#i am also still frothing at the mouth about the fact that they apparently. made the Big Bad's weakness music. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeyminjoon · 3 years

Text

tgmd23

warnings: threesome (mmm), soft dom!jimin, sub!taehyung, sub!jk, voyeurism, nonsexual and sexual petplay, assisted masturbation, mutual masturbation, camming (kinda), fleshlight, vibrator, what’s the term for banter but during sex fksdjfsdkfjk, it’s yoongi’s scene today!, phone sex, also kinda skype sex

word count: 7.1k

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It’s two blocks of pure ice that wake Taehyung up that Tuesday morning. Before he’s even really coherent, he’s hissing and tucking into a ball away from the cold.

“Puppy, shh, it’s just me.”

Even as those chilled items that Tae can tentatively identify as feet tuck between his bare legs, he goes lax and accepts the body that wraps around his curled back. “Minnie,” he mumbles, and it’s so quiet that the older boy probably doesn’t hear, but his grip tightens anyway. “‘What time ‘s it?”

“Early, I’m sorry.” Jimin’s voice, unlike his thawing toes, blows warm across the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Missed you.”

A sleepy smile of bliss crosses Taehyung’s face for exactly three seconds, at which point he recalls the fact that he didn’t go to sleep alone tonight. Shooting up so quickly that his shoulder catches Jimin’s chin, Taehyung peels his eyes open to see Jungkook, awkwardly hugging a pillow to his chest with his legs crossed.

He bites his lip, avoiding their gazes. “Sorry, I, uh, don’t mean to disturb.”

“Shoot.” Jimin rubs his face blearily. “I didn’t see you there, Jungkookie. I should go-”

“No, no, stay,” Taehyung begs hurriedly, launching himself back onto the mattress and wiggling himself back into the curve of Jimin’s front. “Jungkook, um, you can come cuddle too if you want. I like being middle spoon.”

The youngest gazes back and forth at them, never resting long enough for eye contact. His indecision is palpable, but there’s a pleased glimmer too. “Is that...okay with Jimin-hyung? I don’t wanna intrude.”

Jimin’s voice is soft, his eyes slipping closed as he eases his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, arms snaking around his torso. “You can be a part of us too, Jungkookie.”

The words are perhaps more intimate than Jimin even realises, and in the vulnerable setting of a bed in the early morning hours, Jungkook’s hard swallow is audible, before he slowly puts the pillow aside and tucks his feet under the covers, slipping down. It’s not until Taehyung’s arm is his headrest and the other one provides a comforting weight low on his hips that he speaks up again. “Do you… do you mean that just for now, or… Or for good?”

“What do you think, Minnie?” Taehyung’s fingertips trace lazily over the bare skin that’s exposed by Jungkook’s shirt riding up. “Can we keep him?”

Jimin hums in affirmation. He’s just about asleep again, but Taehyung can feel his pleased smile against his shoulder. “Of course we can, puppy.”

The repeated nickname causes Taehyung’s heart to twitch just as his dick does. It’s no less endearing and special, but Jungkook is still perfectly awake and right there, and it feels a little confronting.

But Jungkook just chuckles, twisting around in Taehyung’s slack embrace to face him, eyes bright. “If you’re a puppy, what am I?”

Taehyung’s careful not to jostle Jimin. He’s begun snoring, nothing more audible than regular snuffling, but still Tae doesn’t want to disturb that rest. “What do you mean, Jungkookie?”

He scrunches his nose, thinking away. “Well, there’s Minnie and there’s puppy. I want a cute nickname too if I’m gonna be - you know - with you guys.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung begins haltingly, “Jimin calls me puppy because… God, it feels silly saying it out loud. He calls me puppy because sometimes when we’re together I go into puppyspace. You know; like petplay.”

“That’s not silly,” Jungkook says reflexively, even as his eyes widen and lips part. “What’s it like?”

“Puppyspace?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook nods eagerly, and the motion is transferred through Tae where they connect, making Jimin grunt and bury his nose deeper into the crook of his neck. “It’s so peaceful, Jungkookie. He takes care of me so I don’t have to think. I can nap and cuddle and play, without all of the stresses of life. It feels all warm and cosy, you know? I love it.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in wonder, his fingers finding their way to Taehyung’s worn black sleepshirt, fiddling with the hem. “Can I try? How do you… how do you know if you can do it?”

Behind Taehyung, Jimin lets out a half-asleep groan, his nose pressing against the taller one’s back. “Of course you can try. Let’s just sleep for now, though? I’m sure Minnie can play with both of us later.”

It’s that promise that allows Jungkook to settle, nodding with a tentative hum and shifting down so that his head can rest in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung falls back under like this, with a heartbeat thrumming against his back and soft, even breaths tickling his bared shoulder.

“Hobi?”

Hoseok pauses, frothed toothbrush clamped between his teeth. “Mmng?”

“I don’t-” you cut yourself off, clearing your throat to dislodge the thickness that distorts your voice. “Can we not tell them?”

He bends over to quickly spit out the majority of toothpaste, but when he stands upright to face you again there’s a smear on his chin. “Tell them what?”

You blink. “Last night. I just… I don’t want them to- to pity me or treat me like I’m glass or anything. I know it won’t happen again, it was just…” Shrugging hopelessly, you give up on trying to put words to it. “I don’t know.”

The dom remains silent for a few moments, lips pursed in thought. “The chicken must have been bad,” he concludes.

Bewildered, you cock your head to the side. “Huh? What chicken?”

“You and I went out for dinner at this fried chicken place, but when you got home last night it made you sick. That’s why you aren’t quite yourself today. I’ll get Yoongi-hyung to make some hangover soup.” His eyes are warm, pulling you into a comforting one-armed hug. “Just the chicken, that’s all. Yeah?”

You swallow down the swell of gratitude and instead bury yourself into his safe embrace. “Yeah. That’s all.”

To his credit, Yoongi doesn’t ask questions, pushing all his concern into his cooking. The doctor all but feeds you himself, hovering with a furrowed brow and a napkin. Strangely enough, his fussing goes a long way in cheering you up, and you let the events of yesterday wash away with the salty broth.

Hoseok hangs around for a while before going down to do some laundry, Namjoon briefly jumps in to steal a spoonful directly from the pan, eyes never leaving the novel he’s holding open with a single hand. Even Jungkook stumbles in blearily at one point, nose first, requesting an extra two bowls for Jimin and Taehyung as well.

You’re onto your second serving by the time it’s just Yoongi and you. He’s pulled up a chair beside you, cradling a coffee. “I got a text this morning, you know,” he begins gently. “I can ignore it if you’re not up to it.”

It takes you a moment to process his words, recalling Sejin’s instructions the day prior. “It’s your day, then?” He nods silently, scanning you for any reaction. You hum, spoon swirling lazily in the dregs of your breakfast. “I’m up to it,” you answer finally, “if you are.”

“Always,” Yoongi replies immediately, voice bared and soft. His hand passes over yours, squeezing briefly, before he stands up and clears the bowls from the table. “Aspirin is in the pantry if you need it, blue container.”

You give him your thanks, left alone as he disappears upstairs.

Grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water, you track down the aspirin and take out two tablets, grimacing as the bitterness sticks to your tongue. While you may not actually be sick, a headache was beginning to bloom between your brows.

So much had happened in the past few days, you almost felt like you’d gotten whiplash. The early days of lounging around the house and chasing pleasure seemed so distant. Feelings tangled things up more each day, unraveling quicker than you can get a hold on them.

It wasn’t just you, either. You saw the way the guys looked at each other, how gentle they were, how thoughtful. It was in the little things. Jungkook’s laundry pile started featuring clothes from the other maknaes; Namjoon and Hoseok always sat so close together, even when there was room on the couch; Yoongi had started giving the others bigger portions when he cooked, even as his stayed the same. And Jin…

You startle when a door opens, glass almost slipping from your hands. It’s the unfilmed room across the stairs. You frown as a tall figure slips out, swamped in a massive pink hoodie that you’d never seen in the house before. A sleeve-covered hand reaches up to rub under the hood, dark hair poking out. Your breath catches. Jin…

He moves across the hall gingerly like his body aches, hand never leaving his face as he grumbles sleepily. For a split second, your mind entertains the thought of sprinting past before he sees you, avoiding the conflict that is no doubt upon you.

But only for a split second. Because the only thing worse than being confronted by him is not seeing him at all. You wait, instead, until he rolls his shoulders back, tipping his face to the ceiling to stretch out his spine. The hood falls back, exposing a serious case of bedhead, tired eyes, and sallow skin. But it’s Jin nonetheless, beautiful despite his apparent exhaustion, and your heart breaks again for being the one to cause this.

He notices you when his head comes back down from the stretch, and were you not in such despair you may have cracked a smile at the way he jumps. “Y/n…” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

Your mouth goes dry. Even if it wasn’t you don’t know what to say, simply bracing yourself for anger.

He doesn’t stiffen his features, however, simply watching you with melancholy eyes. “You look sad,” he says weakly.

Your heart is racing a hundred beats a second at just hearing him speak to you, and it takes you that much time just to process his words, eyes pricking sharply. “I am sad,” you reply honestly, blinking the wetness away. “You look tired,” you whisper in return.

