly. Pressing her face into the material of his jumper the mind fairy breathed in deeply as if for the first time today, treasuring the smell of him.

Sauls arm snaked around her shoulders and his other hand came to rest on the back of her head where he began to rub soothing circles into her loosely braided hair.

That was also something that had changed with Rosalinds attempt on her life. It seemed like almost losing her life had made her lose her grasp on this stern persona she had crafted so meticulously over the years of being headmistress.

Her trademark hairdos pinning the golden brown locks high on top of her head had given to a more delicate style now.

She had taken to wearing her hair in less strict but no less intricate hairstyles these past few weeks and he liked the look on her. It made her appear softer and slightly more approachable which the students had taken as an open invitation to get closer to her after she had come back.

Hugs had become a daily occurrence now.

Students seeking out guidance in the middle of the hall and after a quick chat grabbing her around the middle gently and letting go just as quickly, throwing her a timid smile in thanks and vanishing off to where they needed to go next.

The first time it happened had been almost comical to say the least but she had taken it in stride and learned to cherish those moments.

The student body was different now. They appreciated her more with each day passing and each and every single one of the pupils made sure that she was well taken care of at all times throughout the day.

Be it juice boxes left at her desk before class had even begun or an apple sitting on top of her books intended for the lesson. It could be a muffin waiting for her on her desk in her office or pupils holding doors for her and accompanying her to her next lecture.

The students made sure to take care of this second chance they had been given with her. Of having their beloved headmistress back.

It was always rather simple things really. But they were greatly appreciated and didn’t go unnoticed by Saul. He was grateful for all these children being there for her.

Rubbing at the base of her neck and sinking his hands into her hair more fully now he massaged her scalp gently, all the while being mindful of the few pins holding the strands up.

He drew her nearer slightly before craning his neck down to whisper to her softly, “We will get through this Farah.”

He knew it was futile to be making silly and unwarranted promises because he knew some things were just out of his control but he could promise her one thing.

Letting his arm drag across her back gently and holding her to him tightly he vowed to her, “We will bring an end to this. She has caused us so much misery for way too many years and she will pay for what she has done to you, I promise you that.”

Feeling her nod into his belly and grasping onto his jumper more forcefully now he promised her one last thing.

“And I will not part from you ever again until my dying breath. This I swear to you.”

He had been given a second chance too, he knew. And he would make damn sure to make this one count.

He heard her sniffle slightly before pulling away from him a fraction to be able to look up at him. Her eyes shone brightly, tears still clinging to her lashes but her face was clear and open.

Her hopeful look had him smile in return and lean down to press the softest of kisses to her forehead. Lingering there for just a minute breathing her in, he relished in the feeling of her warm and soft skin.

They stood like this for a while, never relinquishing the hold on the other. For how long they stood there they didn’t know. And it didn’t matter.

It was Saul who broke away from her first.

Taking in her sleepy look he held out his hand for her to take and pulled her to her feet slowly but surely.

“How about something to eat? I’m famished.”

This made the woman giggle, a sound he would never tire of hearing for as long as he lived he was sure.

“You are always famished Saul.”

Pulling her around the desk he stopped by the coat hanger and helped her into her jacket, making sure to pull her hair out of her collar as he did so.

“Ah yes, that may be true. And you know what really helps with that? Spaghetti!”

The laughter this pulled from her lips made the specialist practically beam with pride at being able to make her forget the world around them even if only for a little while.

Pulling her into his side he began leading her out of the room and into the hallway all the while keeping a firm grip on her side.

To any other person it might’ve seemed possessive the way he was holding her to him but to her it was heaven. She felt safe in his embrace, surrounded by his scent and warmth. His strong arms banding around her, encasing her and holding her close.

“Is it because it’s the only thing you can actually cook without burning down the kitchen?”

Chuckling at her jest he looked down at her and found her gaze seeking out his, her face glowing with mirth.

Positively beaming now he gave back, “Maybe? Are you complaining?”

Shaking her head she whispered a soft ‘no’ before letting her head fall to his shoulder gently. A small sigh of contentment accompanied the movement as she let him lead her through the narrow hallways and dark corridors of their beloved Alfea.

There was nothing they couldn’t get through together she believed that now.

Always had, really.

Because they weren’t just ordinary people. They were Farah Dowling and Saul Silva. A fairy and her specialist. A powerful unit and a force to be reckoned with.

And as long as they were together, they would be fine.

They would just have to make sure to hold onto each other tightly.

Nothing easier than that.

-fin

Thank you so much for reading ☺️ I hope you like it. Be sure to leave a comment to let me know what you think 🥰 kudos is also greatly appreciated ♥️

Find me on ao3

#farah dowling #saul silva #silrah #fate the winx saga #fate winx saga #fanfic #ao3 #farah dowling x saul silva #farahs hair #bring back farah dowling 2k22 #farah dowling supremacy #farah is taking a nap

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mayfriend-archive · 3 years

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Totally understand if you're not up for it and fully recognize the ronald mcdonald dom/sub anon vibes which is an AMAZING post btw but like...now i'm curious, what the hell did Lord of the Flies anon DO that got him blocked for the discourse? like...i just can't wrap my head around high school lit being...uh...that inflammatory i guess?

Okay so, I'll start by saying I've had a new anon from apparently the same anon saying they are NOT the person I blocked, just a rando making the same points, but I'll answer your question anyway just to set out why this person in particular got blocked, out of the several thousand who reblogged/commented on that very successful addition to the LoTF post I made.

First off, I added the 'real life Lord of the Flies' story because I thought it was a good story. I had read about it only a couple days beforehand in Humankind and, after reading out the entire chapter to my parents who weren't very interested, I was excited that there was not only a post where it would be relevant to post, but that I wouldn't be hijacking it, as it was already rejecting the widespread interpretation taught in many schools, that humanity is inherently savage.

When making the addition, I a) did not think it would get more than a couple reblogs, because the post was already at 50k notes and I figured anyone that might be interested would already have seen it, and b) I did not know the very specific context that prompted William Golding to write the book; all I knew was that he had been a teacher at a public school (basically, the poshest schools in the country - think Eton, Harrow, very 'old money' places that pump out Conservative politicians by the bucket-load 🤢) who hated his job and the boys he taught (which, valid), and new information I'd been given in Humankind - that Golding had said to his wife one day, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to write a story about some boys on an island, showing how they would really behave?" - which had no mention of The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne, which I have since learned was the text that Golding loathed enough to write an entire novel in refutation of - and included what I considered a very telling letter from Golding to his publisher, in which Golding wrote of his belief that 'even if we start with a clean slate, our nature compels us to make a muck of it.' Another Golding quote that I believe portrays his belief in humanity's 'innate savagery' is that "man produces evil as a bee produces honey."

Obviously, the author of a book putting forward the case for humanity's inherent goodness was going to oppose Golding's hypothesis; Bregman not only noted Golding's literary accomplishments and beliefs, but his personal life.

When I began delving into the author's life, I learned what an unhappy individual he'd been. An alcoholic. Prone to depression. A man who, as a teacher, once divided his pupils into gangs and encouraged them to attack each other. "I have always understood the Nazis," Golding confessed, "because I am of that sort by nature." (Humankind by Rutger Bregman, p. 24-25)

I have bolded the part about him as a teacher, because it is incredibly relevant to the original post that I commented on, which begins with a comic of a teacher locking her class in to see them 'recreate' Lord of the Flies, something which the follow up comments before mine staunchly reject as both misunderstanding the point of the book, and the fact that it took the kids in Lord of the Flies a significant amount of time without adult supervision to go 'savage'. This misreading of the text is widespread enough that when Golding won the Nobel Prize for Lord of the Flies, the Swedish Nobel committee wrote that his book 'illuminate[s] the human condition in the world of today'. Whether or not they misread it is beyond my expertise - they do at least mention the factors of the outside world neglected by many when analysing the book, but still seem to believe it says something about human nature as a whole rather than just, to quote thedarkbutbeige 'British kids being rat bastards' - but Golding quite happily took his Nobel prize on this basis. Which, in fairness, I would too. It's a fucking Nobel prize.

It was with this knowledge, and this knowledge alone, that I stated in my now very, very widely read comment that Golding 'wrote the book to be a dick', in response to the tags of the person I reblogged from. As I said, I now know that Golding did not write the book (solely) because he hated the kids he taught, but as a response to The Coral Island and the general idea that clearly the British were inherently civilsed, whilst the people they colonised and enslaved were inherently savage. So. That's the background.

The anon - or rather, the person I thought was anon - was the sole exception out of dozens of replies, who instead of telling me about The Coral Island politely decided it was time to go ALL CAPS and regurgitate points already made by thespaceshipoftheseus, and implied that the only reason that the real life Tongan castaways didn't go all Lord of the Flies was because they weren't British. Not because they weren't surrounded by violence like the boys in Lord of the Flies, or there wasn't a World War ongoing, or that they weren't the upper, upper, upper crust of a class-obsessed society like Britain - but because they weren't British. A complete inversion of the concept that Golding was trying to get across - now, instead of all of humanity being equally prone to savagery in the right conditions, it was solely nationality that determined it. As in, the British were inherently savage, but nobody else was.

I, trying for humour, made the terrible mistake of replying to them.

I won't lie, I was absolutely blown away that this was real life. What I think they were trying to do was be that Cool Tumblr Person who, after somebody's been shitty on a post, goes to their blog and sees something Damning in their about/description. In an ideal world, I imagine I'd have gone nuts or done something Unforgiveable. In what I can only call the rant that followed, they stated several times that I needed to go back to high school to get some 'proper literary analysis' skills and that the story of the Tongan castaways was completely unrelated to the point at hand which. I mean, I disagree, considering that I made the addition, but I couldn't get my head around how commenting on a post that was already rejecting the thesis that the 'point' of Lord of the Flies was that humanity was inherently savage and was, in fact, about how kids - British or otherwise - learn how to function from the adults around them, and that traumatised, terrified children aren't going to create a mini-Utopia, and put forward a real life example of how without the key additions of an ongoing world war, a colonial Empire and the subsequent mindset of thinking you are 'inherently civilised' and therefore can't do anything wrong, actually, people just want to take care of each other.

A friend has since asked me why I even have 'england' in my description. To be honest, it's a timezone thing - I talk to a lot of people online who don't share my timezone, and it generally makes me feel like if I don't reply immediately because it's 3am, they have the tools to see that I'm not in their timezone and not just ignoring them. I did consider changing it to 'british' or 'uk' after it was... 'used against me', I guess, simply because I didn't want to deal with it, but you know what. No. Not gonna do that. I am from England, and I have never hid that fact. I have a tag called 'uk politics', during Eurovision I refer to the UK's act as 'us' (even if I really, really don't want to. Because James Newman slaughtered that song and it was downright embarrassing), I regularly post stuff in my personal tag about where I live (and mostly complain about this piece of shit government). If people really think my nationality makes every point I make null and void, then they don't have to follow me or interact with my posts; tumblr is big, and I am one medium-small blog very easily passed over.

I did reply to them, trying to explain the above, but their next response really just doubled down. Because I used the word British instead of English - foolishly because the posts above mine focused on Britishness, and also because although Golding was English and taught English kids, the pro-Imperialism author of The Coral Island, R. M. Bannatyne was actually Scottish so, ding ding ding, falls into the 'British' category - they then decided that I was somehow trying to pretend I wasn't English and made all the same points, before ending with this doozy:

At this point, I knew there was nothing to be gained from replying, because if we're whipping out conditions like they're pokemon cards then there's no actual conversation anymore, and I'm not going to start mudslinging like an identity politician. They made up their mind, and I figured there could be no harm in letting them think that they 'won' by blocking them instead of replying.

Until the ask. INNATE ENGLISH SAVAGERY did, I'll admit, make me think it was them, back again. I even thought up a really good response approximately 12 hours after I replied, I was that sure. Until the second message came in, and said they were just someone who came from the post and made the same point by chance. So the saga draws to a close... for now.

It may have been them, it may not have been - the anon feature makes it impossible to be sure, but as the second message I got said, we're in a heatwave. It's too hot to argue. And I've just written a goddamn essay about a book I dislike anyway.

My pasty English ass is going to go melt. If there's Disk Horse, do not tell me. I am Done™

#emily speaks #asks #anon #lord of the flies #this is long. this is so long. why is this so long #i literally got out humankind so i could quote directly. how is this my life

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theaspiringwanderess · 3 years

Text

The West Coast Trail; A Vancouver Island Adventure Of A Lifetime

The West Coast Trail is one of the most, if not the most, iconic Canadian west coast adventure a hiker could ask for. It is a 75km test of both physical and mental endurance in one of the most stunning environmental settings you have ever seen. Not everyone that sets out for this great journey completes it, but those that do have a tale to tell for a lifetime and a forever bond with those they meet along the way.

Having completed this epic trail twice now, my approach is to blend a little bit of old and new into a (hopefully) wondrous tail that offers context, wisdom and insight to the journey, while describing the magical things you will experience and the challenges you will face. I’ve also prepared additional posts for your reading pleasure on Packing: Food/Clothes/Essentials and Booking: Reservations/Transport. So please, grab a hot cup of tea, throw on those comfy pjs and sit back and enjoy the read.

Handy References and Information Material

Every great hike starts with research, especially this one! If you haven't heard of it yet, look up the famed book Blisters and Bliss: A Trekker's Guide to the West Coast Trail by David Foster and Wayne Aitken. This awesomely 80′s comic styled guide adds a little light-hearted humour to a highly detailed account of the WCT which is revised roughly every couple years. It offers both trekking options (north to south AND south to north!) and gives you all the step by step nitty gritty deets in between including history, objects of interest, geological features and safety tips! I suggest taking it with you and read about the section ahead each night. Also, opt to keep it in a safe pack pocket, don’t put it in a plastic bag (I did this my first time and sadly lost my copy to the inescapable moisture and mold).

Check out the West Coast Trail Facebook Page! This page is not manned by Parks Canada. However, it is a great place to meet other hikers, find someone looking to ride share, ask questions and for advice, learn about recent developments and important information (washed out bridges, danger sections, wildlife sightings or concerns... even hear about annoyed hikers picking up others garbage...not kidding lol).

Oh! And there is also a Women’s West Coast Trail Page!

Parks Canada Website. Duh, right?! But you may not realize that Parks Canada has some handy info regarding what to pack (and what not to!), emergency items, wildlife warnings, necessary fees, maps, tide tables, tips and more to make your hike a happy one. Check out the Planning For WCT page here.