His bottom lip trembles, before flattening tightly. Instead of responding verbally, he just nods.

The two of you sit in that silence for a while. Jin’s breathing is ragged, his eyes unfocused as they slip past you. You think you might be sick with the way your stomach flips.

Finally, you can’t stand the silence. “Are you still mad at-” you begin, but your words die in your throat as you’re enveloped tightly by him, clutching you so close that your chest constricts. The tensed breath you didn’t know you were holding rushes out of you with a sob, and your arms fly up to hug him back, just as tightly.

There’s nothing more than just a simple hug, but your heart is still full, almost overwhelmed by the cathartic relief of having him close to you again, his chin resting on the crown of your head, his hands rubbing circles on your back, the gentle sway as he rocks you in the hold.

It lasts for an eternity too short, and when he pulls away you feel untethered, already pining for that contact again.

His eyes are swimming, though you see the way he tightens his jaw to hold it back. “I’m devastated,” he admits, “but I miss you too much to ice you out like this. I need time but god, I don’t want space. Can you give me time?”

You’re nodding hastily, sniffing as your nose threatens to run. “Of course, Jin. I’ll be here. I… I think I-”

“Don’t-” he interrupts sharply, sucking in a shaky breath. “Don’t let now be the first time we say it. Later,” he promises.

We. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, electricity thrumming along your nerves. You let that word settle you, repeating it in your head as Jin sends you a sad smile - but a smile nonetheless - and takes his leave, disappearing upstairs.

You decide to take a bath, in the end, letting yourself soak in the thought of “we” a little longer.

“So, what, we start barking? Chew on some sticks?”

Taehyung colours violently and Jimin sends Jungkook a sharp glare in rebuke. “Say less,” he scolds the youngest, before reaching up to run his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, breaking up the curls. “We just ease into it. Taehyung doesn’t use it for humiliation or anything like that, he just likes being taken care of. Isn’t that right, pup?”

Taehyung hums, eyes already fluttering as he leans his head into Jimin’s palm. The three of them had migrated onto Taehyung’s now-made bed after their breakfast after Jungkook once again mentioned wanting to try petplay.

Significantly larger than Jimin, Taehyung has to awkwardly shuffle down the mattress further to rest his head in Jimin’s lap, but Jungkook can immediately see the lines of stress that melt away once he does so. Jimin smooths his hand down to cup the younger’s chin, delicately stroking the soft flesh as if he were patting a sleepy dog.

“You’ll just watch for now,” Jimin instructs Jungkook without removing his gaze from Taehyung, “and if it feels right, you can join in. There are no expectations and no rules, only to respect the process and don’t disrupt Tae’s petspace. Got it?”

Jungkook swallows as Jimin chooses that point to lift his steeled gaze, brows high as he waits for Jungkook to agree. “Got it,” the youngest confirms. He gets comfy, tucking his feet under him and leaning up against the pillows.

“Such a lucky boy,” the dom begins with his voice like melted sugar. “Dogs aren’t meant to be up on the furniture. But you’ve been good lately, so I thought I’d treat you.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed. He shuffles slightly, stretching one leg out until his ankle dangles off the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t audibly respond.

Jimin chuckles fondly through his nose, hand running down to rub up and down Taehyung’s clothed tummy, which is now facing upwards. “Oh, pup,” he coos, “you must be tired after the big walk. How about we rest for a bit, and we can play later?” Instead of waiting for a response, the dom just gasps like he’s forgotten something important. “Oh! Your collar! I must’ve taken it off when I took off the leash. Never mind; Jungkook, dear, could you get me the brush and collar out of the bedside table? Bottom drawer.”

It feels like the very particles in the air shift when Jungkook is ripped away from the observer role and into an active participant. He swallows away the dryness in his throat to little avail and nods, fumbling with the drawer handle and pulling out a barely-used hairbrush and velvet dog collar. “These?” he asks redundantly, nerves settling when Jimin gives him a pleased smile and holds out his hand.

“Alright, little puppy,” Jimin announces, his voice lilting easily back into the candyfloss tone that all owners used with their pets. “Let’s give you a brush before we put your collar back on. I don’t want your coat getting matted.”

Taehyung gives a small, throaty hum and lifts himself laboriously up onto his elbows, tipping his head up to his master. Jimin pats his cheek warmly and calls him a good boy, and Jungkook gets a front row seat to the beautiful sight of a sleepy, lusty Kim Taehyung going pink in the face, a shy smile twitching his lip.

‘Brushing his coat’ is just brushing his hair, but even Jungkook can see that the technique is slightly different. Jimin does it slowly, systematically, line by line from the front to the back, then reaching around to the nape of his neck to give it a good brushing there - Taehyung all but shivers at each swoop of the brush - even folding down each ear when he goes past. Watching it is nothing short of mesmerising, and Jungkook feels his spine tingle, wanting to feel it too.

Was it too soon to join? He could always ask for the brush later, he decided. Though even as he reached that conclusion, the thought was slipping out of his mind sand through fingers, hazier and hazier the more he listened to Jimin’s lull tone and watched his patient movements.

“There we go,” the dom whispers, passing the brush over one last time to settle all the curls in their rightful place, “much better now. Chin up, pup; time for your collar.”

Taehyung’s chin lifts the minutest of degrees. Jimin waits for a moment, but the brown-haired boy looks almost like he’s falling asleep on the spot, swaying slightly as his elbows prop him up.

“Silly me,” Jimin tuts with a smile, reaching out to manually adjust Taehyung how he wants him. “Doggies can’t understand human words, can they?” Like a proud parent, he turns to Jungkook, grin widening as he sees the state the boy is in. “I am trying to teach Tae-tae some commands. Sit, lie down, wait. Suck. He’s getting better.”

With that, the dom grabs the collar off the duvet and fiddles with the buckle, undoing it so that he can wrap it carefully around Taehyung’s neck. The process reminds Jungkook much of what happened when his parents put a collar on his childhood dog: slipping a finger under the material to test how snug it was, shifting it around until the small dangling pendant was to the front, giving it a little tug to ensure the buckle was on right.

At the gentle tug, Taehyung practically topples, going lax with his face down on Jimin’s thigh and snuggling down, breaths even. Jimin doesn’t comment on it, simply humming in acknowledgement and returning to softly stroking his back and shoulders. But he does glance over to Jungkook again, eyes glinting. “Do you wanna come a little closer, hm?”

At the invitation, Jungkook almost trips himself scooting over, wrapping his arms around one of Jimin’s and holding it to his chest. Seeing the tender moment shared between Taehyung and Jimin had made him feel positively touch-starved, desperate to feel some of that sweet attention.

Jimin’s eyes widen in bemusement before twisting his hand in Jungkook’s grip and giving his stomach a little scratch. “Goodness me, little energizer bunny, huh?”

Jungkook whines, recognising that higher-pitched voice. He was being talked to like a pet, and the thought made his insides hot. He presses his face against Jimin’s shoulder, feeling the heat on his skin there too.

“No need to get all shy on me now, bun,” Jimin teases. “I’ve already seen that little friend in your pants. Well, I suppose he’s not that little.”

Jungkook tightens his arms around Jimin’s one, wanting to rock his hips up to feel some friction. He just squirms instead, hoping his need is answered. “Jimin-hyung.”

Jimin sucks in a breath. “Can this bunny speak, hm?”

Jungkook blinks, the furnace inside him cooling for a moment. “Am I not… supposed to?”

“I’m not telling you off, I’m asking,” Jimin explains softly, cocking his head down at the potentially-sleeping Taehyung in his lap. “Tae-tae likes to be non-verbal. It’s just preference. Would you rather keep speaking?”

After a moment of thought, Jungkook nods, then props his chin up, sending Jimin his best puppy eyes. “Minnie, I need you,” he pleads in a small voice, writhing against him again.

Jungkook’s fingers curl when Jimin’s hand dips lower suddenly, grasping his length from over the fabric of his sleep shorts. The pleasure is like a bolt that shocks his whole body, and when Jimin strokes him once, the texture of the fabric increasing the friction, the guttural sound that falls from his lips is more animal than human.

Jimin just smiles placidly, patting the throbbing heat once. “Does it hurt, bun? Want me to make it go away?”

Jungkook’s breath is shallow with excitement. This feels like new territory, relying fully on Jimin to relieve the ache, too helpless, too stupid to do anything about it himself, just a dumb bunny with a generous owner.

“You’re drooling, bun,” Jimin points out, voice raspy with arousal. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook feels fingers at the elastic band of his shorts before Jimin withdraws. He whines, a pout threatening to form, but the dom just runs his fingers and palm over Jungkook’s mouth and chin. Then, when his hand delves in and grips Jungkook, he’s slick with Jungkook’s own drool, the slide wet and hot and electric.

He moans, but saliva won’t stop gathering in the hollows of his mouth. It’s like it’s impossible to close it at all, every firm, purposeful stroke making it harder to do that basic function.

“Noisy boy,” Jimin scolds, though there’s no venom to his tone. “You might wake the puppy up, bun.”

With a strangled groan, Jungkook’s head flops down, his teeth banging against Jimin’s shoulder. A thought floats across his dazed mind, of pressing his teeth into skin, lovebites to colour the bronze.

But his teeth don’t sink into flesh. Fabric fills his mouth. Jimin’s shirt. His teeth don’t stop, though. On the contrary, he chews on the cotton, letting it muffle the sounds he can’t help but make.

“Oh, good boy,” Jimin praises warmly, his hand speeding up mercilessly to pitch Jungkook over the edge. There’s no foreplay, no kisses or teasing touches. His hard cock is a problem that his master is kind enough to solve, that Minnie-hyung is making go away, and he won’t stop until his bunny has finally-

When Jungkook comes, his whole body feels it like an earthquake. Every muscle jerks, pulses so that his toes curl and his core trembles, the drool soaking the fabric of Jimin’s shirt now until he feels it run down his own neck, blubbering through the waves of it.

Jimin slows down after the first burst of cum, but doesn’t stop, only tightening his grip like he’s milking every last drop out.

Once the tides of pleasure have dipped back down again, Jungkook goes boneless, whimpering until the hand finally leaves his softening, oversensitive cock.

He’s panting, all of his body weight on Jimin to stay upright, and it takes a few moments for his senses to properly return to him, his heart still beating erratically in his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

Jimin giggles elfishly, before reaching up to tap on Jungkook’s bottom lip with wet fingers. “You made such a mess, little bunny. Clean it up, now.”

Jungkook welcomes the digits, blinking blearily as the bitter tang of his own cum fills his mouth. He sucks Jimin’s fingers clean two at a time, swirling his tongue between them dutifully. It isn’t until he’s done and Jimin is praising him that he restores enough energy to sit up again.

Across from him, Jimin peels the soaking wet sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder, laughing softly in good humour even as his brows furrow at the weird feeling. Before Jungkook can offer up an apology, Jimin is stripping it off entirely, chucking it away and rubbing at his now-bared chest. “Much better,” he muses to himself. After a moment of letting Jungkook clear his head, Jimin turns to him, his dry hand returning to lazily card through Taehyung’s curls. “How was it, Jungkook?”

“Uh,” Jungkook replies eloquently, feeling the way his cock still throbs every few seconds in aftershocks. “Uh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jimin states proudly, before sending Jungkook a serious gaze. “We’ll talk later, yeah? When your dick isn’t hanging out.”

Jungkook flushes, scrambles to tuck himself away, and the movement jostles the bed enough that Taehyung groans, craning his neck up with bleary eyes and rumpled hair.

The two sitting on the bed go silent. Jimin cocks his head to the side and cups Taehyung’s cheek. “Were you- Tae-tae, did you just have a nap in the middle of the scene?”

Taehyung beams sleepily, eyes still lidded. “Mm.”

“Tae! Are you out of petspace now?”

“Think so.” With a dramatically loud cry, Taehyung reaches an arm up into a deep, arching stretch, rubbing at his eyes once he’s done. “Mm, yeah, definitely. My foot has kinda gone dead too.”

As Taehyung sits up to rub at his foot, pressing his thumbs into the muscle, Jimin’s shoulders sink. “Tae-tae,” he whines again, “you know I like playing with puppy.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung replies easily, though it doesn’t sound like he is in the slightest, “I guess I just wanted to destress more than anything. I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

Jimin’s face softens, his complaints dissolved at Taehyung’s words. Without a verbal reply, he just reaches out, hooks his finger on the neckline of Taehyung’s shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss, humming into it slightly.

The movements, the touches are so natural and intimate that Jungkook feels like he’s intruding. It only lasts a moment before they break apart to go shower, but it’s enough time to sear the sight behind Jungkook’s eyelids. Maybe he’d been allowed to join them in their scenes, even cuddle with them, but he wasn’t a part of that bond that tied Jimin and Taehyung so strongly together. The thought sinks in his stomach, and he decides to skip the shower, getting dressed instead for a long workout downstairs.

When you knock on his door, Yoongi is at his desk, a pair of black-framed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He glances up, an eyebrow lifting in mild surprise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You muffle a smile at his domestic getup - a grey t-shirt hangs off, far too big for him but outlining his chest and strong shoulders nonetheless, and his long black sweatpants all but cover his bare feet, toes tapping the carpet unconsciously as he waits for your reply. “I’ve been informed that today is your day.”

“Ah, checking in to the Fuck Hotel, I see,” he quips casually, slipping his glasses of and shutting the lid of the laptop he was working on. “We do have one vacancy.”

“Is that so?” you say, unable to stop your grin as he stands up from his office chair and rolls his head back like an athlete warming up.

“Comes with a continental breakfast,” he assures, before ducking his head with a sheepish chuckle. “God, hyung is becoming a bad influence on my sense of humour.” With slightly pink cheeks, he stretches out a hand towards you, before jerking it back and freezing, fingers curled and tensed. “Wait. Shit.”

You frown, glancing down at yourself, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“Hm. I just remembered my prompt, is all.” He takes a step back with a thoughtful furrow of his brows, clenching his hands into fists and putting them behind himself. “Dammit, I was meant to think of a game plan but I got distracted sorting out- uh- client emails.”

“Was this a bad time?” you ask with a light laugh, even as you cast a guilty glance towards the laptop. A month in and he was still doing work?

“No! No, it’s fine, it’s just…” Wincing, Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck and takes another step back, gesturing down at himself, and at the messy work desk. “I’m not in sexy mode yet. I look like a stay-at-home dad trying to work out how to order groceries online while my toddler is finally having her 2pm nap.”

You pause before an incredulous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “Okay, first of all, I think stay-at-home dads are very sexy, and I happen to think that you are very sexy. Secondly, ‘she?’ Why was that whole analogy so specific?”

Yoongi huffs defensively, petulantly throwing himself down to sit on the bed with his legs splayed wide. “I used to have a life plan, okay? But that’s not relevant now. The point is, I haven’t worked out how to do a good scene. I don’t want to it to be disappointing. Or, god forbid, boring.”

Your frown just deepens. “It doesn’t need to be an elaborate setup, Yoongi. Just fuck me. Touch me, at least. I can’t believe we’re still both wearing all our clothes when I’ve been very explicit about my intentions.”

You don’t miss the wince that flutters across his face. “That’s kinda the issue. Touching you, I mean.”

“You don’t wanna touch me?”

“I-” Yoongi all but stomps his foot, teeth clenching in frustration. “Of course I fucking want to, but I have to stick to my prompt, Y/n.”

Your mouth drops open. “So your prompt is that we can’t even touch each other? Doesn’t exactly sound very appealing for a porn show.”

He clicks his tongue. “You can still touch me,” he corrects with a dry gaze.

Unconvinced, you narrow your eyes. “Isn’t that convenient?” you question rhetorically. “Gonna make me do all the work this week because you haven’t organised it in your planner yet, Doctor Min?”

He glares at your teasing tone. “Excuse me for trying to play the game properly.” You swallow as his eyes run down your body heavily, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “If I could touch you, trust me, I’d have you dripping by now.”

Your thighs tighten, but you force them not to move. The last thing you want him to know is that you’re just about dripping already. “Sounds to me like you’re just lazy.” He doesn’t react, watching you make up your mind. You suck in a breath to hype yourself. “If I walk away right now, you’ll get nothing. Not only will you lose your prompt, but you’ll be stuck with blue balls. But if you give in and fuck me already, then you’ll only lose the prompt.”

“Who says I’ll even have blue balls? I’m perfectly comfortable,” he fires back immediately, tipping his head to the side cockily.

“Oh, please,” you drawl, letting your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge beneath his sweatpants, “you aren’t that big soft. Don’t kid yourself. So do you wanna get off, or not?”

His gaze hardens to stone, jaw flexing. “I’m surprised you think I need you for that. Aside from the fact that there are six other people in this house, I brought a fleshlight from home for a reason.”

Now that is something you hadn’t expected him to say. You freeze from your spot in the doorway, feeling heat pulse between your legs. Your spark of resistance is quickly fading, overtaken by need, so you don’t hesitate in firing back while you can. “If you think your fleshlight is better than me, then that’s your loss. Enjoy the bunkbeds; I’m off to do what you’re too cowardly to.”

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he snips, one of his hands sneaking under his shirt to rub his lower abdomen, fingers slipping below the hem of his sweats. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Feeling like you’ve lost the argument (and a little too horny to care) you have your final say by slamming it, thumping your feet with every step down the hall to your room.

Once inside, it takes mere seconds to throw yourself onto your bed back-first and shove your hand down your pants. But then, before you even dip into your wetness, a thought strikes you.

Pulling your hand out and making your way to your desk, you use your other hand to clumsily type in your password, and open a browser. It doesn’t take long to navigate to the page with all the paid streams for your own show, and with a slight flush you select Yoongi’s bedroom, impatiently punching in your credit card details.

After an agonising wait, the payment is processed and you’re brought to a private livestreaming site, a single window open in front of you.

The angle itself is strange, making Yoongi’s room look larger than it was, but you’re surprised at just how high quality the video and sound is once you bring it to full screen and slip your headphones in your ears. Yoongi is hunched over his nightstand, and you can actually hear the wooden slide faintly in the background as he opens and closes a drawer, returning to his office chair with a seemingly-transparent fleshlight and a bottle of lube.