You'll also find online a plethora of websites, blogs and articles dedicated to WCT info, tips, advice, and more. I encourage you to read a few personal accounts to get a real life feel of what others experience. Here are some of my favourites (don’t let the names scare you!), plus a very cool and scholarly article from UofBC on the effects of colonial-style tourism in the area and on the local indigenous tribes written in 2020. Fascinating read.

Hike The WCT (website)

Walking the wild coast : territory, belonging, and tourism on the West Coast Trail (UofBC Open Collection)

Lost On The West Coast Trail

How Not To Die On The West Coast Trail

The Facts

The West Coast Trail is 75 km long. That's on the map and, best as I can figure, relatively "as the crow flies". It does not account for the extra steps, the ladders, the climbing, the crawling, the descending, etc, you get the picture. Both times I've gone my fitbit has read almost double or more the distance in 'real ground covered'. For example, when they say its 5km from the Gordon River Trail Head to Thrasher Cove, my fitbit in both cases recorded over 12 km when all was said and done. When they tell you it takes on average 5-6 hours to do that stretch, and you're only covering 1km or less an hour, this is why. You will chuckle in the orientation, as many have, and think, "ya, if you're a SNAIL!", but you will soon realize it’s about the terrain and that you're essentially doing double or more the physical effort to cross it. The same is true for nearly all the trail, even the "easy parts".

Safety First - the majority of accidents and injuries occur in the first 13 kms on the south side of the trail, from Gordon River at km 75, to Camper Bay at km 62. The trail accommodates just over 7500 people a year. Of that, Parks Canada evacuates roughly 80-100 injured persons annually and Nitinaht villagers have claimed to ferry out 100-200 additional hikers off the trail as well, due to injury, misery, etc. It won’t be a bear or cougar that takes you out, it’ll be the wilderness itself. A fall from a wet log or slimy stone is the most common culprit, and it may not even be the fall itself, but what you land on. Sharp rocks, jabbing sticks, etc all cause serious injury. And it always happens when you're TIRED. Don't push yourself. Take a break, have a snack, don't go farther in a day than your body can handle. Better to be a day late than waiting 24 hrs in the bush with no morphine and a broken leg for a boat ride that surely will be agonizing. Just sayin' here...

The WCT historically was maintained for shipwrecked mariners. Many have lost their lives along this trail. I don’t understand how it doesn’t have its own ghost story yet! It has an amazing history with lots of ship wreckage to see along the way if you time the tides right.

Lastly, the temperate rainforest that engulfs the WCT is not only stunning but globally very rare, encompassing less than 1% of ecosystems across the earth. Here you will see plants, trees and animals that may not exist anywhere else on our planet. The Sitka Spruce for example is among not only the tallest trees in the world, but also the oldest, some 700-1000 years old. This means they have seen North America as it was before European Settlers touched it. They are revered by many and highly sought after by loggers, which often leads to conflicts. Many extremely unique animals also reside in the WCT, like the islands' black bears which are actually larger than mainland black bears with massive skulls and only one unique colour phase. The island is also home to cougars, Victoria's famous mini-deer and sea-wolves, the only wolves in the world that have adapted to life on a coastline, they call the Pacific Coast home. With a completely unique diet of seafood they are genetically different from mainland wolves and have also been known to swim in the ocean for many kilometers.

My West Coast Trail Story

Now, before we begin, I'll preface this by saying, don't mistake me for a pro; I am simply someone who has made it off the WCT twice [relatively] safely and lived to share my tale. If you are looking for expert advice I'd say check out the Parks Canada website or the Blisters and Bliss book. But if you are looking for a heartwarming and informative, real life account of the experience, you've come to a great place.

I am now amongst a lucky few that have had the enormous privilege to have hiked the West Coast Trail not only once, but twice in my lifetime thus far. I say thus far because this trail has such a special place in my heart I expect at some point I will likely attempt it again. It changed my life and has had an everlasting impact on the lives of those around me. I learned a lot about myself and even more about those closest to me. What I am capable of, the importance of preparation and planning, the bonds you create with people you meet along the way and the love of those that support you going and take care of things while you're gone. I simply couldn’t have done this without the support of my amazing husband, friends, parents and sister and my wonderful sister in law whom we stayed with this time. But most importantly I missed the encouragement and support of my mother-in-law who lived on the island and sadly has passed since my first trip. She and her friends played such an instrumental role in my first journey with my sister, buying us foods, housing us, driving us, and just overall being so excited to see us off, I truly missed her this time but I know she was there with me in spirit.

In this way the West Coast Trail is a life-shaping experience like no other. You will learn much about yourself, be in awe and hopefully inspired by the incredible natural world around you and you will meet fellow Canadians and global trotters and, in turn, become a part of their WCT story. Let me be amongst the first to congratulate you on this epic endeavor and wish you the happiest, and safest, of journeys and hopefully I can send you off a bit more well prepared for the adventure.

First Timers VS Second Timers

My experience as a first time WCT hiker was extremely different from my second expedition in every way possible.

The first time I hiked the WCT I went with my youngest sister Jenna. We had both hiked and camped before but this was a new experience and everything was raw, a bit scary, amazing and beautiful all at once. I think it just hit us both like a ton of bricks when we landed at the base of that first ladder across the Gordon River. Although Sharon had talked to me for months, mentally preparing me for the hike, when Jenna and I both looked up at the rest of our start group scaling that first beast, looming up from the small beach landing, I know we both had the exact same thought, like, "oh shit, this is for real...".

Why the WCT? Sharon, my good friend and co-worker, had previously attempted it before turning me onto it. Due to an unfortunate incident with her hiking companion, they had to turn in the towel. She has since rocked it twice more and was an absolute wealth of information, support and the wisdom that only an experienced female hiker, mom and athlete can be. Much of what I am sharing with you today began with her. She continues to inspire me every day with her ferocity and determination and boundless want for adventure.

At the time of my first hike in 2016, my mother-in-law lived on Vancouver Island and she and her best friend Jill had kindly arranged for us to stay at another friend's cottage just outside Port Alberni. The friend and her husband fed us well and the beauty of the setting was unimaginable. But the anticipation of what lay ahead weighed heavily on both Jenna and I and neither of us barely slept a wink. The next morning we had our last hot shower and flush toilet experience for the next 7 days and the 4 of us set out for the Gordon River Trail Head.

We piled into Jill’s car the following morning. The ride was long, on gravel switch back logging roads, but the supportive company made the nervous anticipation bearable. I feel like I did not appreciate the ride as much as I should have at the time, but a few 5 am bus rides (and much experience) later, I certainly cherish the thought my mother-in-law and Jill had put into making the beginning special for us both.

Since then, I've booked my island hike transports with the West Coast Trail Express bus. The folks there are super helpful and the experience has always been a good one. In 2018, a WCT facebook group was created which has made connecting with others looking for ride shares and doing the trail much easier AND more informative! You can read about this page and other research options at the top of this post if you missed them ;)

When 2016 saw Jenna and I land at Gordon River's Information Station, I was greeted with an amazing surprise... Sharon and Jackie (another friend) had pre-purchased for me a WCT t-shirt. I cried, there were no words. When 2021 saw Krista and I land at Gordon River's Information Station, I was greeted with a sense of the familiarity of the adventure and vicariously enjoyed the wonder of someone else now experiencing the trail for the first time... READY?!.. and INHALE... can you smell it..? the Adventure?! It's like greeting an old friend again, for the first time.

It's Like Those Choose Your Own Adventure Books, Where You Pick Your Ending...

Remember those..? Maybe..? When Starting the WCT, you can plan to start at either entry point, Gordon River to the south or Pacheena Bay to the north, or now even halfway at Nitinaht. There are advantages to all, so it just depends what is most appealing to you. Most people do the trail within a 6-8 day time frame. This gives a good balance of time vs pack weight. I always try to plan for an extra emergency day, just in case. Things happen here... Long stays requires more provisions and a heavier pack. Shorter stays (in my personal opinion) are extremely challenging, unless you have done the trail before, are very skilled in lightweight packing and are an expert hiker. I still wouldn't recommend it. Plus, if you're going that fast, you're rushing by so much, what's the point? If you've paid and taken the time to be here, enjoy it! That being said, when Jenna and I did the trail we were treated to watching marathoner and athlete Jen Segger run it in one day. ONE DAY. She currently holds the women's record for WCT completion at 13 hrs 44mins (as posted here on her page under 2016). Of course she had no pack and support runners with her and a camera crew. But as she ran by us I think both our jaws dropped. It was like watching Super Woman run by you and you were just lucky if her sweat spayed you as she passed by.

When you start out, keep in mind your pack is at it's heaviest. Starting at Pacheena Bay entry point means you'll be hiking the easiest parts of the trail first. You'll make excellent time here and cover the most distance over the shortest number of days. Although all areas of the trail offer exquisite and unique beauty, in my opinion the north end is the most magical. Maybe because by the time I reach it Im half delirious and most certainly exhausted so the easier hike is a much welcome break. Both times I've hiked the WCT I have opted to start at the southern trail head point known as Gordon River.

Starting at Gordon River means that you get through the most difficult terrain right at the beginning, when you're freshest, well rested and eager to set out. You also have the added benefit of anticipating the terrain getting easier (rather than harder). To me, this is the most logical approach and why I prefer this route and honestly, there is just something that seems slightly disillusioning about expecting something to get harder along the way. When Jenna and I first made it up that initial ladder we came across several groups finishing their hike. One in particular stuck out, a group of three female friends. We passed the first two who were happy and chatting and weirdly gave us a (mild) warning to disregard their companion, who was somewhere behind them. Ok... sure, we thought. Then along came the third girl... muttering, swearing under her breath, we contemplated what she might do to her companions if she caught up to them and we joked about how that likely was the end of that friendship. 2016 was a much busier year, pre-covid and all, and we met so many more people, Canadians, Germans, Chinese and Auzzies!

2021 though is the year of the Canadians! If you happen to head out on the WCT this year, although you will still experience a wide range of people (Canada is an extraordinarily diverse nation!), rest assured most currently reside within Canada. Hello Homies! It was, however, a much more muted WCT experience than my past one. Although the Parks staff assured me they have had lots of people come through (I asked!), and the online bookings are sold out, it seemed so much quieter day to day. At the time Krista and I arrived, Parks staff were still only doing outdoor basic debriefing, prior to which we were expected to watch an online information video covering the basics. This was in stark contrast to the very in depth orientation Jenna and I had to attend back in 2016.

Fellow Canadians, Tsk Tsk...

The biggest difference I noticed that could be as a result of the minimized debrief is the amount of garbage. There is NO garbage removal on the trail. Parks staff DO NOT haul garbage out (its a remote wilderness, do you really expect garbage men??). The WCT is accessible by foot (as in, you hike in... for 75 km) OR by boat, the latter being weather and safety dependant in extreme occasions (ie emergency evacuation). At each campsite we stayed, hikers THIS year (the trail was closed 2020) have left copious amounts of garbage. It’s in the bear bins, on the trail, the beach, in the outhouses... it’s EVERYWHERE. The worst by far was Camper Bay with stinking tuna cans and bags in every bear bin and Cribbs Creek, where the garbage pile extended to a massive bottle collection BEHIND the bear bin.

Why do sites have bear bins in the first place? Because human food and waste smells amazing to BEARS! So we lock it away to keep it, and us, safe. This does not mean a bear can’t smell it, it just means they can’t access it. Now, what happens when food rots and gets stinkier...? Of course it's more enticing. This draws bears, and other animals, to the campsite, which puts your safety, and the safety of each camper, at risk. I have to give Krista major kuudos here because that girl dug in deep, cleaned someone else's mess at each site we stopped at and even hauled out other people's stinky gross trash. Please give her a round of applause for thinking about you because she deserves it. And as Canadians, seriously, we can do better right??

Da' Debrief

Apologies, now that’s out, let's get on. During our debrief we learned some important key points.

2021 has seen unprecedented amounts of animal sightings and encounters. Primarily bear and cougar. There has also been more daytime sightings of wolves, which is considered extremely rare. With the trail closed in 2020, lack of human presence has caused a larger wildlife presence. Be aware, practice safety, travel in groups. Groups are also being asked to accommodate single hikers to reduce risk.

There is a lot of maintenance to be done that wasn't able to be accomplished in 2020 due to the pandemic. Be prepared for washed out boardwalks, bridges and rotten boards. There is also fewer Parks staff to help with this upkeep. Luckily, local members of indigenous tribes, called the Trail Guardians, historically help in a huge way with this and you may even run into them on the trail! We saw their team arrive in their new boat leaving Walbran and at Pacheena we spoke to a Parks staff who's uncle is on the team. It's a small world here.

Following the debrief, the Parks staff escort you to the Gordon River ferry. The fellow here takes you across and plops you down on the small sandy beach, gathers up any hikers waiting for a ride back and heads off on his way. And there you are, left to stare at a huge ladder, really, the first of many.

up, Up, UP You Go!

In 2016 Jenna and I patiently waited at the end of the line to be the last two up the ladder and I tackled the climb with my 50lb pack in tow (phew!). In 2021 Krista and I were the only two standing on the beach, me revelling in my 'barely there' 38lb pack. The trail was our oyster!

The trek from Gordon River to Thrasher Cove is the most challenging and physically demanding on the trail. We left on the 11:30 ferry and finally walked into Thrashers Cove at 5pm - Yes, it DOES take that long. You actually don't see many ladders, a few here and there, but best believe you are still climbing! You scramble up rock faces, you squeeze past trees, you choose your footing extremely carefully and all the while up, up, UP you GO! Even over rocks and hard ground the trail is fairly well worn and easy to follow... most of the time. A short while in you come to the first bridge over the first creek. I have stopped here both times to fill up water bottles, but beware, the scramble back up is more difficult than it looks this year due to the fallen trees. Mountain Goat level scuttling expertise is advised! Much further along, not far from Thrashers, you'll eventually comes across the famed Donkey Engine! This year you will find it to be directly in your path, where as in 2016 I’m quite sure we looked down on it somehow from a higher elevation. Either way, it’s epic and makes for an amazing photo op! To think that thing was hauled by beast and hand up that hill still blows my mind.

Along the way we met a very nice gentleman named Wilson who had intended to hike the WCT with his son. Unfortunately, due to a graduation re-scheduling mishap his son was unable to come, but Wilson decided to soldier on. He was incredibly happy, thoughtful and polite and asked if we minded if he tagged along as we hiked. He regaled us with tails of his trails, immigration to Canada, his wife and family and much more; he was a fascinating fellow! With the wildlife warnings this year, Parks staff request that no one hike alone, if you can, allow a solo hiker to tag along so everyone can stay safe. We graciously obliged and enjoyed his company and great conversation for a couple more days until we parted ways at Nitinaht comfort camping.