Something about watching him through a camera in the corner of his room feels so wrong, especially as he palms impatiently at the tent in his pants, uncapping the lube and pouring a generous amount into the opening of the toy. You’d never been much of a voyeur - or, at least, so you thought - but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, blinding slipping your hands down your pants but over your underwear, simply pressing down on your clit to ease some of the crying need.

Oddly, the lube pours down and begins to drip out the other side, creating a dark patch on his clothed thigh. The audio picks up Yoongi cursing, and there’s no further preamble before he’s using one hand to hook down his sweatpants and kick them off to pool on the floor. The motion causes his cock to jerk up onto his stomach, leaving a smear of precum on his grey shirt, visible only by a few pixels of darker grey.

He scoots a little down the seat of the chair and hitches a leg up over one of the arms, eyes slipping closed as the hand not holding the dripping fleshlight grips his own cock, thumb pressing at the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans lowly, the sound running through your headphones and straight down between your legs. His brows are furrowed like it’s almost paining him, but he hovers the opening of the fleshlight over his tip as if he’s trying to hold back.

Slowly, he lowers the toy down one inch at a time, until the lube is drooling over his cock. Finally, the transparent toy slips down over his cock and his hips jump off the chair, his knuckles white on the arm of the chair and the fleshlight as he growls and lifts it back off again.

The sight of him intentionally teasing himself is too erotic for you to stay unmoving, and you find yourself burning up, losing the headphones for a moment to shuffle out of your own clothes. You hurry as much as you can, grimacing at your sopping panties, but by the time you’re back in your chair with nothing but a bra and tuning back into the stream, Yoongi’s not even focused on his toy anymore.

It sits propped up on his thigh, with two of his fingers lazily, almost absentmindedly thrusting deeply inside of it to keep it steady as the rest of him swivels in his chair to open his laptop again.

You frown and squint at the tiny screen on the stream. Rows of fuzzy squares stack up, and while you can’t be certain the phallic shapes of some of the miniscule images inside them make you think he was on a sex toy website.

He quickly opens a new tab, however, and your heart begins to beat nervously as a familiar page comes up. One you’d been on just earlier.

With bated breath you wait, hands grasping at the meat of your thighs and clothed breast to hold off on touching between your legs just yet. Yoongi navigates the Bangasm page, going through the same payment process you did.

It isn’t until you’re met with a miniature version of your own room on his screen that you realise what’s happened. And it’s when Yoongi squints and leans in closer, before turning to face the camera directly with a bewildered look, that you know you’ve been caught.

Frozen, you watch the on-screen, Yoongi look back and forth twice, before slowly scooting his chair back on an angle to the table, so that the laptop is in eyeshot even as his body is facing the camera fully.

Your mouth is dry, but the fleshlight he picks up again is wet, so wet that his fingers glisten, almost slipping off the toy entirely. He holds it tightly, transferring it to his dominant hand and teasing the top over his tip, biting hard on his lip.

The squeeze you have on your thigh is almost painful as your core burns, but you’re too stunned still to move, watching him dance the opening of the fleshlight over his cock, never dipping it inside.

With a twitching grin and lusty eyes, he glances towards the laptop. Your whole body feels hot as you glance over your shoulder to the camera in your room, before looking back at the screen. He’s not moving, chest visibly heaving even as he stares patiently at the computer screen.

He’s… waiting for you.

With one strangled breath, you tilt your chair away from the desk, adjusting your own laptop in a similar setup to him. Eyes locked on the stream, terrified you’ll miss a single moment of him indulging himself, you let your fingers uncurl from your inner thigh and trail them down, wasting no time in automatically locating your clit, massaging around the small bud.

Pleasure flows through you like hot water, down to your toes. After holding out for so long, after being so aroused for so long, the simplest touch has your knees weak and your head lolled back against the headrest.

On screen, Yoongi’s grin widens, and he rewards you by lowering the fleshlight, the clear silicone making way for the tip of his cock. He doesn’t stop there like last time, though; instead, he slowly but surely plunges it all the way down until it’s flush with his pelvis. Your eyes fly open when the flushed head pops out the other side, and Yoongi clearly enjoys it too judging by the way he curses and grips it tight, practically panting.

Without really intending, your fingers dip down and slip inside, two already. You barely feel a stretch with how wet you are. Although the feeling of something inside you is nice, you know your fingers just aren’t enough, especially with the angle of you slumped back in your chair.

So, you chance one look back at the screen - Yoongi is using the tip of one finger to spread his precum around the glossed tip of his cock, but his eyes are firmly locked onto you - and walk on shaky legs to your closet, where an unassuming (and so far unused) black silk bag lies amongst your shoes.

The amount of time it takes for you to duck into the bathroom and quickly wash the silicone vibrator you have with soapy water feels like an eternity, and by the time you hurry back it isn’t the toy that’s vibrating.

Frowning, you hesitantly answer the call that’s coming through on your phone from a familiar contact.

Yoongi’s voice immediately fills the room as the pixelated version on the screen rests his phone on the side of his desk, not jerking but twisting the fleshlight in slow arcs around his cock. “Couldn’t get enough of me, hm?”

“Says the one calling me,” you offer back lightly, switching onto speaker mode so that you can settle back in your chair, “enjoying the view?”

“A little too uneventful for me yet, sweetheart,” he teases, and his breathy groan is timed with the Yoongi on the stream lifting the fleshlight up a little and plunging it down again. “How about you put that toy in your pretty little pussy for me. For us.”

You feel your core pulse at the reminder that it wasn’t just Yoongi on the stream. Any number of anonymous strangers could be tuned in right now, seeing you with your legs spread.

The only way to cope is to lean into it instead of shying away. You slide the black silicone toy through your folds to slick it up, sighing with every light pass over your clit. Once it’s as wet as you are, you press the slightly bulbous tip down until it slips inside you, immediately shivering at the feeling.

The toy is small enough that you don’t need any special prep, yet big enough that it was satisfying, and curved just right. It had been your old reliable long before coming on the show, and there’s something strangely familiar and comforting about feeling it fill you out as you push it in deeper.

“Fuck, there we go,” Yoongi praises, and you hear the wet smacking noise of him snapping his hips up into the toy. “I may not be able to touch you, but you’ll still call my name when you cum for me.”

Your toes curl, and you’re no longer able to focus on the stream, letting your eyes fall shut and your ears tune in to his voice alone as you work the toy in and out of you.

He doesn’t waste any time in joining you, and the resulting sounds that fill your room are obscene, him making no effort to muffle the gravelled curses and moans, nor the wet thwack of silicone that gives away his movements.

The noise is somehow even more thrilling than the sight, and the feeling of his eyes on you encourages you to speed your hand up, even reaching down to desperately rub at your clit with the flat of your fingers, shivering at the wave of pleasure that wracks through your body.

It’s not long before you hear Yoongi’s voice turn guttural and the pace of the flesh light pick up frantically.

You wrench your eyes open and gaze blearily at the computer screen just in time to watch the stream of white that spills up through the back end of the fleshlight and over Yoongi’s knuckles. As hot as the image is, you whine at being made to watch this through the pixels instead of in real life, and the thought of being right fucking across from him as he fell apart is enough to make you seize up in your chair, orgasm draining you thoroughly, with not enough force to squirt but dripping on the seat nonetheless.

You take the toy out once pleasure turns to the sharp tweak of oversensitivity and pant, fighting to catch your breath as your feet feel positively numb.

Coming down from your high, you almost forget the running phone call until you hear his voice come through the speaker again. “Have a shower and then come back down to my room. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

The beeping tone leaves you alone in your room, and you loll your head back over the edge of the chair with an exhausted moan, not without a grin playing on your lips. You wouldn’t protest to that.

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mightbewriting · 3 years

Note

Hiiii Amanda, grad student anon here. I know I’m a little late, but I LOVED the final chapter so so so much. I have this rather terrible habit of not reading the final chapter / not watching the last episode of something I love because I just don’t want it to end (I still haven’t seen the last episode of Downton Abbey), but I squashed this urge to not read the very last chapter of B&E and let me tell you, there were tears. A lot of them. The daffodil, the affirmations... Gosh, I’m tearing up again.

I’ve been re-reading my favourite chapters (they are mostly from 2002) and I noticed something that made me emotional. When Narcissa visits Draco’s lab in chapter 7, Draco doesn’t feel comfortable about anyone touching his wand, not even her. In chapter 43, however, he doesn’t even think twice about letting Hermione use his wand to drop her glamours. I don’t know if this was intentional, but I loved this little detail.

Now, I mostly read for plot (academia kinda ruined my brain), but you have such a way with words that I can’t help but slow down to be able to take in everything fully. When I do a full re-read of B&E, I might compile a list of my favourite words. I’m still not over the fact that you just casually used defenestration. I’m completely in awe of your vocabulary and the way you weave these words into your prose.

Unfortunately, I have nothing to report on the Scandinavian demigod topic, but I’m pretty sure that there will be attempts to sabotage my schedule next semester. I had a small win recently: I managed to secure myself an office space with an actual desk. It’s a kind of a big deal, considering that I haven’t even set foot on campus since mid-October. I’m really pleased that I finally have my own desk, even though I’ll be sharing the office with my advisor and his beloved collection of dirty mugs.

I wish you a brighter, happier and easier 2021🤍 Thank you for making this strange and difficult year better with the wonderful universe you created. I’m excited to read more from you and you can expect me to pop in as I re-read B&E and W&H. And Bone Mortar, because apparently I can’t get enough of that story.

P.S. I’m obsessed with Sugar Flurries, Candy Storms!

oh my goodness hello again grad student anon! I'm so, so happy to hear you enjoyed the ending!! <3 i am d y i n g that you caught that little wand moment. it was the just a tiny little easter egg and here you are, spotting it in no time. i do like to headcanon that there’s something very intimate about using someones else's wand (dick jokes aside, though i’m here for those too).

and look, i already feel like an asshole for saying so....but if you did do a reread and tracked words you like i would be WILDY INTERESTED in knowing what they are. my nerdy word brain is like, frothing at the mouth over the idea of getting insight into what word choices work for someone.

i am sad for you on the Scandinavian demigod front but very excited about this office and desk situation! congratulations!! (also how dare you throw in details about sharing an office with your advisor and his dirty mug collection. don't you know that’s how fanfics get written lol?? what a wonderful detail)

i hope you had a lovely and safe new years and that 2021 treats you kindly!! its always so lovely to hear from you!! thank you for reading my words and chatting with me about them!! <3 <3

#anonymous asks #grad student anon

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goth-girlfriend · 4 years

Note

Heyy could I get a matchup please? I’m a pansexual non binary person excepting and loving to all, I have short black hair and I am 5’1. Tbh I’m more interested in the 1A boys but I do love all the pro hero’s and the villains too. I can be shy at first but once you get to know me I can be very chaotic and alt. I’m very open minded and understanding no matter what your situation is and I am very patient, I rarely get angry. I also do a lot of art from pairing to potter and photography, I love to try new things. I also love your work so much and I hope your doing well 💕

Thank you! 🥰 It means a lot! I hope your doing week in this time ☺️💙 sorry it took over a month 😅 but! I’ll make it up to you! And! The other four waiting....and the few in my inbox! Well! I hope you like it!

✨✨✨✨🤍✨✨✨✨🤍✨✨✨✨

✨Denki✨

Kaminari, you wouldn’t think five inches is enough for him to look down and bully you about your height. But...honestly? You couldn’t be mad at it considering it’s what made your friendship with the blonde bloom.

Then again, when you first met him you were kind of a wreck and didn’t have the guts to tell him, “I’m not an arm rest stop leaning on my shoulder.” Instead you let it be, fidgeting fingers and looking ahead until her smiled brightly at you, “SHORT FRIENDS ARE GREAT!” he looked down at you eyes closed, “I should keep you around more.”

Well, after that you were adopted by, THE BAKUSQUAD! Bakugo not really caring, but when Kirishima and Denki followed him around he always made sure to grab you and drag you with them, because “I WAS SCARED AND PANICKED! I DIDN’T WANNA BE ALONE!”

So, for the first and second week he treated you like a quiet kid, mostly starting conversation until you got into a comfortable groove, and he almost died seeing how you really turned out. YOU started to bully him, when he entered his short circuit, the jokes you made, but still, you took care of him making sure he didn’t get into trouble or hurt. At times you’d become a bit impulsive and your chaotic side came out.

“MOVE! IM GONNA DO IT!” You screamed “Y/n! NO! I LIKE YOU BETTER ALIVE!” He screamed. Silence, you moved your head, trying to pull back, but no luck, your eyes moved in panic looking at Denki, his own eyes wide before he started laughing. You tried to move your head regretting it instantly. Your right hand came up, forefinger and thumb pulling at your tongue that was now stuck to the pole you had made victim to your weird antics. “mm thuck.”

you have great goofy moments together, but the moment he hears Bakugo screaming and silence, and then he hears you screaming? Hah, no. All relations are canceled/expired/rejected/blocked/denied/gone. He likes being alive, and right now, you were a threat to his life, so “Oh, uh yeah I got a thing to do in the other ro-“ RUN

he’s more than great full to have you around, your patient with him when he just can’t do something but he’s determined to. Like the month he dragged you of the dorms every night, because “IM GOING TO GET THROUGH THIS HAUNTED HOUSE WITHOUT SCREAMING.” The haunted house opened the first of October, and ended on Halloween, it was terrible, at one point he passed out, another frothed at the mouth, his screams were priceless, he clung to you more than a few times crying about being scared. Decked a few jump scare people, and at least twice went into Pikachu self defense mode and electrocuted the groups of workers around the two of you at least twice. Honestly, you were surprised they let you both keep coming back. But the last day, he managed to only let out squeaks and squeeze your arm and hands but he did it. Thirty one long nights of walking the same halls, jump scares, and voids, mesmerizing the right way of the maze, you mad wit out fine, he was only slightly shook.

Art? Denki doesn’t get it, claimed he can’t draw to save his life and when you watched him try you believed him, BUT THE COMPLETE AND UTTER SHOCK WHEN YOU FOUND OUT HE WAS BASICALLY AN ART MAJOR WHEN HE SHORT CIRCUITED..... you started saving his drawings and sketches, and then you’d show him and he’d be impressed, but completely denies that he ever did it. “Nope, you got the wrong guy, you’ve seen me, I can’t draw a circle.” But he loves to watch you paint, and take photos, but don’t take him to wildlife sets with you. He will get hired of waiting for birds and throw himself on the grass and start sighing loudly and rolling around, “Nothings coming y/n!” “MAYBE IF YOU SHUT UP THE BIRDS WOULDNT FLY AWAY LIKE ITS THE END OF THE WORLD!” Silence, you can definitely feel him staring you, “Well that’s just rude.... you scared off the only bird that was actually here.” Pottery? He watched you, and he wanted to try, the first time he ended up slinging clay everywhere, second he can’t keep his hands still enough, the third time you took pity and ended up like the cheesiest movie scene, but, you were behind him guiding his hands, he became a flustered mess and crushed the almost pot when you spoke to him and he felt your breath on his shoulder. He was blushing and flustered and then started apologizing for ruining the pot... in the end you both together did make a lopsided pot, it now sits in your room, home to your shared black prince succulent. When you brought it home he made anyone who would listen come see his first pot and new child.

⚡️✨✨⚡️⚡️✨⚡️⚡️⚡️✨⚡️⚡️✨✨⚡️

“Y/n?” You heard knocking and groaned getting up off your bed to open your door.

“I brought someone else to meet prince...” the look you gave him was one of ‘Are you sERIOUS?’

You closed your door a bit to look at the digital clock that was hanging just above your desk, 1:37 in the morning...

“It couldn’t wait till sun up?” You asked eyes kinda squinty as the hall light started to flood into your room now that you opened the door wider to let whoever in.

“It’s important everyone knows my new son!” He stepped in and you moved and plopped onto your desk chair.

“Alright, but be careful, you bruised one of his petals last time.” You stretched and looked at your abandoned school work, you looked at it reading the question you had struggled on, and by some miracle, being half groggy and half awake, you read it and the answer came to you. You started to write it down before you forgot. And you were so proud of yourself, until you heard the feminine voice.

“Kaminari, you’re an idiot.” And then a slightly muffled laugh.

You didn’t have a problem with Jiro, in fact you liked her as a friend, she was nice, had good taste in music, bullied Denki with you sometimes, friendly and you’ve never seen her angry or get snobbish with anyone. She was laid back and cool.

But, one thing you didn’t like, was the fact she was slowly becoming the center of Denki’s flirting. Jealous? Nahh....well....no.... maybe a little? Nope, nah that’s not it.......okay yeah.

“Y/n Chan! Jiro is bullying me.” He came and shook you by your shoulders pulling you from staring at your school work.

You turned your head to look up at him. “What?” You asked.

“She called me an idiot.” He pouted and closed his eyes.

You laughed and dropped a hand onto his head, after he kneeled to plead you defend him, “Oh Denki, if you want me to disagree it’s gonna be a long night.”

He pouted at your words but sighed in defeat, until the next words came, “So (y/n), if Denki’s son is in your room does that make you the mother of his son?”

You looked at Jiro a faint blush tinting your cheeks as you registered what she said. You gave a few quiet laughs but before you could say anything Denki became a stuttering flustered mess. Catching both of you and pulling you both out of the conversation that almost started.

“Well! (Y/n)! Well go! A Princess does need her beauty sleep!” He winked at you as he left in a hurry, Jiro just quirked a brow before she told you good night and you returned it as she left. You yawned and got back into bed, before your phone buzzed and you cursed, but the blush on your cheeks wirsned at the flirty text you’d gotten from Denki, you’d think you’d gotten used to it already, but maybe the feelings you thought you’d pushed away never really left the surface.

‘Good night princess 😉 Don’t forget to dream about me 💛’

Cringe yes, but that’s literally the best flirting line he has. Apparently getting comfortable with Denki meant he was comfortable flirting with you 24/7, no hesitation. And you enjoyed the attention and flirted back with him, but things kinda changed when Jiro started to give him attention too.