Thrasher's Cove is an amazing, but small, campsite. I recall vividly in 2016 the trail down to the beach being extremely treacherous, with steep and slippery embankments and so many ladders! By comparison our 2021 descent seemed like a cake-walk. Here I was, boasting to Krista the challenge that lay before her, but when we got there it was literally a quick hop and skip down. She found anything I said after that to be hard to believe and was convinced I was totally embellishing. It really made me realize how MUCH the trail changes and what dynamic metamorphosis must have occurred in 6 years! I also realized how hard Trail Guardians and Parks staff must work to maintain all this constantly worn out infrastructure. It must a BEAST. Be warned, if you arrive to Thrashers too late in the day it will be tough finding a spot. If this happens to you, check out the south side of the beach, sometimes there's a bit more space there. Ironically, I have set up my tent in the exact same spot both times, right in front of the tiny triangle cave around the rock wall on the south side of the beach. I have claimed this spot now.

Knock, Knock, It's The Ocean!

This is also where knowing how to read your tide tables is extremely important. While camping on the beach you must pitch your tent above the high tide line. The high tide line is where you can see the sand was last wet on the beach. It's not where the water is when you arrive. Look for the wet point on the sand and keep your tent a few good feet above that. When Jenna and I first arrived at Thrashers, I was confident in my tide table reading skills; being from Alberta, I took the time to learn how to read them in advance. But, during the orientation the Park staff had warned our group that our first night was due to be the highest high tide of the year - intimidating to a couple prairie girls! And, which is also a thing if you read up on the moon cycle! (Actually there is a lot of news this year on the effects of the moon's impending orbital wobble on tides, its a fascinating read if you're interested!). So, naturally a bit cautious and overly leery of the horror stories of campers waking up to soaked tents in the middle of the night, my poor sister was worried sick. Exhausted but too afraid to sleep, I promised her I'd stay up till high tide to make sure we were safe. She soon passed out and I settled in reading my book. But the surf was loud and near, a thundering, crashing rukus with each wave and about 2 hours in my sister jolted straight up in her sleeping bag, scaring the ba-geezus outta me crying out 'IS IT HERE?! IS THE OCEAN HERE YET?! ", big-eyed I just stared, then broke out laughing; I settled her back down, reassured her we were safe, now passed the time of concern, and wiggled down into my own sack to drift off. It's still an inside joke to this day and once in a while we chuckle to each other about the time the ocean came knocking.

2021 brought me its own surprise when at 4am I awoke to an unusual scratching noise against our tent next to my head. We had wrapped our rain covers around our [empty] backpacks and snugged them up against the tent to stay dry and save space. Apparently the local otter family found them fascinating and decided to check them out on their morning stroll. An alarm clock certainly fit for the WCT.

It's A Beach Walk, Not A Cake Walk

Leaving Thrasher's Cove you have two options! You can take the beach route if you time the tides carefully OR you can take the inland route. In 2016 Jenna and I sojourned the inland route. Although the inland hike was pretty, if I'd found the trek down to Thrashers tough, the trek back up would've been classed insane. Sharon’s favourite saying is, what goes down must go up. In 2021 Krista and I timed the tide, leaving at 7:30am, to take the beach route. Although we'd planned to avoid what turned out to not be a bad climb, I'd really wanted to see the famous sea caves! The sea caves themselves were nothing short of AMAZING. There is just no other word. I was so in awe that in my mind they seem to take up almost 3 days of our trip, not just half an hour on the second day.

Although we'd planned to aim for Cullite Creek Campground day 2, we hit a major snag. As we traipsed along, well after the sea caves, we came to a rocky sea shelf that rose high out of the water. As you look up, you might catch a glimpse of some buoys, which commonly mark the beach access to the trail and campgrounds. Thinking this was our access back onto the trail, as you must go inland from here to Campers, we headed up along the higher shelf. We passed an unusual 'Danger' sign. We looked around, but could not identify anything that seemed out of the ordinary for where we were. We kept on. We came to a similar sign on the rock, but again, failed to see what was obviously dangerous. Wasps? Bear den? Surge Channel? There was no fallen bridge, no down ladder. Everything seemed ok. We reached the buoys, and Krista lifted her leg to step over a small trickle of a water... That's when it happened.

Danger on the Trail...

Before she could even complete her step, both feet flew out from beneath her and her whole body, pack and all, smashed onto the rock shelf. She began rocketing like a she was on a pro waterslide down the embankment towards a 9 foot drop into the water pool below. I had the wherewithal to shout out 'grab a rock!', and in the 3 seconds that seemed like 3 hours, I had the presence of mind to ponder how I might explain this to her mother back at home and 4 year old son if things went sideways... but with a 38lb pack on myself and being a few feet behind, there was no way I could move fast enough to do anything but yell.

Luckily, mid-slide, she managed to grab a handhold just long enough to stop and get some footing. Crisis averted, but the damage was done. Wearing shorts, she was sporting some nasty road rash on her cheek and arm, but most of the damage was buffered by the hoodie she'd had tied around her waist. She was bruised, but she was lucky.

Feeling pretty roughed up, we opted to stay at Camper Bay instead and rolled in about 1pm where we washed and treated her ailing buttocks and gave her some much needed pain meds. Along came a few more groups and we felt a bit less sheepish learning 2 of them had also had the exact same experience. Pride slightly less wounded, we made some new friends for the chatter and laid back and chilled for the afternoon. On your parks provided trail map, you will see a small note in red pointing to BA 'B' (beach access B) that warns about a dangerous slope just past the surge channels after Owen Point. It's not kidding.

If you stay at Camper Bay, it's a lovely and large campsite with lots of room for everyone. However, it has a habit of getting very windy, like all the time, and the only time it's not is when the sun goes down. If you're early enough, grab one of the sheltered tent spots in the woods/taller grass along the creek side. It also has a rep for early morning rain and fog. Something about the geography here seems to create its own micro-environment. If you walk out along the beach at low tide and cross the creek to the north, you'll see some neat tidal pools and caves in the rock wall. In the one with the small pool of water you might see a single lonely fish with the pool all to himself. I hope one day the tide washes him in friend.

Reminiscing...

Ironically, day 2 in 2016 was also the day I had a mishap of my own. Tired and worn down, toddling after Jenna across a log bridge the width of my car, I misstepped. My feet were somehow gone and in a second I found myself sitting on my ass, straddling the log instead of walking on it. I peered down into the 6 foot drop below. Completely in disbelief I suddenly realized Jenna was yelling at me "Are you OK?!" ... Yes! I was! I was ok. Nothing was broken, hurt or otherwise. But it was a wake up call. If you are tired, take a break, don't push on or try to keep up with someone faster. Only hike as fast as your slowest hiker and be patient. Take a breath and remember, the goal is no one dies out here... hopefully.

Gone Are The Days Of Legendary Mud And Tilting Ladders That Make You Poop ... Just A Little

The few days that followed are a bit of a blur. There's so much to see and so little blog space to include it all! We left Campers Bay on a foggy, rain mist morning at about 10am. Since we had to take the inland trail there was no worry about racing the tide on this stretch. We chatted with the couple we met the night before (Mat and Lauren from Calgary!). Everyone was a bit tired that morning.

Although we saw some mud, with a historic heat wave just prior to our trip in 2021, the legendary mud pits that the WCT has typically been known for were non-existent. In 2016 Jenna and I spent most of our inland trail time figuring out how to cross mud-holes, watching where each other stepped and trying not to fall in up to our armpits (I kid you not). This time, there was no mud and if you disagree with me, go again after it rains. I dare you.

This is also the section where we saw the most ladders, most notably through Cullite Creek, which was sadly such a trickle there was no need for the cable car, we just rock hopped across (with ease). We saw some really cool art done along the trail by the Guardians in the new bridge and log cuttings, some even signed their names! Have you tried making a curve with a chainsaw? I was impressed.

This section also has a neat and unique stretch of boardwalk that goes through a fragile wetland. Sections of the boardwalk were out, it looks easy, don't let it fool you!

A brand-spank'in new suspension bridge calls Logan Creek home! In 2016 Jenna and I had to climb a harrowing series of crazy, half-tilted ladders to get to the bridge. I recall my favourite as being the third ladder in a tower, that was so amazingly on a 10 degree angle sideways, and scaling it with my 50lb backpack. It was all I could do not to roll off and meet a perilous end at the bottom of the gully. Today the beautiful new bridge almost disappointed with the ease it took to cross it. NO more ladder climbing, you just walk up the stairs and off you go!

We arrived in Walbran Campsite at 5:30, the creek is perfect for swimming if it’s warm enough. Several groups had a run-in here with a couple breaking the fire ban policy. People on the WCT take this seriously, keep in mind if you start a forest fire here, there’s no where to go and it puts the homes of indigenous peoples at severe risk too. We all simmered, had a tasty meal, chatted with our travel companions, explored the beach a bit and turned in for the night, thoroughly exhausted.

We spent the next two days going from Walbran Campsite to Cribbs and then to Tsuisiat Falls. Due to a problematic and confrontational cougar in 2021 there is no camping permitted along the trail between kilometer 34 to 38. So, naturally, your last stop prior to Nitinaht Narrows is Cribbs Creek.

The Stretch from Walbran to Cribbs is basically all beach walk. The beach is lovely, but don’t let 'beach walk' fool you. It’s just as challenging to walk in sand as it is through forest... and you thought it was going to be easier, didn’t you?! It's like walking through snow without snowshoes and being 30lbs heavier...what a Canadian thought. But! Fear Not! along this stretch is also the famed Chez Moniques burger stop and the Carmanah Lighthouse! The lighthouses are closed to the public this year due to covid, but it’s still a sight to behold as it beams brightly through the fog.

The Legend That Is Chez Moniques

In 2016 Jenna and I made a critical, but common, food planning error. We packed meals based on what we felt was healthy and would give us energy, without accounting for taste. In other words, we packed a lot of dry lentil-based meals that tasted awful and took forever to cook and I couldn't have forced down my throat if you had paid me. I love beans, but dried lentils on the trail... yech! You can read more about our cautionary tale in my food section, and if you're uncertain about foods to pack, it’s worth the read!

So, sufficed to say, that year we had the absolute pleasure of experiencing Chez Moniques in it's prime. It was incredible. Here we were, in the middle of nowhere, exhausted, starving (I was anyway lol), and run off our feet. And out of nowhere arose this mirage of a tent with burgers, fancy meals, peach ciders and more! My god it was intense. We kicked off our boots, stuffed our faces, chatted with Monique, the legend herself, and I protectively cradled the best Okanagan Cider that had ever touched my lips while we waited for the tide to recede. It was magical.

Sadly, between 2017-2018 both Monique and her husband tragically passed away. It was a blow felt around the world by all those who had passed through their doors and experienced their generosity. There is a lovely documentary attributed to their memory here. Today, in 2021, following a devastating 2020 with no business, Monique & Peter's grand-daughter, Katrina Knighton is trying to carry on the dream though the restaurant will be renamed as Nytom. We heard lots of chatter and some hikers did actually see her in person, but unfortunately there are some struggles, including keeping up supply levels, which they are walking in for 1.5 hours (!). We missed them this year, as did many hikers, and I was so sad Krista would not experience it. But! They are rumoured to have services most often morning and around 5pm. Katrina is also very active on the WCT Facebook page, so feel free to drop her a line there for more info!

We arrived in Cribbs Creek at about 2:30pm. It was the end of our Day 4 and what a campsite it was. Lovely soft sand under your toes and beautiful beach. There is nothing here for swimming but we had the most amazing sunset view on the rock shelf that night. Although it didn't rain while we were on the trail, this was the first time we'd seen the sun since we left Victoria.

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The Magical Beauty Of Nitinaht And The Crab Shack Of Your Dreams

We left Cribbs Creek about 9am and stuck to mostly inland trail. Other hikers going the opposite way had warned it was very overgrown but we honestly had no problems with it; it was a little underused, but keep in mind they hadn't seen the south side yet. We made excellent time and arrived in Nitinaht Narrows at 1:09pm. The journey is absolutely stunning. There is a new bridge over the creek at Dare Beach and the forest walk is lovely. The bridge over the Cheewhat River offers great views also. You cannot take water from the river itself but after the bridge there is a freshwater stream marked by a wooden sign if you need it and soon you will come across an old Cabin. When you arrive here, turn around and see the new and amazing Ditidaht home across the river. It has changed a bit, likely with the drought, but in 2016 Jenna and I referred to this stretch as "the place that Disney films are based on". Ivy clung all the way up the trees and just as you wrapped your head around that, the trail winds it's way through a silent coniferous forest where you could almost hear a pin drop, followed by a magical wetland lake with flowering lilly pads the size of your head. But none of this compares to Nitinaht Narrows.

As you walk along the trail, just a few short minutes past the lake, the path will turn from boardwalk to dirt and as you round the bend you will suddenly walk, with no warning, right into Nitinaht! It has caught me by surprise each time. We strolled down the walkways to the dock, left our packs safely on the bench and made our way to the Crab Shack. The blue-green waters of Nitinaht Narrows is something to behold. When you peer over the side of the wharf you see schools of small fish so thick you could almost surely touch them. When I dream of paradise, I dream of here.

Nitinaht Narrows was only recently made an 'official' entry and exit point by Parks Canada in 2014, you can read more about it here. But prior to this, older community members witnessed the inception and rise of the WCT as we know it today and watched it grow. Ferrying hikers across the narrows has become a task handed down from generation to generation. Connected to the ocean, it has tides about 10 minutes apart and historically, many years ago, hikers did drown trying to swim across before getting swept out to sea, naively misjudging the calm-looking waters. About 3 kms past the narrows, the Ditidaht band offers comfort camping options to those looking to settle and day hike the trail or in need of a break from the grind. This is marked with a sign and you will see it on the trail. The crab shack itself has also recently built new cabins as well which start from roughly $100/night (houses 4 bodies and you use your own sleeping bag) and goes up to ($200 and $300) where bedding is provided. They also offer tent platforms for a modest $30/night fee.

The Nitinaht Crab Shack is owned and operated by the Edgar family. They are kind, light-hearted, hospitable and will make you the best meal you have ever had. They work extremely hard and have a great sense of humour. A family member told me the previous day they had served a group of 20 lunch all at the same time! Hippie-Doug was their ring leader that day and he manned the ferry, that took us across the narrows to complete our journey, along with a sweet old chocolate lab you will see in many a hikers' photos. If you catch him at a slow moment he might share a joke and and story with you. But don't leave until you have warmed yourself thoroughly by the wood stove, had the best meal this side of Canada and picked up some treats for the road. The ferry finishes for the day at 4:30pm and then Hippie-Doug settles in for a much deserved break, a meal, and maybe a drink, so don't be late!