******

“Mornin’ babe,” you yawned at Denki’s greeting and gave a wave and small smile as you walked to a table and plopped down. You didn’t get much sleep, you finished your homework so now you had the weekend free, but what were you going to do? You stared at the empty table in front of you thinking about nothing, head empty, until Mina came and sat across from you, “So babe huh? Is it official!” She whisper screamed.

“Pfft, just about as official as me being All Might.” You had a small smile, small but genuine. “Boooooooo.” She pouted, “I have my own theories but I really want to tell you this one, soooo! Bakusquad girls day! But... just you and I. Get ready let’s go!”

So, after deciding you’d buy something to eat instead of cooking you got ready and then both you and Mina set off to talk theories and what’s really going on in her head. “So, I think he wants something serious but since you guys joke so much I think he thinks he’s in the friend zone and don’t even deny it I know you like him, I’ve seen the way you smile at all his stupid jokes even I don’t laugh at all of them and I try to be nice. Plus the way you loook a Jiro is enough to show your jealous but he doesn’t see that, I’m pretty sure he thinks you just don’t like her humor or something, but from what I’ve seen your good friends with her when Denki isn’t around so that lets me believe your jealous of his attention going to someone else. Soooo, what do you say? What do you think? And I think he’s trying with Jiro because you guys kinda have similar personalities and hair cuts? Well not really but you know? When your in love you call broccoli Midoriya and a grenade Bakugo but that’s a different story, so? What do you think?” You just stared at her, the takoyaki had with your toothpick just to far from your lips as you wondered if she was right. A shot smile pulled at your lips as you looked down and closed your eyes to let out a sigh, “Well, I won’t say your wrong, I’ve done lot of things but being in denial has never been one of them. I’m not going to confess or anything but I do have one question.” You looked at Mina through the corner of your eyes while your face was still pointed to the ground. “Yes!” She cheered and nodded looking at you with a big smile, “If this is about a plan I’ve got it all figured out so don’t worry!”

You shook your head and faced her completely, “Nope! Keep the plan well use it later but, if I do something about this Denki thing you have to so something about tape boy.” Mina became flustered at your words but nodded, “well, your first lady she smacked you back causing you to slightly choke on the Takoyaki you’d finally started to eat, after catching your breath and wondering around for a bit you both talked it out and it’s go time.

****

The next morning you started the plan (titled by Mina) “Seducing Pikachu” Taking a deep breath you readied yourself to take your flirting next level, he called you babe you had to call him daddy, he gave you a hug you pulled his face down to peck his cheek, he draped an arm over your shoulders you had snuggle closer and hug his waist, he tried to tease you by taking your hand you can’t pull away, in stead you interlock fingers and squeeze, if he leaned into your ear to whisper something you can’t push him away. And we’re you ready? No, in fact you felt queasy, and like you had to bathroom, but with a shove from Mina you entered the kitchen and like usual “Good morning babe!” And the usual flirty wink, but this time instead of getting flustered or yawing you locked eye contact and with everything you had, “Mornin Daddy.” You smiled at him and walked to the fridge to try and occupy yourself. In the background you heard Mineta screaming about the name daddy. You looked at Denki with the same smile after grabbing a juice and he was flustered, red cheeks and it looked like his hair had fluffed up a bit. It’s working! You waved at him and walked to the common room and sat down on one edge and looked at the tv, it was playing some show about volleyball. Jiro came and sat across from you on the other sofa joining you and a few others in watching this show, right now, the only empty seats are the spot next to you on the love seat, or the two seats beside Jiro. He sat by you and was strangely quiet, oh gave him a smile when he turned to look a you, he smiled and looked at the tv, after an hour or two your hands began fiddling with the juice in your lap and you felt a tug at your hand, you felt Denki place his hand on yours usually you’d pull away and punch his shoulder, but this time. You didn’t take your eyes of the tv when your intertwined your fingers and squeezed his hand. You brought your other hand and squeezed his hand between both of yours and snuggled closer to his side and laid your head against his shoulder, he tensed a bit then relaxed quickly. He laid his head on yours and you eyed Mina real quick, you gave you a thumbs up and you motioned to Sero with your eyes and she stopped and pouted. After another hour you started to get up and pull away from Denki. You felt a hand pull at yours and you looked at Denki, “Where are you going?” You titled your head, “Gonna go buy lunch maybe.” He looked up at you still holding your hand, “Don’t leave me.” He said, “Come with me then.” You gave his arm a tug and without second thought he jumped up outside you were cool, but inside, you were going ballistic, inside you were nothing like usual, you were honestly so surprised that this plan was working, with your attention he didn’t even pay attention to Jiro,,,, were you really jealous?

Getting to a ramen place you both sat down and filled our sheets with your orders, casually sitting in silence your phone dinged, “So.... did he confess? Or do women really have to do all the work, 🙄, Sero didn’t understand what I meant until I- never mind, how’s it going?”

You smiled at the message and shook your head.

Denki being curious why you were smiling tried to peek, “Mina is trying to confess to Sero and she says he’s an idiot.” You smiled and turned to Denki explaining before he could see.

“Yeah, I didn’t wanna say anything sometimes Sero isn’t the smartest.”

You felt a smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, I know someone else who is just the same.” You propped your elbows on the table and placed your chin on your palms. He did the same and pushed his cheeks so they looked chubby against his palms.

“Kaminari,” you called his name in a chirpy tune with a smile, he closed his eyes and smiled before he said your name in the same way.

****

“How good are you at noticing small things?” I asked and tilted my head. “Hmmm, did you grow out your hair?” His head tilted, and he smiled.

“No? It’s been this short for a while.” I dropped my arms flat against the table palms up, “try again.”

“Yooouuuu,,,, are wearing contacts?” He asked. “I’m not blind.”

“Yoouuuuu.....are trying a different Boba?” “No... well yes, but not what I’m talking about......try one more time and I’ll give you a hint if you can’t guess.”

He nodded and squinted at me looking like he was concentrating hard.

“I know!” He took my hands in his and squeezed them, I felt my heart start to race, “You’re fingers are cold, the tips are turning reddish.”

I smiled and looked away and licked my top lip trying to not laugh, “That wasn’t it but a good guess.”

“Then what is it?” He asked pouting.

“Close your eyes.” I said and waved a hand, he nodded and then closed them, I placed my finger tips on the left side of his jaw and tried to pull him closer, after getting him halfway across the table I leaned forward and lightly pressed my lips against his cheek.

I pulled away, and moved my hand away from his jaw.

“I...so think you should try again, I didn’t get the hint.” He looked away with a bush slowly becoming prominent on his cheek.

I smiled and shook my head, silence fell over us as I shifted around, “Another hint huh?”

“Maybe just one... or two... or a few....” he still didn’t look at me hands now fiddling together.

“You know, for a flirt you sure do get nervous when someone actually makes a move on you.”

“Heh, yeah.” He was smiling but not looking at me, “Sooo, when?”

“Do you remember the day, you got sick and made me baby you for a whole week? It was that Thursday, you feel asleep on my chest, and I held you and had to pull the blanket off, I realized then, how much I cared about you, and how much I’m willing to do to make sure you’re okay. I realized how much I love your terrible jokes and cheesy pick up lines, your warm hugs and the face times late into the night, and the movie nights passing out at three in the morning and rushing to class when we woke up late. Holing your hand when you were scared, and bullying Bakugo, honestly, I wouldn’t wanna die at the hands of Bakugo with anyone else. I’m not saying I love you or anything, but if this is what falling for someone feels like...I don’t not like it, especially when it’s you.” I looked out the window we sat by and could feel his stare, I looked at him through the corner of my eye.

“I wouldn’t want to be murdered with anyone else.” He held his hand out and I tilted my head to look at him, I took placed my hand on his and he smiled, before he shifted his fingers and closed them around mine. I smiled and closed my fingers squeezing his hand.

“So? Are you going to ask?” He said.

I felt my brows furrow, “Ask?”

“Ask me to be your boyfriend.” His smile widened.

“You’re supposed to ask me!” I scolded and shook our hands.

He tucked his head between his shoulders, “okay okay, fine.... now you’re going to wait because you yelled at me.”

***

“Y/n!” I turned to look for the person who called my name, “yeah?” I asked and pulled my blanket tighter, the Christmas season was here and I was freezing on the sofa.

“Come look! The snows falling again! And the it’s pretty on the blossoms that are still around.”

“Fine.” I grumbled and stood up, I walked to the second floor windows and looked out. Sero, Denki, Kirishima and Bakugo were all outside, I could hear Katsuki screaming at them while the ran around dropping things on the floor.

They all stopped and moved away as Bakugo screamed at them and took off his gloves, it looked like he was grumbling something until Denki slung an arm I’ve this shoulders, Bakugo brought up his hand causing sparks and Denki to smile nervously before patting his shoulder and moving his arm off.

Mina tapped on the window and they looked at us, we waved when three of the four waved. Denki turned to Bakugo and with a simple blast a chain reaction started and lit up a circle, inside the circle were the words made in very sparse but still pretty blossoms, “will u be mine?” Your phone began to ring and you answered it.

“So, after two months of non official dating, will you be mine?”