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Tsu-Tsu-Tsusiat!

We left the warming comfort of the Nitinaht stove at about 3pm and headed on our way. We saw our new friend and traveling tag-along Wilson off at the Ditidaht Comfort Camping site and continued on, arriving at Tsusiat Falls by 6:30pm. You can't see the falls from the beach, but if you reach the hole in the wall at Tsusiat Point, you're just minutes away.

In 2016, the first 5 days of our hike Jenna and I had the most amazing weather. On our 5th day, after the crab shack, while the sun beamed a balmy 25+ C, we ditched our packs on a slope of sand with gentler waters between Nitinaht and Tsusiat Point and ran into the ocean up to our knees, jumping the waves and being astonished at their strength. We laid on the beach afterwards and soaked in the sun. When I think of my little sister, I often think of this carefree day and smile. Enjoy the journey as you go, or you’ll miss the best parts.

Tsusiat Falls is a popular campground. When we arrived the beach was packed. According to 2021 Parks regs, you can only stay one night here to minimize environmental impact. The beach was very different from what I remembered, but the falls were ever glorious. We threw on bathing suites and while Krista enjoyed the brief sun, I took a dip in the beckoning water.

The next morning, with Krista not feeling hot, I'd aimed to get up early and walk back to the Hole In The Wall with my Nikon DSLR camera. When we passed by the day before it was high tide and the Hole was under sea water. However, after a delay, Krista decided to come with me. We packed up, left our bags at Tsusiat and strolled back to the hole together, and a better decision it was. I’d watched a group ahead of us pass through an hour ago, but beneath their tracks you could make out a fresh set of cougar prints. Since low tide was at 10am that morning, that means the tracks were very recent and could only have been made since the water receded. Food for thought.

Darling Bears You Might Be Cute, But I Don't Want To Snuggle

The last 2 days on the WCT (or your first two, depending where you start) are the easiest to hike and where you make up the most ground. We'd intended to land at Darling River Campsite (approx km 14), which from Tsusiat (approx km 25) would make it about an 11 km day. Most of our fellow travellers whom we had become familiar with were aiming for Michigan Creek though, which would add 2 km to our 6th day, but save us that on our 7th and final day out. We decided to see what the day held and if we arrived at Darling early we might continue on. WELL.... what the day held was not entirely what we expected.

In 2016 Jenna and I walked the beach hike between Tsocowis Creek and Michigan Creek. It had started to rain the night before and by morning was a light, but steady, downpour. We donned our rain gear but by noon, and halfway through our distance, it was clear that Jenna's rain jacket was not waterproof. Though she had tested it prior to leaving, it turned out not to be up to WCT-level rain. As we continued on poor Jenna got wetter and wetter and by the time we reached Michigan, she was soaked through to the bone. Water pooled in her boots, and she shivered so hard she couldn't help me with the tent. Realizing this could get worse quickly, I popped the tent, got her changed and snugged into her sleeping bag ASAP. Then I worked on adding a tarp. When the shivering stopped we got a warm meal into her and passed our time taking turns winding up our emergency radio and trying to maintain the faint signal from a long forgotten US talk station till darkness fell. It poured the entire next day as well for a total of over 24 hours straight and our photos at the Pacheena lighthouse are in plastic emergency ponchos.

In 2021 Krista and I opted for the inland trail as we'd previously made better time this way. There is lots to see here, another Donkey Engine and a rusty old grader, and I absolutely love the Billy Goat Bridge. The trail threw us for a bit at Tsocowis Creek, there, phantom branch-offs seemed to lead off and abruptly stop. You have to go down the ladders to continue the inland trail portion (OR access the beach). However, just passed Orange Juice Creek, it was quite clear this section of trail was not well used recently... by people anyway. It was eerily dark, overgrown and passed by what looked like long lost abandoned campsites in caves along the rock wall. As we passed by we heard something stir in the dim light, knocking over an old cup, and we nervously quickened our pace. We began to see pile after pile of fresh bear scat, some so fresh that by the time we reached Darling we figured we must be just behind it. Making a lot of noise we made our way to the beach and relief washed over us as we recognized people half a km ahead... our fellow Albertans, Mat and Lauren! But when they stopped suddenly and started to back up we knew something wasn't right.

Just ahead of them on the beach was our bear. And big guy he was! They figured a lone male. They managed to scare him off and once we caught up the 4 of us made our way as a group to Michigan Creek just down the beach where we figured there was relative safety in numbers.

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Bitter Sweet Goodbyes

Our last day from Michigan to the Information Station at Pacheena was a super short one. We were the last hikers to leave Michigan at 8am and among the first ones (ironically) to reach the Parks office at 11:01am. The path is very well maintained and an easy hike. You'll also see a lot of day hikers here, many with dogs. Along the way are some cool sights you won't want to miss, so don't be too quick to rush out. The abandoned dirt bike isn't going anywhere fast anymore, but be sure to check out the sea lion rock just passed km 10. You may even hear them from the trail! Just before the sea lions you'll also pass by the Pacheena Lighthouse. Again, due to covid, you cant access the grounds but you can totally snap a quick pic! The area has so much bear activity Parks Staff joke about running 'bear daycare' here so be vigilant. Two wonderfully enthusiastic young ladies we met along the way carried an amazing tune; Im sure they must've charmed away any "would be" encounters.

In 2016 there was no km 1 sign on the trail and in 2021 there was still no km 1 sign lol. Both times I raced past km 2 and then later wished I'd taken a pic with it. You'll want it as proof! We walked the very last km along the beach, where firm sand makes for easy going. There were bear sightings of a mother and cubs here just before we arrived. We missed them, but were lucky enough to get some great foot-print photos. The very last bench you'll see on the trail is emblazoned with the word 'PARKS'. We sat here for an eternal minute and took some photos. As we strolled towards the Information station I couldn't believe it was over again so quickly.

Looking back, even after time number two, it feels more like a dream. The first time I walked off the trail in 2016 I eagerly anticipated a hot shower, was thoroughly disappointed at finding I had no quarters for to pay for one and I spent the 5 hour bus ride home starving and trying to sleep on a roller coaster. Perhaps not such a glorious end, but I realized I had achieved something few people would in their life time and of that I was SO proud of Jenna and myself. We did it.

When I arrived back at work Sharon had the most glorious little bouquet of flowers for me and she glued tiny cut out flags of all the major trail milestones to skewer sticks throughout. It brought tears to my eyes.... she told me this, "for a while, you will think to yourself, I am NEVER going back to that EVER again. And then, slowly, you will forget all the bad parts and the thought will creep in... maybe, perhaps, I might try it again... and you will find yourself looking it up once more". And she was right, I did. And I am so glad I did... I might even do it again.

#WCT #West Coast Trail #hike #hiking #nature #british columbia #travelbc #hike2021 #vancouver island

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

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Come Over (6/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.

Warnings for Chapter: ....Smut. There’s smut ahead. And this is fucking long. And I’m sorry?

Notes: It’s the penultimate chapter, guys! I can’t even believe it. I would really, really love some feedback on this one! Enjoy x

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Bucky is early the morning of Thanksgiving. The knock itself is quiet, as if he’s pulled his knuckles back too soon. Still it startles you, has your hand jumping and nearly impaling your eye with the mascara wand.

A hissed “dammit”, you set it down, double-check your eye that it hadn’t smeared, hurry to the door as that soft knock sounds again. All the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. Being his neighbor, you’ve seen him in various states of dress, but never like this.

Hunter green looks good on him, you decide. The satiny material looks about ready to give where it’s stretched across his broad chest. A flat plain of forestry you want to trace and memorize with hands and tongue. Dark charcoal dress pants wrap tightly around his thick thighs, and your mouth waters. Shiny black dress shoes cap off the outfit. Your neighbor is a tall drink of water and goddamn are you parched. Subconsciously you lick your lips.

His clearing throat jostles you, eyes snapping up to his. They’re glittering, those crystalline eyes of his that pull you in like a lighthouse beacon. The edge of his mouth is turned upward, a sure sign that you’ve been caught ogling him, too lost in the beauty of him to notice he’d done the same to you.

You cough lightly, poorly covering yourself. “You’re early. C’mon in. I’ll be done in twenty.”

His body brushes by yours as you step to the side, cocoons you in his warmth and a clean, fresh scent with a hint of spice. Eyes flutter closed, deep breath in and then out to compose yourself, give yourself the confidence to get through today without ending up a puddle on the floor. Bucky’s seated on the couch, flipping through a magazine with Tony Stark on the cover. It’s the newest issue—the first publication of the upcoming “super suit” demo and he flips right to it, already engrossed.

You duck past him back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. A few more touches to your makeup, a pair of black tights, black boots, and a light jacket, and you’re ready. Bucky turns his head when he hears your heels on the floor, eyes widening just a fraction, but you notice. You notice everything when it comes to him. He rises slowly, and it’s almost comical. Like that scene in a teen romance where the girl, in her beautiful prom dress, descends the stairs and her date is rendered speechless, jaw dropped, eyes full of adoration.

“You, uh.” Voice cracks, clears his throat, tries again. “You look really nice.”

Your smile is easy, gentle, a little bashful as your cheeks flush. “Thanks, Bucky. Shall we?”

His answering grin is just as bright, just as easy, as natural. He holds out his elbow. “We shall.”

The drive to your parents’ is spent chatting back and forth, mostly about the new projects you’re allowed to talk about. Bucky’s enthusiasm is addicting, makes it easy for you to just keep going. You almost feel badly about doing all of the talking, but the excitement on his face covers it up, and his responding questions are eager and hurried, like he can’t get them out fast enough. Conversation with Bucky is easy. He makes it easy.

You’ll come to realize later that Sharon is far from both of your minds. So far, nothing could sour this day.

Clint and your family are extremely welcoming when the two of you arrive. Clint takes your coat and purse, claps Bucky on the back and leaves you to do the introductions. Your mother raises an eyebrow, aims it at the two of you and inquires how long Bucky’s been seeing her daughter. Matching blushes creep up your necks and without thinking, you take a step sideways, put space between you because you hadn’t realized just how close you’d been standing to him.

“Mom, we’re—we’re not dating. He, uh, he has—”

“I’m her neighbor,” Bucky interjects with a charming smile. The look on your mother’s face clearly says yeah, right, but she moves the conversation along, asks Bucky about his work and gets lost in his stories about the tattoo shop.

Clint comes up behind you, where you’ve moved to the small bar in the kitchen and have poured yourself a hefty glass of wine. Judging by the sly, fleeting looks your mother sends you, you’re going to need it.

“Mom seems to be digging in the claws,” Clint murmurs, pulling from his beer. You hum around your wine glass. “She doesn’t buy the neighbor bit, does she?”

“How could you tell?” you deadpan. Despite your concern your mother will spill something she’s not meant to, you’re relieved Bucky seems to fit in with your family.

Your parents have hogged him mostly, though Clint’s stepped in here and there to help him along, but his eyes are never far from you. Every few minutes they’ll find you, sparkle under the dim kitchen lighting, before he looks away again to give your family his full attention again. Once or twice, he sends a wink that warms your body more than your wine does. Oh boy, are you in trouble.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), Sam arrives not too long after to break up the growing tension between Bucky and you. He greets Bucky excitedly, hugs him like he would a brother, offers him another beer from the fridge that Bucky accepts. The grin on Bucky’s face, the rumbling echo of his laughter, the lightness in his features all do horrible, horrible things to your belly and your heart, and you have to duck out of the room and find Laura, distract yourself, before you do something stupid.

She must see it on your face when you drop beside her on the couch in the living room. Cheeks rosy red, and not just from the wine, pupils dilated just a bit with a few tiny beads of sweat at your hairline. Laura and Clint had been together off and on since high school, until your brother manned up and proposed to her while out on their anniversary date. He’d taken her on a whale watch in Nantucket, something she’d always wanted to do. She said yes through a bout of sea sickness.

“You’ve got it bad,” she tsks, the ring on her left finger sparkling and tinkling against her wine glass. You groan.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Why’s he with that she-witch again?”

You hurry to shush her, glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re not heard. “Jesus, Laura. I don’t know why, okay? From what he’s told me they don’t even click anymore. Except...in the bedroom, which I can hear usually.”

Laura’s frown is sympathetic, both for your ears and for your heart. It doesn’t really make you feel any better, and despite how close the two of you have grown since you moved in, you still haven’t quite found it within you to tell him to break it off. Sharon’s already wary of you, though whether that’s from her rising insecurity or because you’re not hiding your feelings as well as you think you are, you’re unsure. The last thing you want is to stick your nose where it’s not wanted.

You and Laura go back and forth, straying from the taboo topic of Bucky’s relationship, until the men enter the living room. Bucky grasps a fresh glass of wine for you. You can feel Laura’s smirk from where you sit, hide your blush behind a long pull of the bitter red. Bucky sits beside you on the couch, close enough his thigh touches your knee where your leg is tucked up under you.

“Thank you,” you murmur once you’ve drained half the glass, tongue swiping over your top lip for the excess. You miss the slight dilation of his pupils, the way his chest rises with a deep inhale.

“Sure, doll.”

Your insides twist at the nickname and on the other sofa Laura smirks. Subtly, you flip her the bird and she snickers into her glass of water. Conversation buzzes between all of you, and you have to really focus on it instead of how warm Bucky is beside you. Maybe you should lay off the wine.

When your mother calls that dinner is ready, you’re the first one out of your seat. Clint makes a comment with a knowing grin.

“I’m hungry, dammit,” you snark back with a smirk. The others laugh a little, and you all find your seats.

Bucky pulls yours out for you before he takes his, a charming little side grin that sets your stomach to fluttering. You’re not sure if it’s just because the holiday has him in a good mood or if he’s purposely laying on the charm. Probably a bit of both.

He captures your attention over dinner, holds it as he converses with your family. You know your ‘heart eyes’ as Wanda would call them are on full fucking display, but it’s getting harder and harder to hide how you feel. Especially when he makes a dad joke that has your father howling with laughter. Sam nearly chokes on his beer. He clearly adores them, and it appears the sentiment is mutual.

And while your stomach feels like it’s flying, your heart suddenly takes a nosedive. The realization that he won’t be yours is heavy in your gut, icy tendrils slithering up to your throat to choke you. Pressure behind your eyes, a rising need to get away for a minute. It’s too much, knowing he isn’t yours when he damn well should be.

The chair scraping across the floor cuts through the conversation, halts it as everyone watches you in confusion. Your eyes are shiny, blurring all of their faces, so you keep your head down with a muttered “excuse me”.

A sharp, deep breath that’s almost painful once you’re locked away in the upstairs bathroom. Where you know no one will hear you as you let out a sob into your arm. For a little while it’s a gross mess of snot and tears and smudged makeup you wipe away with a tissue, only to have another black rivulet sliding down your face. The pent-up longing, confusion, and outright love comes pouring out, unable to be held back.

Nose stuffy, eyes crimson, you know you’re a mess and you’re going to have a hard time explaining it away. A rap of knuckles on the door, momentary fear that it’s Bucky coming to check on you, a rapid search for an excuse. More tissues swiped under your eyes and your best attempt at composure.

You open the door just a crack, surprised and relieved to see Sam instead of Bucky. His smile is sad, understanding, as if he knows exactly what’s in your head. You swing the door open a little wider, enough that he can get his body through to tug you into his chest. Large hands sliding up and down your back as you fight back another round of waterworks.

“This sucks, Sam,” you whisper. Eyes drift closed, squeeze, when he kisses your forehead and shushes you.

“I know, honey. You need to tell him, or don’t. Start dating, help yourself move on. Do something because I hate seeing you in pain.”

“I can’t tell him, Sam,” you murmur, stepping out of his space. You wipe your nose with your soggy tissue. “How could I put him in that position? I guess...maybe I’ll see if Wanda knows anybody…”

Sam smiles gently, tucks your chin with two fingers and nods his head towards the stairs. “C’mon. Let’s get through dinner and dessert.”

You’re nearly ready to cry again when Bucky lays worried eyes on you. You manage to choke it down, wave him off as you retake your seat. He tries to catch your eye but you avoid it, pointedly look to your other side. Your mom rests her hand on yours, a silent question. You smile faintly and nod, give the others a nod as well, and dinner resumes. It’s a little less light, less jovial, but soon Sam has everyone chortling again.

Your mood slightly improves once dinner is over and dessert begins. You’re laughing with Laura and Sam, Clint rolling his eyes because he’s the butt of the joke. Bucky’s a little quieter now, still perturbed from your earlier breakdown. You dread the car ride home, knowing he’ll ask you what it was about.

You gorge yourself on pie—apple and pumpkin because your mom is an exceptional baker. By the time the dishes are cleared from the table, you feel like you’ll have to be rolled out of the house. But then you remember who you’re riding home with and immediately volunteer to do the dishes for your parents if only to push that off a little longer.

Laura, bless her soul, doesn’t ask you about it. Instead, she asks you to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Immediately you say yes, and the following conversation is a pleasant distraction from your earlier embarrassing episode. But there are only so many dishes and eventually, your time runs out.

Bucky and you bid goodbye to your family, your parents hoping they see Bucky again (thanks for that, Mom) and Clint promising to have a guys’ night soon. You barely feel his hand on your back as the two of you walk out to the car, breaths expelling in puffs in the cold November air. Immediately you crank the heat once the car is on, turning up the radio when a soft classic rock song comes on.

Bucky doesn’t ask you until you’re about halfway home. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

It’s slow, deliberate. The chance to spill your guts, risk everything. He’s giving you the choice and you almost want to take it.

Almost.

“I’m okay,” is your reply instead. I’m fine is too much of a giveaway that you’re not. He’s quiet in the other seat, jaw muscle jumping and eyes sweeping outside the front windshield, but he nods, lets you have this because you can’t. Can’t say it, can’t cross that line with no hope of stepping back over it.

In the hallway outside your apartments, he thanks you, kisses your cheek, and it feels an awful lot like goodbye.

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hours, and thirty seven minutes have gone by since you’ve last seen Bucky. You’ve heard him, walking through his apartment, on the phone, his door opening and closing as he comes and goes.

But not once do you ever see him.

It’s obvious he’s avoiding you, and once the initial confusion and sadness fades, anger takes over. What right does he have to avoid you? You’ve done nothing wrong except maybe get your heart tangled up somewhere it shouldn’t have been, pined for someone who’s unavailable. But are those crimes really so heinous?

When the anger fades, resignation settles in. You’d been too obvious, it seems, especially near the end, so he’s backed off, given you room to sort your feelings and shove them away. But it’s easier said than done. In the time you’ve lived here, Bucky has somehow taken root inside your heart, spread himself out within it and dug his thorns in. With each beat of your heart, they pinch a little more, leave a sharp ache in their wake. He’s implanted in you, unable to be shaken, like a giant redwood towering above the others, shading and guarding. But at the same time, smothering.

Another week goes by. The demo goes well; no injuries, and aside from a minor short-circuit, it’s a success. Investors scramble for possession of the super suit. It keeps you occupied, your mind off your suddenly-absent neighbor when before he only seemed to be ever-present. Always popping out of his apartment as you were leaving or arriving. At the mailbox when you came home from work. His absence is, to your displeasure, heavily felt.

Until there’s a knock on your door one Friday evening. If a knock could be hesitant, this one surely is. It’s slow, a long beat between the first and the second. Like the knocker almost wanted to turn tail after the first but changed his or her mind.

He stands before you, arms crossed, hands tucked under them, shoulders hunched and head ducked. Looking every bit a kicked puppy. At first, you’re ready to chew him out, let him have it for ignoring you when you’re not the one at fault.

But a sniffle from the hulking man before you makes you freeze.

“Buck?” you question on a whimper. He looks up, lifts his chin away from his chest, and your heart stutters, stalls completely at the tears running down his face. “Bucky, god, what happened? Come in.”

His arm is hot where you grab onto him, tug him into your apartment. His feet are bare, as if he hadn’t had time or care to find socks, much less shoes. You know you should be angry with him, are such underneath, but it’s easy to brush it aside when he’s so obviously hurting.

He takes up half your couch when you sit him down, offer him tea to which he barely nods. It only takes a few minutes, but Bucky’s damn near sobbing again when you return with the hot mug. It burns a ring into your coffee table but it’s ignored in favor of wrapping Bucky in the blanket you keep on the back of the couch for lazy movie nights in.

He tugs it up to his nose, calms himself by taking a few deep breaths. Those oceanic eyes glimmering again with tears and it breaks your heart all over again. You’ve never seen a man look so broken, so lost.

“Bucky?” you ask, lay a hand on the blanket over his knee. His eyelids flutter as he looks over at you, eyes clearing just a bit in realization, and he seems to recoil in embarrassment. It’s visible, the wall he tries to throw up but you grasp at his hand when he reaches to rub at his face. “Bucky, what happened?”

He sniffs hard, coughs a bit to clear his throat, and mumbles, “I don’t know why I came here.”

It stings, but he continues, “You’re mad at me. You should be.”

Fingers lace between his tattooed ones, squeeze reassuringly. “Bucky, the only thing I am right now is concerned. What happened?”

“Sharon came home, uh, yesterday. We’ve been fighting more.” You don’t say anything; you’ve heard him through the walls enough recently. “She came home, apologized, we made up. She went in to take a shower this morning, left her phone on the nightstand. You know, I never realized she locks her phone now. Never even crossed my mind. Has a password and everything. Well, it, uh, it went off, and I looked at it. The preview anyways. It was a photo, from what I could see from some guy named Rob.”

You feel like your heart plummets into your stomach. You don’t need him to finish before you’re wrapping yourself around him as he begins to cry again. Your own eyes burn with suffering, with the obvious heartbreak in his voice, in his eyes.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. His hair is silk as your fingers card through it, nails scraping gently along his scalp, the back of his neck.

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot against the skin there, and you have to push aside the realization that it brings goosebumps to your arms. His massive arms wind around you, tug you closer as he lets out all of his anguish. Months of arguing, of insecurity, of pointless arguments have all come to fruition, come to a sharp, jagged head that you swear you can feel yourself. It’s all laid out for you to feast your eyes upon.

His kiss is unexpected, makes your eyes fly open and hands to tightly grasp his wrists where his cup your face. It tastes of his tears, salty-sweet, and while your heart soars and tries to relish it, your brain jumps in.

“Bucky.” It’s weak on your tongue, but you tighten your grip on his wrists and attempt to pull back.

“Please,” is his sobbing beg, cheeks shiny with new tears, “please, I need…”

To feel something, are the unspoken words, something besides this heartbreak.

You give in. You let him pull your mouth back to his, let him part your lips with his tongue. It’s heaven, kissing him, and it’s so overdue. So goddamn overdue. You whimper against his mouth, against the wet curl of his tongue, and you can feel when it shifts. The atmosphere, the kiss itself. It becomes less about curing his heartbreak and more about his desire for you.

He lifts you from the couch, whines when you wrap your legs around his waist and grind against him. Hands fisting in his hair to wrench his head back and latch your lips onto his neck. It’s exhilarating, having this mountain of a man at your control. He finds his way to your bedroom, grunts an apology when he knocks your bottom against the door frame.

You sigh when he sits at the edge of your bed, his large hands cupping your ass and pulling you into him, into the hard length of him tenting his sweatpants. It’s too much and not enough all at once, feeling the firm planes of him under you. Shuddering when he slides his hands under your shirt, you let him strip you of it. You’re braless, your bare breasts on full display for him and the heat of his gaze raises goosebumps on your arms.

Part of you wants to cover up, but the sheer awe and adoration on his face makes you bold. You scramble off his lap, stand before him and tuck your fingers into the waistband of your own sweats. They pool at your feet, and you’re naked for him. His gaze alone takes you apart, like fire as it rakes over your form.

His broad chest heaves as he lifts a hand to reach for you, but you dodge it, sink gracefully to your knees instead. Bucky’s eyes go wide and his cheeks fill with pink. Jaw muscles jump with the need to tell you, you don’t have to.

But you’ve been waiting to have Bucky, all of him, and you’d rather die than wait any longer.

He offers no resistance when you tug on his pant legs and raises his hips. They’re tossed elsewhere, and you smirk when you see he too is bare underneath. With one hand he reaches behind his head and tugs his shirt off, and dear God, you nearly want to faint.

Every inch of him is sculpted muscle, adorned beautifully with tattoos in both black and grey and in vivid color. He’s magnificent, and right now, he’s yours. The moan that pulls from his throat when you wrap your hand around him is music to your ears, a beautiful sound that sends wet heat straight to your core. You feel it between your thighs as you kneel, brace yourself on his thigh, nails scraping gently across the sensitive skin and the coarse hair there.

A small taste, a flick of your tongue along the underside of him. A strangled hiss from the man above you, who leans back on one hand, cards the other into your hair. You mouth at his length, velvet-covered hot steel, beautiful to match the rest of him. Tease him to madness with your tongue and hand. A curl of the hot muscle around his glistening tip and he tenses, falls back against the mattress.

“Fuck,” he nearly shouts as you take him in your mouth finally. Warm, wet, and soft as you sink down on him inch by agonizing inch. He peers down, almost comes on the spot when you gaze back at him, pretty pink lips stretched wide around the girth of him. He has to close his eyes as he groans, fingers clenching in your hair.

It’s torturous, the pace you set. A warm glide up and down his shaft, your free hand teasing his balls, heavy and soft in your hands. It’s maddening for you, the sounds you pull out of him cause your thighs to clench. He twitches in your mouth, heady and tangy and something you decide is just him, and you pull away. His chest deflates as he exhales, a near whine in the back of his throat.

But then you’re straddling him, leaning over to kiss him deeply. Bucky’s inked arms snake around you, his stomach muscles shifting and clenching as he sits up, rolls the two of you over. He’s solid and heavy above you, wet from you where he pokes your inner thigh. He smiles against your mouth as you gasp at the intrusion of his fingers at your core. Slides them up and down and then finally, inside, and as he moves them, a twitch of your hips. It’s a beautiful fullness, but it isn’t enough.

“Bucky,” you moan, lay your head back and let him ravage your throat, your bare breasts. His tongue swirls a nipple, blunt teeth tug at the bud until it's pert and erect. You need him. Like air in your lungs you need him. You tell him as much.

He resettles over you, withdrawing his fingers, ruts his length against you before taking himself in hand. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses in. A gasp that’s swallowed by his mouth, an echoing groan as your walls stretch to accommodate him. You’re so tight around him, he thinks he might burst.

“G-God,” he sighs, forehead pressed to yours. He bottoms out, waits, meets your eyes when they flutter open. He’s so beautiful above you, dark hair in his face, nothing but pure want and love in his eyes. You see it, know he sees it mirrored on your own face. No more hiding.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he admits as his hips pull back. You shudder at the drag of his cock. He’s nearly completely gone from you and he halts there, just the smooth tip of him inside. He slams forward, punches a cry from your throat. “So long.”

A steady pace, slow but god, is it deep. Plants his knees wide and opens your legs wide. You’re so full, it’s so much, but you beg him for more.

“Oh - Bucky, please.”

He braces his hand beside your head, the other pushing your hair out of your face as he leans on the elbow. Hands on his sides, his back, his ass, anywhere you can reach for more. Buck your hips to meet him, send him deeper. He grits his teeth when you toss your head back and moan, loud enough he’d be able to hear it next door.

“James.”

It sets something off in him, something primal. And in the back of his head he remembers how Sharon always called him James, but it has nowhere near the same effect as you calling him that. It’s heaven on your tongue and he kisses you deep, tongue and clashing teeth and he pulls your hand from his back. Laces your fingers together and presses them deep into the mattress. This is what it feels like, he knows now. Knows he’ll be ruined for anyone but you.

You’re seared on his heart, burn him from the inside out, and god, he needs you to come because he can’t hold back.

“Fuck, gotta come for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your ear, breathing harshly into the shell of it. “Shit, ‘m so close.”

“Fill me, James, oh, I need it.” Your needy whines echo in the room, the burning in your belly about ready to erupt. He growls low, thrusts his hips even harder and faster against you until you cry out, see stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you clamp down him so tightly he comes, too.

His thrusts are languid now as he fucks you both through your climaxes. His arm trembles where he still grips your hand, and he slides off you to the side, tugs you with him while he’s still buried within you. He kisses your forehead, slick with sweat, and can feel your eyelashes against his throat.

When your heartbeats slow, the sweat dries on your skin, you feel the weight of what’s just happened. It sinks like a lead weight in your heart, and you feel your throat closing up, eyes burning with your shame. Bucky shifts, feels the wobble in your chin, but you pull away from him to sit at the edge of the bed.

He’s alarmed when he hears you sniffling, a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. He panics internally, the hurt slicing through him like a blazing knife. But he reaches out to touch you, flinches back when you shove off the bed. You begin to gather your clothes, meet his glistening eyes with tears of your own.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you sob before whirling on your feet to shut yourself in the bathroom.

Bucky’s chest rattles, teeth gritting together as he bites back the emotion welling up. You’re sorry? For goddamn what?

He leaves your apartment in a noxious mix of anger, hurt, and confusion.