You smiled, “Yes, Kaminari, yes.” You swallowed and over the phone you heard cheering and watched to em high five minus Bakugo who was pulling his gloves back on. That night, you spent under the blue keys you two piled high, his head on your chest, and you kissed his head running your fingers through his hair, “I love listening to your heart, it’s pretty, like you.” Your take his face in your hands and kiss his lips or forehead, and eventually would change spots, still cuddling to keep the warmth and love between you while the rest of the world was slipping into sleep or madness.

✨🤍🖤🤍🤍💙🤍🤍🖤🤍✨

I hope you have a good day, and remember to stay hydrated 💙

#buko no hero academia #my hero academia #mha denki kaminari #mha denki #bnha denki kaminari #bnha denki #bnha matchup #mha matchup #bnha ask blog #mha ask blog #bnha ask #mha ask #bnha blog #mha blog #bnha #mha #bnha kaminari #mha kaminari

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sumukhcomedy · 4 years

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The Rebel Flag, The Noose, and Racial Intimidation

A month ago, I had no idea who Bubba Wallace was. While I love sports, I can’t say I’m a NASCAR fan. I know a certain number of drivers. I’ve watched a Daytona 500 here and there over the years. That’s about the extent of it. If you want to know how confused I was, when I heard Bubba’s father’s name was Darrell Wallace, I assumed he was the son of a driver but then realized I combined two drivers in Rusty Wallace and Darrell Waltrip to make a driver.

I grew up in the Midwest and so NASCAR never was exactly accessible. It was highly popular in the South and it didn’t appear like its fans were exactly the most open or inviting people. The sport didn’t feel that way either. It’s not as if I could hop into a car and start racing around a track the way I could grab a basketball and head to a court. If I did watch any racing, it was usually the Indianapolis 500 and I preferred IndyCar. I remember watching the magnitude of Dale Earnhardt’s death as I was waiting to watch FOX’s Sunday night comedy lineup. Regardless, I grew to appreciate the sport even if I didn’t watch it with any regularity or understand the inner details of it.

Over the past month, from an outsider like myself, NASCAR has made incredible leaps and unbelievable stances that I would never have expected out of the organization. For NASCAR to make a public statement on the removal of the Confederate flag was huge. For Bubba Wallace to then get behind the wheel of a Black Lives Matter car seems unthinkable. For a legend in Richard Petty to be behind that car and be fully supportive is wild. In the same way that the well-meaning white person may be overrun with guilt over the past month, the racist white person is likely losing their mind over the decisions of NASCAR.

Then, late last week, a noose was found discovered in the garage at Talladega for Bubba Wallace’s team. An investigation proved that the noose had been there since late 2019. But, in understanding race and intimidation, the investigation was necessary and its transparency important to our current discussion on race.

Almost immediately after the investigation began, extreme conservative Twitter wanted to spread the doubts over the situation. They began to compare Bubba Wallace to Jussie Smollett. They began to throw out inaccurate and made-up stats about hoax hate crimes.

First, we need to understand how intimidation plays such a strong role in racism. The Confederate flag is a symbol of intimidation whether its supporters or “free speech” lovers want to believe it or not. It’s basically now associated with racists and white supremacists. It’s carried around and worn by those who are aggressively racist. It’s been connected with murderers like Dylann Roof and so many other violent individuals. There is nothing about this flag that seems peaceful or open to a connection with people of other races. If I see a Confederate flag (and I have seen plenty as someone that travels the country and enjoys nature), it is a message by that property owner or that individual that I am not welcome. I steer clear because there is no need for me to possibly die at the hands of a racist.

So, first, for NASCAR to make the step to remove the Confederate flag was to say to all their fans that they no longer support the presence of racism and intimidation on their tracks and in their organization.

So soon after such an announcement and the sweeping, positive decisions of NASCAR, a noose is found in Wallace’s garage. Wallace is the Black driver of NASCAR. He is driving the Black Lives Matter car. He is the focal point of all these decisions. As a result, he is also the focal point for racists and the opposing side to target. Simply hearing the word “noose” or seeing that image conjures up one memory for people of color: lynching. For white people, it should do the same thing but perhaps they think of hangings and executions of 15th and 16th Century England. I have no clue what goes on in the minds of white people towards this. But, plain and simple, in understanding how race functions in this country, a noose is equated to the country’s history of lynching Black people.

So, for Wallace and NASCAR to be outspoken, a noose appearing in a garage just days after seemed too coincidental. No one does that without a message being sent. That message is you are unwanted and we could kill you just like we killed Black people in the past (and, even how Black people are being killed right now given the wave of suspect public “suicides” occurring).

For the FBI to investigate such high-profile intimidation is necessary. For it to turn out that it was, in fact, coincidental are quite the odds. But NASCAR’s transparency should be hailed. They’ve supported the investigation. They’ve supported Wallace as part of their family. They shared a photo of the noose that was hanging from the garage door. They’ve expressed that such a type of noose is not present in any other garage doors within Talladega. So, these are a massive amount of coincidences that could be investigated more thoroughly to understand how this even could happen. Or, we could just understand that the investigation was still positive in presenting the importance of intimidation in our discussion of systemic racism as well as to firmly show NASCAR is taking an appropriate antiracist business approach: they are condemning racism’s presence in their sport while also being transparent about race and its discussion both inside and outside the sport.

Of course, those who defend the racists and are unwilling to have a real discussion on race were frothing from the mouth at these results. It allowed them to spin their conspiracies. It allowed them to say that so many allegations of racism are hoaxes, that everything is about race now, or worst, equating Bubba Wallace to Jussie Smollett, which is racist and inaccurate commentary.

What Jussie Smollett did was his choice and a poor, inept choice. Once the investigation revealed that it was all his plan, it’s not as if Black and Brown people came to his defense at all. In fact, most understood this was a terrible decision on his part because a false or made-up allegation puts the lives of Black and Brown people back a couple steps. The moment may have been made fun of no better than by another Black man, Charles Barkley, on live television.

But comparing Smollett to Wallace is just plain wrong. The accuracy is wrong. The jokes are wrong. The numerous memes are wrong. Smollett MADE UP a hate crime in the most dumb way possible apparently to further his career. Wallace did not make up a hate crime. A possible hate crime HAPPENED to him. It was investigated and determined that what happened was not a blatant act of intimidation by someone. It also determined that Wallace was not responsible for that act.

This is where the line between race, accuracy, and comedy gets all blurry. A responsible comedian or meme creator would not make jokes connecting Smollett to Wallace because it’s simply not the same thing. It’s not a good joke based in that comparative way that so many jokes are. Also, just a responsible person would understand that Smollett and Wallace are two very different situations. Also, a responsible person would know that Smollett and Wallace are two different people. But that’s not the case in the world we live in. Smollett and Wallace are the same because they experienced a hate crime. Smollett and Wallace are the same because they are high-profile individuals. Smollett and Wallace are the same because they are biracial men with Black blood. Smollett and Wallace are the same because their allegations did not prove without a shadow of a doubt that a hate crime occurred. If you add up enough of these comparisons, you should be able to understand that comparing Smollett and Wallace is racist in and of itself.

I applaud NASCAR. They are strangely well ahead of our more prominent sports organizations in handling the country’s current racial dynamic. They still have a lot to learn. We all do.

But, in this case, they fully supported Bubba Wallace. They investigated the matter and have done so in a transparent, nuanced way deserving of the issues that come up with systemic racism. They still support Bubba Wallace and all other drivers as they are part of their family. The other drivers support Bubba Wallace as one of their own.

Rather than get angry over race, a Confederate flag, or a noose, one should actually realize that NASCAR is going down the right path to the unity and equal justice that is the reason so many people are vocal and protesting.

#nascar #bubba wallace #race #blm #black lives matter #confederate flag #noose #racism #jussie smollett #charles barkley

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dragons-bones · 4 years

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The White Vault Season Three Roundup

Posting this as the tenth and final episode of the season is now in public release!

So I listened to the early release of the season finale on Saturday, screamed a lot, and immediately sat down and re-listened to the whole season. The following post is being put behind a read more for both length and season-wide (finale included) spoilers and includes discussion and theorizing for season four, which Travis confirmed is the penultimate season. (IS IT OCTOBER YET.) Please DO NOT READ until you listen to the finale!

First and foremost, I was originally a little concerned that season three would end up hitting all of the same story beats as the first two seasons without anything new, particularly on the matter of the mystery: lots of puzzle pieces that still don't quite fit together. Arguably we still don't have any clear answers...but we have a lot more pieces that I think we're seeing the overall shape. There is definitely some sort of centuries-and-continents-spanning conspiracy, one dedicated to keeping the shadow monster(s) and totem monsters fed, or appeased, or something, along with the people and civilization that revolves around these creatures. We don't know the why, we don't know the how, but I am personally surprisingly at ease with not having anything answered at this point--honestly I am having an incredible amount of fun speculating in my own mind and reading other fans' takes on tumblr and reddit. Travis and Katie confirming we have a fourth and fifth season to finish telling the story gives me a lot of confidence, particularly since season four is going to take a vastly different tack than the first three seasons.