End

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #neighbor au #bucky barnes neighbor au #neighbor!bucky #neighbor!au #marvel fanfiction

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vee-angel · 4 years

Text

First Day of School (Part of the Sodom Virus Chronicles), part 2

Second Subject: Gym Class

Ricki had tried to meditate for the first time in an attempt to calm her nerves. She didn’t exactly know how it was done, but she knew that the likelihood of some magical deus ex machina swooping in to rescue her was close to nil. She was going to have to learn to live in this world whether she liked it or not. Besides, it’s not as if the other girls seemed like they were particularly unhappy.

She stayed away from the window, but some of the girls crawled out to meet with other girls or boys. Best she could tell, aggressively kissing one another is how girls greeted each other. While they addressed males by sort of facing them with downcast eyes for an expectant moment. Sometimes the men engaged them in conversation, some groped them, while others snapped their fingers to command the girl onto her knees or into other positions. It seemed that there were some universally understood hand-gestures that directed girls into one position or the other. Ricki tried to appreciate the opportunity to be a part of this new culture, but she couldn’t fully dismiss her anxieties as she watched Sharaje being anally hate-fucked by two guys in a row. They both used her mouth afterward.

After a few minutes, there was a tone that seemed to signal that they should make their way to the next class. Ricki had managed to make it all the way to second period with her virginity intact, but she had a feeling she may not make it to the end of the day.

Sharaje quickly retrieved a mirror and some wet-wipes from her bag to clean her anus; she angled the mirror to check that her rear-entrance was picture perfect before fixing her hair and lipstick with expert speed. She then bounded happily up to Ricki and took her hand, “Sorry for making you wait, stupid. My asshole is a really popular place for men to cum.”

The pair of them walked hand-in-hand down the hall, “Do you know where we’re going, or are you too much of a retarded fuckhole?” Sharaje asked.

Ricki wasn’t sure where they were going, she hadn’t been given much information, other than where her first class was; she was led to believe that Sharaje would get her up to speed from there. “Umm, no, the man in the front office didn’t tell me much.”

Sharaje stopped short and her expression went stern. She gave Ricki a firm, corrective slap in the face. “Ricki! I know you’re new to the outside world, but it’s never okay to blame your failures on a man! I’ve been assigned to take care of you, and if you get declared a feminist within a certain period of time, I’m going to be punished. So let’s try this again, why don’t you know what class is next?”

“Because I’m a retarded fuckhole.” Ricki spoke with the tone of a girl broken.

“Again.” Sharaje demanded.

“I’m a retarded fuckhole.” She repeated in a lackluster tone.

“Don’t act like you’re being forced, shit-lips.”

That particular insult made Ricki cringe. She knew it was a reference to her dark labia that had been mercilessly mocked by the class a few minutes before. She decided to use the hurt to speak decisively, “I’m a retarded fuckhole!” She spoke loud enough that a few other students passing by in the hall snickered at her.

“That’s a good cunt.” Sharaje said as she rubbed the side of her head as if petting an animal, which Ricki supposed was the best way women could be regarded here. Her mind latched onto something her “friend” had said. If she failed to assimilate and got sent to one of the feminist “repositories,” Sharaje would get punished? Was she only being mean to try to get Ricki accustomed to this society as quickly as possible? Because something really bad might happen to her if she failed?

Maybe the two of them really could be friends. Maybe Ricki was actually lucky in a way. After all, it seemed like Sharaje was thriving in this world, maybe she could learn how to thrive, too.

The two girls continued walking together to someplace that Sharaje either forgot to or intentionally neglected to tell her. She noticed that all of the female students and many of the male students seemed to be heading in the same direction. Eventually, they made their way out through the large double doors that opened upon what appeared to be a large athletics field. Just beyond that was a waist-high fence and then a busy street. It seemed like every girl in the school was out here.

She got lost briefly trying to figure out what was going on when Sharaje gave her a firm, yet somehow friendly slap between the legs. “Over here.” She pointed to several rows of square lockers. Ricki followed as she made her way to a particular one. “We can share mine until you get your own.” As she spoke, she hooked her fingers under the bottom of her shirt and flipped it off in one swift motion. She opened the locker, folded the garment neatly, and placed it inside.

Ricki was stunned. She knew by now that she shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it. This wasn’t a locker room or a changing room. It wasn’t a room at all! It was just rows of lockers on an exterior wall. She could see lines of cars going past just a few dozen feet away. Along with pedestrians of various ages. Some of whom stopped to watch as a few hundred teen girls all stripped publicly naked in unison.

She knew that resistance was hopeless. At least this time, she wouldn’t be the only one exposed. She began to undress and placed her shirt and bra timidly in the locker next to Sharaje’s things. Sharaje, meanwhile, had produced a small bottle of solvent from her bag and was painting it onto her butt to dissolve the glue that ensured the spreader-jeans kept her holes perpetually exposed. It was an irony that taking her pants off would actually allow more modesty in her case.

The two girls had just finished undressing when Ricki noticed a girl emerge from the double doors. She had apparently taken her time on account of the fact that she was already naked as the day she was born. She also looked strong… really strong. She had this vibe like a bad-ass lady superhero from old comic books. Except a more teen-aged version.

Her and Sharaje exchanged a grin that wasn’t entirely friendly and the new girl walked over. Sharaje spoke first, “Hey Loose Caboose, ready to tongue kiss the tightest asshole in the school?” She turned her hips to spread her ass in the muscular girl’s general direction.

“Well, I would kiss the tightest one in the school, but I’m not flexible enough to reach my own yet.” The tone suggested a friendly rivalry, but in Ricki’s mind, she had to process for a moment. Their rivalry was about who had the tighter anus?? She had a brief sinking feeling; is that what all the girls were going to be doing today? Testing how tight their buttholes were???

She’d tried to hold her tongue for fear of saying something wrong, but she had to ask this time. “Umm, excuse me, cunt?” she tried to speak to other women disrespectfully, but it still felt awkward, and she was certain it sounded as such, too. “What are you talking about? What’s happening today?”

Both girls stared at her, but thankfully Sharaje didn’t let the silence linger too long. “Oh, this is Dephile. She’s a rapist!”

“I’m not just a rapist. I’m the best rapist in the state.” Dephile declared proudly.

“Only for high school.” Sharaje shot back derisively.

“Choke on a dick, you fat slunt, I have scouts for college rape teams all over me.”

Ricki was confused. “Wait, what do you mean she’s a rapist?” The question was addressed at Sharaje.

“Wow, your stupid cult didn’t even let you watch tv?? Rape has become pretty much the biggest sport over the last, like, ten or fifteen years. Two sluts get into a ring and try to win points by penetrating each other’s holes. There’s like a different number of points for-”

Sharaje was interrupted when Dephile slammed her forcefully against the lockers and leveraged her arm against her back. “Maybe you should let an athlete explain it, soft-bodied whore.”

Dephile’s body was extraordinary, watching her exert herself to hold a struggling Sharaje in place allowed Ricki to see the smooth, defined muscles writhe beneath her skin. She continued her explanation. “A rapist wins point by violating the holes of her opponent. That can be done through penetration, like the stupid skank here said,” Dephile then demonstrated by jamming two fingers dry up Sharaje’s asshole. It was clear that she was clenching hard to resist, her body thrashed but Dephile’s strong grip kept her pinned against the lockers, the powerful fingers dry-forcing their way inside. “Or she can win points by defilement, like so.”

Dephile performed a maneuver so quickly that Ricki wouldn’t even begin to be able to describe it, but it ended with Sharaje bent back on her knees and her face clamped between Dephile’s legs. Her mouth was pressed firmly against the strong woman’s cunt as she began to piss, with impressive accuracy, straight up Sharaje’s nostrils. She began to choke and cough, but Dephile was using her smooth cunt to gag her, ensuring that there was no way to get air without sucking urine through her nose.

When she’d finally emptied her bladder onto Sharaje’s face, ensuring that a decent amount ended up in her lungs, she finally released her face from the death-grip of her thighs. She went to stand up, but Dephile apparently wasn’t done with her, yet. After a sweep of the legs, Sharaje was face down with Dephile kneeling on the small of her back. “Of course, double points are awarded any time a rapist can force a self-violation.” She demonstrated this by gripping Sharaje’s hand tightly and wrenching her arm back so that she could sodomize the girl with her own fingers.”

Finally, she released the thrashing Sharaje and took a step backward to allow her room to stand. “I have a match after school today. You cunts should come cheer for me!”

Sharaje stood and wiped the piss and snot and tears from her flawless arabian features. “Gee, thanks for explaining, Dephile.” Her words oozed with sarcasm, “Say ‘thank you,’ Ricki.”

“Umm, thank you!” Ricki said, seeming almost surprised by her own words.

It was about this time that all three girls noticed that nearly everyone else in the class had lined up near the fence of the school. By this point, Ricki was able to deduce that the purpose was to place the girls as close to the public as possible to maximize their humiliation.

A group of middle-school aged boys leaned on the fence casually a few feet away and just admired the wall of naked teen girl-flesh as they chatted amongst themselves.

There were a few women who looked old enough to be teachers standing in front of the line facing the girls. But it seemed that most of the instructors were simply athletic students. Dephile had a group a bit farther down. Once all the girls were in position, the naked girls acting as instructors prompted them all to go through a course of basic calisthenics.

Ricki was sweating and out of breath after the first few exercises. She looked around to see that she was seemingly the only one. While not all the other students had particularly athletic-looking physiques, they were apparently all unquestionably in-shape. The exercises continued. The line of naked sluts extended, flexed, bent, and twisted in enough different directions to ensure that every muscle in their bodies was lithe and supple. The others made it look easy, but Ricki was actually getting light-headed by the time they were told to go for a jog around the perimeter of the school.

Ricki was the last one of the group to make it back to her position, having spent the last ten minutes staring out over a sea of slick, jiggling asses moving progressively farther from her. It took all her strength not to collapse on the spot. She was dripping with sweat and wheezing. Sharaje and the others, she noticed, had nearly caught their breath by the time she returned, and their skin had a healthy glow of faint perspiration. Ricki thought she must be more out of shape than she realized, and hoped that there would be a break soon.

Thankfully, the next segment of class seemed to center around stretching. It was a chance to get her heart-rate under control. Although her profound lack of proficiency soon became apparent. Ricki never thought of herself as stiff, but these other girls had a level of limberness that seemed more appropriate to dancers or gymnasts. While Ricki could touch her toes, most of the other students had their large fleshy tits bulging out as they pressed their chests against their knees. When they were instructed to lay on their backs for a groin stretch, Ricki seemed to be the only girl she could see not doing a full split. Sharaje actually had her feet pressed to the ground roughly in line with her shoulders, legs spread well past a hundred-eighty degrees.

Ricki had caught her breath, but the lightheadedness still hadn’t totally faded. She did, however, have to admit that this society certainly promoted a much higher level of fitness than the Compound ever did. Maybe that’s why all the girls seemed so happy in spite of everything that was going on? She remembered reading about how stretching can stimulate happy chemicals in the brain, and these girls certainly seem to do a lot of it.

She was shaken back to attention by the P.E. teacher explaining something about testing and ranking their holes? A part of her really hoped that wouldn’t be a horrible, humiliating, degrading experience, but she expected that it probably would be.

The teacher led them all to a different section of the field. The first thing she noticed was a bunch of rectangular blocks about knee high and roughly four feet long. The second thing she noticed was the very prominent scoreboard that spanned one of the school's higher walls. On it seemed to be the name of every girl in the school. Actually, she noticed, every girl’s name was on it twice. The left section was labelled “Anal” and the right section was labelled “Vaginal.” From top to bottom had a smaller label that read “tightest” at the top and “loosest” at the bottom.

Was this really happening?? Was this school really going to test how tight her asshole and pussy were? And then post them up on a scoreboard for…. not just the whole school, but also anyone who happened to pass by?!? The thing that made her most sick to her stomach was the knowledge that if she performed as badly on this as she did on everything else, she’d almost certainly rank at the bottom. Her eyes darted to the very top of the board. The anal side had two names she knew. In first place Sharaje, just beneath her, Dephile. The vaginal scoreboard was reversed, with Dephile seeming to have the tightest cunt and Sharaje coming in second. Then she noticed Sharaje’s name again, in what appeared to be a place of honor above both lists. “Tightest hole: Sharaje’s anus” That must have been what the two of them were teasing each other about earlier. Sharaje’s taunt of “Loose Caboose” made more sense now. Ricki inwardly giggled at the immature wordplay.

Still the prospect made her feel a bit lightheaded. Each of the teachers read off a pair of names from a list, and two girls approached them. They each took their place on the wooden platforms on their hands and knees facing away from one another.

The instructor pulled a few supplies that seemed to have been stored inside the base of the platform. A peculiar rope, a bucket, and sturdy looking box. She grabbed the thin rope, it had a two-inch metal ball on each end. She roughly shoved the ball on one end into one of the girls vaginas and then did the same to the other, so that the rope hung between them, suspended by their cunts.

She then hooked the bucket over the midpoint of the rope, which was indicated by a red line. From the sturdy box, she pulled a small metal brick, about the size of a brownie and dropped it in the bucket.

As nervous as Ricki felt, she was still fascinated as she came to understand the process. A rope was held up by each girl’s hole, and weight was added to the midpoint. The first girl to release the rope was the loser. Furthermore, one could approximately rank tightness by knowing how much weight caused each girl to fail. Ricki guessed that the list of match-ups was determined by previous testing so that girls were going up against competitors of similar tightness.

“You’re gonna be at the bottom, loser.” Sharaje’s voice came from behind her, confirming her fears. The statuesque goddess followed up by grabbing Ricki’s pussy and roughly shoving a few fingers inside of her. She mockingly jerked the fingers side to side, causing a humiliatingly loud, wet noise with her genitals. A few of the girls nearby looked at her and laughed, some mocking how wet she was at the prospect of the whole school knowing that she was a used up slut with a sloppy cunt. She wasn’t actually wet at all, it seemed that Sharaje just had a certain expertise when it came to embarrassing other girls. “Yup, definitely last place,” Sharaje concluded as she used Ricki’s hair to wipe off her fingers.

Ricki tried to push her anxieties to the back of her mind and observe the bizarre challenge. Pairs of girls competed against each other to see who had the tightest cunt and asshole. Sometimes the winner would aggressively mock the girl she’d beaten, other times she’d boast and be congratulated by her friends on the victory while the loser was ignored.

Eventually she heard one of the teachers call a pair of names that prompted everyone to silence. “Dephile and Sharaje, you’re up!”

Sharaje bounded up girlishly, her perfect fake tits bouncing as she went, she faced her opponent with the typical arrogant “mean girl” smile. Dephile marched forward, her bare feet slapping the asphalt as her dense, muscular form took her place. She glared back with humorless menace.

The teacher commanded them to their places on the wooden platforms. The rest of the girls quieted down and crowded around to watch the top two girls compete. The two naked forms struck a perfect quadrupedal pose, backs arched to spread their asses; ensuring their holes were proudly displayed.

Their cunts were first to be tested. Each metal sphere was pushed into their perfect pink holes. Dephile’s puffy labia seemed to be just about the only part of her body that displayed any softness; even her artificially enhanced tits were taut.

Both girls had an expression of focused cockiness as the instructor hung the bucket from the midpoint between them. The dykey looking naked P.E. teacher didn’t waste time at the beginning; she tossed the iron blocks in as quickly as she could count them for the first twenty or so. After that she started slowing down a bit, adding one more before pausing for a count of five, then adding another. The time was to give them a chance to fail each time another weight was added. This went on for more than a minute; eventually the bucket was close to overflowing and the dyke twenty-something needed to quickly grab a second bucket that she hooked onto the rim of the first.

Ricki had to admit that she was kinda impressed. A few of the other girls had managed to get their bucket almost full before they failed, but these two were obviously way ahead of the other girls, and neither seemed like they were about the crack. Another full minute passed with the second bucket being almost half full and then it happened!

There was a loud sound of spilling iron as the bucket tumbled to the ground. “NOO!” It was the slightly butch voice of Dephile, who’d released first. Sharaje hopped to her feet and threw her hands in the air triumphantly, the rope still hanging from between her legs. After striking a victory pose for her classmates, she pulled the ball from her orifice and rubbed the cunt-juice saturated piece of metal on Dephile’s face mockingly. The muscular woman was clenching her teeth so hard it’s a wonder she didn’t crack one; Ricki could tell that it was taking everything she had not to beat Sharaje to within an inch of her life.

Ricki studied the encounter, it seemed almost as if there were unwritten social rules regarding when women could behave abusively toward one another. In this particular circumstance, Dephile needed to behave with deference. Was it because Sharaje had proven superiority? Did females in this society have complex rules of a perpetually shifting hierarchy? That seemed consistent with a lot of what she’d seen so far.

The teacher declared that they’d have a two minute rest before “testing your backdoor strength” as she put it. The sporty instructor seemed to be good-natured, and seemed to have a tattoo on her lower back that Ricki had been trying to make out. As she was re-setting some of the iron blocks from the buckets, she was finally able to make out that it said “Dyke 4 Dick” in a beautifully symmetrical script that framed her perky little ass.

There was a bit of a murmur from around Ricki. It seemed they were wondering if the rankings would be reversed this month, since Sharaje apparently had the tighter cunt for the first time. Ricki got the impression that Dephile had held that title as long as anyone remembered.

The two minutes were up and the cute lesbian whisled at the girls to resume their places while the rest of the girls watched. There had been a couple other pairs of girls being tested during their first round, but it seemed that the teachers and student-teachers respected that this was a big deal. So at the moment, all eyes were on the two naked sluts as the two-inch metal balls were shoved into their asses.

Dephile’s confidence seemed to be wavering, based on the scoreboard, her shitter had lost to Sharaje’s in the past. After all, it was the body part Sharaje was known for; hell, she was even named after her anus.

The teacher elected not to start from scratch, but simply hung the first full bucket from the mid-point in the rope. Neither girl seemed to have much of a problem. The second bucket was hooked to the rim as it had been the first time and she began counting in weights.

Both girls' assholes were tightly clenched around their respective ends of the apparatus, they seemed to have a deep sense of determination as the second bucket slowly filled up over the course of the next couple of minutes. When no more could fit in the second bucket, the dyke teacher looked back and forth between the two girls with the iron assholes. They both seemed to be showing signs of exertion, with Sharaje having a slightly greater sheen of perspiration. She waited a few moments to see if either of them would fail, but neither let go. She quickly rushed to get a third bucket, something she seemed utterly unprepared to need.

She returned and was preparing to attach the third bucket. Ricki found herself honestly rooting for Sharaje to win. She may have been a bully, but she was the closest thing Ricki had to a friend. Her heart sunk as she saw the arabian beauty’s face contort in exertion, she was reaching her limit. Then there was the loud clang of spilling metal that almost made her ears ring.

“Winner! Sharaje!” the teacher declared. Ricki looked to see Dephile with the ball having dropped out of her anus. She angrily punched the platform hard enough to draw blood on her knuckles. Sharaje sprung up from the platform, still breathing heavily from the exertion and let out this giggle-scream of triumph. She hopped over to Dephile, who had just reluctantly stood up, wound her arm back as far as it would go, and slapped the muscle-bound bitch hard across the face.

“Get ready to spend the next month kissing my asshole, you fucking loser!” Sharaje punctuated the sentence by grabbing a handful of Dephile’s hair and spitting in her face. Dephile looked broken, a combination of anger and shame washed across her face and threatened to flood out of her eyes in the form of tears. “You know, actually? You’re such an ugly jock loser that you don’t even deserve to kiss my asshole yet. I’m gonna have you beg to kiss every other girl’s asshole and tell them how much better they are then yours. Then, maybe when you’ve had some practice I’ll allow you the honor of pressing your lips against my perfect, superior hole.”

Sharaje seemed absolutely prepared to spend the remainder of the class period publicly humiliating Dephile, but the teacher stepped in and dismissed them back to their places so that the rest of the students could be tested.

For a moment, Ricki almost forgot that she would eventually have to be subjected to this same violation and humiliation. But she noticed a pit in the bottom of her stomach and her knees felt weak. She also became distinctly aware of the fact that the dizziness she experienced after the jog still hadn’t subsided. She wasn’t sure if she was really just that out of shape or if the stress of the day was really having that much of an impact. She elected to try to put her worries out of her mind and just focus on her breathing for a little while in the hopes that she’d be in better shape by the time her name was called.

She wasn’t.

Her heart was racing even before the dyke teacher called her name. It’s just nerves, she told herself, everyone else here is doing this and they’re all fine. This is normal here, it’ll just take some getting used to.

Ricki’s knees almost buckled when she took a step forward, but she managed to catch herself. She was paired off against the asian girl who was dressed like a slutty anime character in first period; the outfit was gone, but the hair and make-up still made her memorable.

After a few tries, Ricky managed to climb up onto the platform and assume the position. Though she nearly fell when she lifted a hand to wipe some of the sweat from her face. I’m still sweating? She didn’t feel hot, in fact the air on her naked skin was beginning to give her a bit of a chill.

She felt the metal ball pressing into her vagina, it took a bit of force for the teacher to get it in. After all, Ricki had never had anything bigger than her fingers inside herself, so maybe that’d work to her advantage, she thought. The metal ball wasn’t particularly big, but it’s bulk was still enough to cause a bit of pain when it was forced in. The teacher behind her hooked the bucket onto the midpoint of the rope, and Ricki immediately felt the cold metal mass withdraw from her and hit the ground.

There was a smattering of laughter from the other girls. “She’s so loose, she couldn’t even hold the empty bucket!!!” One of the girls shouted. Ricki turned her head to see who spoke but all she could see was a blurry mass of pink and brown flesh.

She felt the teacher’s hand gently on her bare shoulder, “I know this is your first time, fuckpet, but you need to clench a little bit at the beginning and then go harder as I add the weights, okay? Do you understand?” She sounded legitimately kind and encouraging.

“I understand. I… I’ll try better,” Ricki replied. She sensed the teacher moving behind her again, and felt the cold metal once again penetrate her. It fell out again almost immediately. She heard the other students taunting her again but they were starting to sound really distant. Her dizziness was getting worse by the second. She had a vague sense of the teacher at her side speaking to her again, but there was an encroaching blackness at the edges of her vision.

This wasn’t just nerves, something was wrong. Ricki was feeling really bad. She decided to try saying something to the teacher. She took a deep breath and as she tried to speak, everything went black…

#sodomvirus

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cha-melodius · 4 years

Text

The Definition of Madness Chapter 6

Whumptober No. 27: Power Outage

Fandom: The Man from UNCLE (2015)

Pairings: Napoleon Solo/Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo & Illya Kuryakin & Gaby Teller

Summary: They say the definition of madness is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.

Or, Illya gets stuck in a very whumpy time loop.

Ao3 Link

Ahhh I’m late on this one, but it’s double length, so hoepfully that makes up for it.

*****

Previous Chapter

Illya does not immediately act on his newfound knowledge. It’s both difficult and easy to convince himself to focus on the mission, because although he really wants nothing more than to take a break—he’s been running this op for nearly a month at this point, after all—and take some time to think about whatever this thing is between him and Napoelon, he knows the best way to do that is to end this. Taking ‘rest days’ at the safehouse only goes so far when they’re guaranteed to always end in disaster. Most of the loops still feature one or both of his partners’ deaths, and it never gets any easier to deal with.

So he tries to push the feelings back out of his mind and focus on what he needs to do instead of what he wants. What he needs to be doing is learning more about their targets and trying to come up with some way of finally ending all of this. After all, he is still far behind his adversary in the number of loops he’s had to figure this out. As far as he knows, there are at least twenty more traps they haven’t discovered yet. He likes to think that he won’t need that many more loops to gain the upper hand, but after a few more tries, he finally realizes what he’s missing.

The mysterious man in charge said it himself: it was their team that outsmarted him so many times. Illya is good, but the team is better, and he needs his partners if he’s going to do this. Needs them to really understand the problem at hand. Which is, to put it mildly, difficult when they forget everything each reset. He hadn’t really tried to explain the situation past his first attempt, but now he knows he’s going to have to.

It takes another three loops before he hits on the right combination of uncanny knowledge, plausible explanations, and entreaties to just trust him. Even then his partners don’t look totally convinced, but they do become more willing to play along. And then, on the fourth loop, he somewhat accidentally discovers a completely unexpected and surprisingly effective way of convincing Napoleon, at the very least.

“So wait, how many loops has it been? Twenty-five?” Napoleon asks, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back against the counter in the kitchen. He’s wearing a look that’s unmistakably skeptical but also like he’s trying to be open minded, and Illya really does appreciate the effort.

Illya nods. “Approximately.”

“And we never remember anything?” “I think the fact that you are asking that question is answer enough, no?” Illya replies, arcing an eyebrow at him.

“I guess so,” Napoleon allows. He stares at Illya for a long moment, critical and considering, and Illya has a brief uncomfortable feeling that something about his bearing has changed. Honestly he would be surprised if it hadn’t, what with all he’s been through, but now suddenly it feels like Napoleon can sense exactly what it is.

“And all the loops are pretty much the same?” Napoleon asks. Illya hesistates. In his debriefs he tends to talk only about their attempts on the compound, forgoing much information on the days they’ve stayed at the safehouse. Partly because not much of what happened during them is particularly relevant to the mission, and partly because of the can of worms it threatens to open inside him if he spends too much time thinking about them. But this is the first time Napoleon has directly asked, and something in him pushes him to talk about it.

“Not entirely,” he says cagily. “We’ve stayed back here a couple of times, when my lingering injuries were too severe.”

“How did those days end?”

Illya frowns. “Poorly. The oven is somehow rigged to blow, as is the fireplace. Probably more places, too.”

Napoleon is silent again as he seems to absorb this information. “You really die at the end of every day?” “You do too, on most of them.”

Napoleon winces at that, but Illya knows he’s not thinking about his own deaths, not really. He’s putting himself in Illya’s shoes, imagining what it would be like. “I don’t know how you can take it, Peril.”

“No choice,” Illya mutters.

“Yeah, I get that, it’s just… watching you die, over and over again—” Napoleon’s words bite off as he looks at the ground, and it’s clear that the emotions he keeps so carefully guarded are threatening to escape again.

Illya takes a few steps forward, bringing him within arm’s reach of Napoleon, and it makes his partner look up at him with wide eyes. Eyes full of an emotion that Illya can quite easily read, now. Probably he shouldn’t say anything, but then again, why not? Napoleon won’t remember any of it tomorrow. Which is painful in its own way, but at least Illya knows that if things go poorly, he has another shot.

“The day the oven blew,” he says quietly, “you were dying in my arms. You said… you said you wanted to tell me something. Said you were too much of a coward to tell me before.”

“Did I?” Napoleon whispers, looking somewhat stricken. “Did I… tell you?” Illya shakes his head gently. “No. Didn’t get a chance.” “Oh. Good,” he says, breathing out a shaky sigh of relief. “I mean, not good, really, but I don’t know what I was going to say—”

“I know, Cowboy,” Illya interrupts.

He reaches forward to take Napoleon’s hand, lacing their fingers togther like he’s wanted to do for days now, and suddenly trying to suppress this just feels stupid. Napoleon’s palm is sweaty in his panic, but it doesn’t matter, because his hand is so right in Illya’s. He can’t quite stop a tiny smile from curling the corners of his mouth.

“Y–you do?” Napoleon stammers, his blue eyes wide with disbelief and fear and unmistakable hope.

Illya nods and leans forward to press his lips to Napoleon’s. It causes his partner to stiffen in surprise for a fleeting moment, but then he rapidly seems to melt, lips parting when Illya brings his other hand up to cup Napoleon’s jaw and slides his tongue along his bottom lip. With a slight tip of his head, Illya fits their mouths perfectly together, then smiles into the kiss when the movement elicits a tiny noise of pleasure from Napoleon.

The last few days Illya had, perhaps unsurprisingly, imagined various scenerios in which he’d lost his carefully maintained control and ended up kissing Napoleon during a loop, but most of them had been a desperate crush of lips as one of them was dying, tinged with blood and sorrow. Certainly none of them had been like this, gentle and unhurried, Napoleon almost trembling in his arms with the pure emotion of it.

When they eventually part Napoleon is flushed and breathing hard, and who would have believed that, of the two of them, he would be the one so flustered by this development? Illya gives his hand a small squeeze and receives one in return, and then Napoleon’s mouth splits into a wide grin.

“Is that—” he starts, breaking off with a huffed laugh. “Is that the first time we’ve… done that?” “Yes,” Illya answers as he brushes his thumb lightly over Napoleon’s cheek. “First time.” “So, uh, how did you know, if I— if I didn’t say anything that day…” Illya bites his lower lip against the smug smile he knows is fighting its way onto his face. “One loop, I was sick. Recovering from a concussion, actually, but you didn’t know that. You made me your grandmother’s soup.” “Oh,” Napoleon breathes, flushing red again. “I see. Told you all about it, then?” “Mmhm,” Illya hums.

Napoleon drops his eyes again, muttering under his breath. “Real smooth, Napoleon.”

“I’m glad you did,” Illya tells him. He nudges Napoleon’s chin up until his partner meets his eyes. “And not just because the soup was delicious.”

Napoleon laughs, then, and shakes his head lightly. “I gotta tell you, hearing that is almost more convincing than anything else you’ve said today, because there’s no way you could know about that or… or what it means. But you do. It’s insane, but somehow you do.”

“You really believe me now?” “Yeah, Peril,” Napoleons says sincerely. “I believe you.” Then his lips curl into a mischevious grin. “You know, just a suggestion for the future, but you could maybe lead with that—”

Illya cuts him off with another long, lingering kiss before he pulls back again. “You’re just saying that so you get kissed earlier in the day,” he accuses.

“So what if I am? I think I’m allowed to look out for my future self. Or is it past self? I have to say, this is all very confusing, Peril.”

Illya sighs. “Tell me about it.”

Napoleon might have a point, though.

*****

Turns out, the fastest and most convincing way to introduce the concept of his looping days to his partner is to walk into the kitchen, grab Napoleon’s hand before he burns it on the hot pan, and pull him into a vigorous kiss. Every time, Napoleon freezes in pure shock for what should be a surprisingly short amount of time before he just… goes with it, opening up and chasing Illya’s mouth with no small amount of enthusiasm. It would be almost comical, especially after the whole thing has been repeated several times, if it didn’t make Illya’s heart thunder in his chest every. damn. time.

Sure, it confuses the hell out of Napoleon, but he’s far more ready to believe that Illya is actually repeating the day when Illya knows just how to kiss him in a way that makes his toes curl (his words). By the time Gaby is awake, Napoleon is already completely in his corner, which makes convincing her a lot easier too.

And hell, it’s not a bad way to start the day, especially if you’re going to have to start the same one over and over again.

Unfortunately, that is typically where the romance starts and ends for them on any given day. That’s not to say that they don’t steal kisses during the rare quiet moments, and Gaby is pretty much guaranteed to roll her eyes and throw pebbles at them on the hike up the mountain. But the days are still packed with trying to figure out how to evade the traps and take out their targets, and if Illya sometimes feels like taking a break all he has to do is picture any one of his partners’ myriad deaths.

One morning, they’re all hunched around the map of the compound, watching as Illya adds every trap that they’ve managed to trigger so far to it, as he does every day. He talks through everything he knows, and everything they’ve tried. So far the door he’d found on his solo jaunt remains unopened; even when they’ve successfully gotten there a few times, they’ve always been ambushed before Napoleon could figure out how to open it.

“What about the power?” Gaby asks as she stares pensively down the map. “Have we tried taking it out?”

Illya shakes his head. “No. The substation is hidden somewhere else on the mountain, but I’ve never been able to investigate it.”

“You say the lock on the door has some kind of electronic component?” Napoleon asks.

“Correct.”

“Well, it might have a backup power source, but you never know,” Napoleon muses. “I think cutting the electricity should be our next move.”

It’s surprisingly not that hard to follow the electrical lines to a substation sunk into the mountainside. Which, of course, makes Illya immediately think that it is a trap, but he is surprised again. There are only two guards, and the team takes them out quickly and quietly. The real problem comes in the fact that it will take at minimum fifteen minutes to cover the ground between the substation and the main compound, which is too long. They’re going to need to have one person cut the power when the other two are already in place, so that their targets have no chance to mount a response.

They argue about the distribution of labor, but in the end there is only one option: Napoleon has to go to the compound to crack the lock on the door, and Illya needs to be there because he’s the only one who will remember anything, so that leaves Gaby to kill the power. Illya hates the idea of leaving her alone, because he’ll have no idea if she is in trouble or not, but there’s no way around it. She’ll join them as soon as she can after she does it, and he hopes that at least in some loop he’ll get some confirmation that she’s ok.

Killing the power does disable part of the door lock, but it turns out there is a combination lock underneath, and it takes four loops for Napoleon to discover each number in the combination before they’re cut down by guards.

The minute they actually step foot inside the underground facility Illya knows they are in the right place. He can practically feel it, tingling on his skin. There are cells here—this must be where he’d been held, before—and spaces that look more like medical observation rooms. They move quickly and quietly, trying to search as much of the area as they can before the guards catch up with them. When they’ve gone as far as they can they end up in a well-appointed office, and it must belong to the man in charge, but he is frustratingly not in it. Somewhat unfortunately for them, he is nearby.

Normally the guards in the compound tend to be of the shoot-first-ask-questions-later variety, which works in their favor since it means Illya doesn’t have to worry about not dying. Whenever Illya does something truly unexpected, though, something that has the potential to actually work, it seems to tip off the man in charge. And that? Is not a good thing.

Like this time, when the armed guards that bust into the room just stand there with their guns trained on Illya and Napoleon instead of firing, as if waiting for someone to give the order.

“Now this is a surprise,” the now-familiar tenor croons moments before the man walks through the door. “In my very own office, even.”

Illya and Napoleon trade glances and a silent understanding that it might be useful to get the man talking rather than starting to shoot blindly in the hopes of triggering a new loop. This is, as it turns out, their first mistake.

“I take it one of you is resetting the day,” the man says conversationally, looking at both of them critically. “Given that you made it here. I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to tell me who it is?”

“‘Fraid not,” Napoleon drawls. “Guess you’ll just have to kill us both.” The man laughs at this idea, which of course everyone knows is absurd. Killing them is the last thing he’d want to do, now that he has them cornered. He stares at them both for another moment, and Illya knows that nothing shows on either of their faces to give them away, but the man nods anyway.

“Shoot the American, and bring the Russian here,” he says dismissively.

“No!” Illya shouts involuntarily, because that is the one situation that cannot happen, but even as he does he realizes he played right into the man’s game.

So, he does the only thing he can, and starts shooting anyway.

The scuffle ends relatively quickly. Illya takes down several guards before he’s overwhelmed by the sheer number of them in the small space and they force him to his knees as they tie his hands behind his back. As luck would have it, though, Napoleon’s position nearer to the door means he manages to get a gun on the man in charge. He unfortunately does not look that perturbed by this development, but he waves a hand to signal the guards anyway. Several of them have their guns still trained on Napoleon, but at least for the moment they don’t fire. “Well, you got yourselves a standoff, if that’s what you were hoping for,” the man says. “But I don't think it’s going to work out for you.”

“You think it’s going to work out for you?” Napoleon scoffs. “Your mercenaries are just that loyal, are they? By my reckoning, I take you out and we go scot free.”

“Oh, Mr. Solo, that is an optimistic viewpoint,” the man replies, grinning cruelly. “My men will, in fact, kill you no matter what. The question is, after you die, who will be here to prevent them from giving your partner the antidote and then killing him? By my reckoning… no one. Something tells me that’s not a sacrifice you’re willing to make, even if you are dead.”

Illya can see realization flicker in Napoleon’s eyes at the truth of this assessment. Gaby won’t arrive in time, and there is no way in hell that Illya will allow the final loop to end with Napoleon’s death. There is only one possible scenerio where they both get out of this.

“Cowboy,” Illya says into the tense silence that fills the room. Napoleon doesn’t look at him, but Illya knows he’s listening all the same. “You know what you have to do.”

“Yeah, right, Peril. I don’t think so. He’s bluffing.” “He’s not.”

“Listen to your partner, Mr. Solo,” the man suggests. “Though I don’t think you will.” He pauses, and turns toward Illya, seemingly ignoring the fact there’s still a gun trained on him. “Did I ever tell you how many loops I had to get to know your little team?” Illya says nothing. He’s certainly not going to give this asshole the satisfaction.

“Fifty, at least. And if there’s one thing I know, it is that your partner would rather die than see you die. So he’s certainly never going to be able to kill you himself.”

“Cowboy,” Illya says again, steadfastly ignoring the man.

Napoleon’s jaw clenches and the muscle jumps under his skin. “He’s right,” Napoleon grits out, almost a whisper.

“He’s not.”

He gives a tiny shake of his head, moving only a fraction. “I can’t.” “You can,” Illya insists. “You have to.”

And then, suddenly, the situation becomes a lot more dire, because the guards have returned with what must be the antidote. The syringe is already full of a blue liquid, ready to inject, and the sight sends a bolt of fear through Illya. He tries to struggle out of the grip of the guards and manages to knock two of them over, but there are just too many.

“Napoleon,” Illya says with more urgency as he’s pressed back down to his knees. “Do it!”

“There has to be another way,” Napoleon protests, glancing to Illya for only a moment.

“There isn’t, you know it,” Illya tells him desperately.

The guard carrying the syringe gets closer and closer, until he’s standing over Illya. They are completely out of time.

“Napoleon!” Illya yells, but his partner’s hard gaze doesn’t waver from the man in charge. “Napoleon, SHOOT ME NOW!”

Finally, Napoleon’s eyes flicker down to Illya, and the anguish in them is unbearable. Illya doesn’t look away. He can’t. Not with what he’s asking Napoleon to do. Distantly, he can hear the man laughing, but the world seems to have narrowed down to nothing more than the two of them.

Please, Illya mouths.

In the next moment, Napoleon drops his gun to Illya, squeezes his eyes shut, and fires.

*****

Illya wakes up with a precise, circular gunshot scar exactly over his heart. It aches, and not in the way the lingering wounds usually do. He lies in bed until he hears Napoleon humming and he knows he needs to get up, but facing the day is excruciating with the memory of what happened in the previous one so fresh in his mind.

He makes it to the kitchen just in time to stop Napoleon from burning himself, and he can’t quite keep the desperation from the kiss he pulls his partner into. This time when he breaks away from the kiss he doesn’t let go of Napoleon, wraps him instead in a hug so tight that the man almost squeaks. He can feel the bewilderment in Napoleon’s rigid posture, moreso even than usual, but then his partner’s arms wrap around him, unquestioning, and he feels the ache in his heart slowly abate by small fractions.

There’s no way around telling them what happened; his partners have to know everything about the previous iterations if they’re going to stay ahead of their adversaries. Illya takes them through the power station and getting the door open, all the way up through their search of the underground facility, before he falters.

“They got the drop on us,” he forces himself to say, not looking at either of his partners. His hand goes white around the pencil as he marks out their positions and those of their opponents on the schematic of the underground level. “Managed to take me, but not you. The man in charge was here. You were nearby, with your gun on him. Bunch of guards here and here, guns on you. They were going to give me the antidote, pull me out of the loop.”

“And?” Gaby prompts, when Illya falls silent again. “Obviously they didn’t.”

Illya shakes his head and finally looks up at Napoleon, and he can tell by the uneasy look in his eyes that his partner is starting to put the pieces together. “I… I needed to die, so I told you to—”

“No,” Napoleon interrupts, shaking his head wildly. “No.”

“Cowboy, there was no other option—”

But Napoleon still doesn’t let him continue. “If I was armed, why wouldn’t I just kill the man in charge? That’s what we want, right?” “It wasn’t going to work,” Illya says, trying to keep his voice steady even as Napoleon becomes more and more agitated. “If you had shot him, the guards would have still killed you and pulled me out, and then there would be no resets. Not for us. It was the lesser of two evils.”

“Bullshit!” Napoleon yells, then turns on his heel and storms out of the house.

Illya’s shoulders sag and he leans heavily on the table as the ache in his chest returns in full force. After a moment Gaby’s small hand slides over top of his, warm and grounding.

“There was no other option,” he repeats, and his voice sounds so small and broken even to his own ears.

“I know that,” Gaby says quietly, soothingly. “And he does too, deep down. He’ll come to terms with it, he will. But right now he needs you to go to him.”

She’s right, he knows she is, as painful as the idea of talking about it is. He finds Napoleon standing on the porch of the safehouse, staring out into the forest. There is unmistakable tension in his shoulders and his hands are clenched into fists at his side. Illya steps out until he is side by side with his partner, and they stand there together, in silence, for a long moment.

“How could I do that?” Napoleon asks eventually, his tremulous voice barely more than a whisper. “I just can't see how I could possibly do it, even knowing you would ‘reset’, or whatever the fuck this is.”

“Cowboy,” Illya says, turning toward him, but Napoleon’s gaze remains fixated on the trees. “Napoleon, look at me.”

Finally, Napoleon turns, and Illya is shocked to see tears streaking his cheeks. He’s never seen Napoleon cry, not even when he was dying in the kitchen, and the sight is fairly terrifying. He reaches forward to pull Napoleon into his arms and his partner goes willingly, pressing his face into Illya’s shoulder.

“You did it for me,” Illya murmurs, holding him close. “Because I asked you to. And I shouldn’t have, I know, it’s not fair. I’m sorry, Cowboy.”

Napoleon is quiet for a long moment before he speaks again, pushing his words into Illya’s shirt. “I can’t do it again.”

Yes, you can, Illya thinks sadly, but he doesn’t say it. He knows that if it came down to it, Napoleon would pull the trigger, because he is far stronger than he thinks he is. Because he would always do anything for Illya, even the unthinkable.

“You won’t have to,” he promises instead. It’s a dangerous promise to make, but Illya also knows that he couldn’t ask Napoleon to do it again. Couldn’t take more of this pain. Illya is, in the end, the one that is not strong enough.

He presses a kiss to Napoleon’s temple and buries his face in his partner’s hair, drinking the the scent of his pomade and that thing that is uniquely him. They stand there for a long while, wrapped in each others arms, until Napoleon takes a deep breath that he exhales as a shaky sigh.

“We should go plan,” he says, his voice still muffled by Illya’s shirt.

Illya pulls back slightly and lifts a hand to cup Napoleon’s face, tipping it up toward his. “In a minute,” he murmurs, and then kisses him.

Illya never could have imagined that kissing the man he loves could make his heart ache so intensely. He can taste the sorrow in it, even more than the salt of Napoleon’s tears. Their tracks are drying on his cheeks, and Illya rubs his thumb through them, knowing for certain that this loop cannot end the way the previous one did, because he can never be the cause of these tears ever again.

Gaby is waiting for them when they finally come back inside, and she has put her time to good use. The table is near covered by explosive charges, assembled and ready to go. Illya and Napoleon blink at her in surprise.

“The way I see it,” she says without preamble, “we need the antidote, and then we need to blow the whole place, preferably with that bastard inside it. Make sure any trace of the drug is destroyed. These are for the outer walls,” she says, gesturing to one pile, “and these are for placing in the basement. I’ll kill the power, and then you have 15 minutes to get underground, get the antidote, place the charges, and get out. I’ll place the ones around the outside when I get there. Agreed?”

Illya and Napoleon look at each other, then back at Gaby, and nod. How could they not?

Next Chapter

#whumptober2020 #no.27 #power outage #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#fic #the man from uncle #tmfu #napollya #napoleon x illya #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #gaby teller #my fic

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