The Documentarian confirms in the opening of episode one that she had come into possession of the information she presents to whom we knew as of episode five to be Graham "Fuck You I Have A Shotgun" Casner just a few days ago. Episode ten confirms that the events of season three literally occurred within the last few weeks and Dr. Zhou "Fuck You I Have A Frying Pan" Liu, Dr. Josepha Guerrero, and Simon "Fuck You I Am Getting Off This Mountain If I Have To Tobogan Down It" Hall may still be alive up in the caves. I am practically frothing at the mouth with excitement because this really raises the stakes for next season, and while I'm more than certain the entire cast isn't making it out alive...enough might. And in this situation: the dangers are known by both the rescue party and the scientists; and the scientists are the kind who might be able to begin putting our puzzle pieces together, along with whatever the Documentarian acquires elsewhere.

I want to give an especial shoutout to Peter Lewis as Graham Casner. I remember when I first listened to The White Vault, I was a bit uncertain about his voicework: he has a very deliberate, almost stilted-sounding delivery as Graham. His performance really clicked for me when we got the segue ways of him narrating Russian journal entries into an English translation: his Russian, to my ear, sounds very smooth with no hesitation. My thought is, English isn't Graham's first language, and his measured way of speaking is how he ensures he organizes his thoughts properly to be understood. And just--his performance this season was SO GOOD. Especially in the finale, he sounded so raw and angry and just a little bit broken over the discovery that the body Dr. Liu and Dr. Guerrero found truly wasn't Dr. Ureta (I thought, in episode nine, that they're comment of "that's not Dr. Ureta" was more a metaphoric "that's not her anymore" based on what they knew of Simon's experience so far), but Rosa. Like. Holy shit. 10/10 Peter Lewis, godDAMN.

(Aside: props to all the voice actors this season. We really heard them come into their stride as the season progressed, but special props to: Danilo Battistini as Lucas, who showcased Lucas’s descent into (religious fervor inspired?) madness; Eric Nelsen as Simon, who got saddled with a lot of the technical archaeological talk and made it sound natural (really evident when you listen to the bloopers); and Diane Casanova as Eva, who did a fantastic job showing her dealing with the stress of the situation while still remaining snarky and defiant.)

And now to Rosa--who was, unquestionably, my favorite member of the Fristed expedition, so I was, in fact, yelling like a mad thing while my heart went icy and broken when the body was identified as hers. So, I remember reading in a post-episode speculation thread on reddit earlier in the season that maybe the tunnels between Svalbard and Patagonia were connected and this was the same shadow monster as the Fristed team encountered. I thought this was particularly far-fetched bullshit, but, uh apparently not? Good job, fellow speculator! You called it! Perhaps they're not physically connected (that stretches my suspension of disbelief beyond the breaking point, considering Svalbard and Patagonia are on literal opposite ends of the planet), but maybe it's a space-time distortion, and the deep caves between Svalbard and Patagonia (and Heilongjiang Province in northeastern China, and wherever else this strange civilization has pockets of activity) are linked via supernatural means. And a space-time distortion would explain why to Graham, it didn't seem too much time had passed for him in the tunnels before he found a way out, even though it was weeks if not months before he was located.

(Brief side note: definitely the Svalbard totem monster that got him, that strange walrus-like entity with the super-elongated phalanges. Also features in Artifact. That totem monster scares me and scares me deeply.)

So does this mean the shadow monster at Fristed and Piedra are the same, able to travel between locations depending on which ones have people near them? (SPOILER FOR ARTIFACT: it's implied there's more than one and they can "travel" via the totem animal artifacts END SPOILER) Does this mean we might see "Jonas" again? Oooooh, two shadow monsters, das bad, das really bad.

(Another brief side note, since I didn't do an episode nine roundup: the dark part of my mind that loves the creepy horror elements of this podcast was overjoyed at being slam-dunked right into the fucked-up-edness of the return of the still-beating heart and teeth in a stone box. Just. Good shit, lots of nightmares, jumping at shadows that night, S U P E R B.

...Wait, Rosa's is the first body actually found, even though we know the shadow monster killed her. Karina's, Walter's, and Carito's bodies never showed up, and we know their hearts and teeth ended up in the stone boxes. Does that mean Rosa's didn't? Is there specific significance to this?)

The sites do seem to be very different: China was a mountain village, most of the village open air with their private ritual rooms carved into the mountainside; Svalbard's might be under a glacier, and is an entire underground village, with its ritual sites buried beneath it; and Patagonia is less a proper village and more a winding system of living quarters and open public/ritual spaces. Svalbard is also currently the only one (that we know of, we have no information about the interior of the China site) using teeth to pave its stairs so, uh, take that as you will.

Teeth appear a lot. I have a thing about teeth, and yet The White Vault doesn't ping it? It's rather strange.

RAIMY. RAIMY YOU GO GET YOUR MAN. PROUD OF YOU, PLEASE DON'T DIE. (Honestly, though, I get the feeling if the shadow monster breathes anywhere in the general vicinity of Raimy, Simon will go batshit and beat the thing to death himself. He is injured but he is pissed.)

I continue to have low expectations about Eva's survival. That she got off the mountain is a surprise--stalked by the shadow monster, perhaps hoping she lures more people to the caves?--and that her 'infection' (excuse me as I continue to have flashbacks to Jane Prentiss in TMA Season One and cry uncontrollably because oh my gooooooooood) hasn't, y'know, gotten properly ugly yet. But goddamn I love her spirit, I love that she's so determined to get the rest of the team out. I WANT her to survive, but all the clues are pointing at REALLY BAD SHIT happening to her.

I remain deeply curious about whether or not Dr. Ureta’s previous trip to the Patagonia site is what primed her to be the first victim of the Piedra team. This might very well be something we don’t ever receive a proper answer to--sometimes some mysteries remain so, after all--but I do find it telling that we have very little of her personal thoughts, unlike the other members of the team (aside, of course, from Lucas).

Dr. Guerrero remains the loose end for me: Simon and Dr. Liu have both shown an utter lack of fucks to give about not letting this monster have them, but Dr. Guerrero was so tunnel-visioned on the science of the find that we notes and thoughts we have her don’t give us a conclusive enough picture about what to expect going forward. But we might end up surprised.

I’m very interested to see what Maheer and Dragana bring to the table: Maheer is obviously the Documentarian’s man because of a very nice paycheck, and Graham’s grumbling about Dragana’s prodding for details has me on alert mostly because Graham is my guy and he deserves a fucking nap and a vacation for all the shit he’s had to deal with.

The White Vault: Iluka is coming up this month on Patreon; I’m willing to bet this is what the Documentarian is preoccupied with while Graham and the rescue team head into the mountains. I’m really curious to see whether or not this might have anything to do with the events of the short Acquisition? I feel we’re due for that to come into play...

There is just. So much. So damn much.

IS IT OCTOBER YEEEEEEET.

#the white vault #spoilers #white vault spoilers #white vault episode 3.10

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misssophiachase · 4 years

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Reality Bites - Chapter 4: Gimme Shelter

Synopsis: Caroline is the long-suffering producer on America's number one reality television program Meet the Mikaelsons. The wealthy, English family are difficult but Caroline has to stick it out so she can get the promotion she's been eyeing. Enter arrogant, second-eldest sibling Klaus Mikaelson who has every intention of messing with her plans.

Playa Palmilla, San Jose del Cabo

"Oh, come on, love, don't be like this. I'll let you pick which bedroom you want?" He offered by way of an olive branch as they collected their bags from the trunk of the cab.

Yes, maybe he felt a little bad. What with crashing her flight and cancelling her accommodation and then insisting she stay with him. Klaus decided it sounded a lot worse than it actually was. He told himself before the flight that it made perfect sense for them to fly and stay together but upon further reflection, and her outraged reaction, he was starting to get a complex.

Yes, Klaus Mikaelson usually got his way, not because he insisted upon it but because ever since he could remember that was just the way things were. Of course, coming from a famous, wealthy and powerful family dynasty that was expected and it had just become second nature to Klaus.

Until Caroline Forbes breezed into his life.

Rather than feeling put out by her adverse reaction, Klaus reveled in it. He was so used to people doing and saying the right thing around him, but Caroline Forbes had absolutely no filter and wasn't ashamed to tell him when he was being an ass, as she liked to put it. Judging by how frequently she did it, Klaus really should have learned his lesson but, when it came to her, he was greedy for more.

Caroline didn't bother to respond or wait for him, just powered off bags in hand to the private villa on Palmilla Beach they'd booked for the week. Klaus was trying to ignore just how good she looked in that floral dress with her blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders in soft waves. Although, Klaus was beginning to realize that was just her default setting.

She opened the door ahead of him and stepped into the open plan living area. He'd be shocked if she found a problem given the picturesque views from the floor to ceiling windows, simple but modern furniture and its spacious and airy feel.

"Well, that's the least you could do," she growled, finally responding. "I want the one with the biggest bathroom."

"I think you'll find there's only one joint bathroom between the rooms," he explained. She walked over to inspect the layout and noticed the interconnecting doors from both bedrooms to the bathroom.

"Unbelievable!" She muttered. "I can't share a bathroom with you, I mean what if I'm in there and you walk in on me in the shower?"

"Well, you could just as easily walk in on me, love," he winked teasingly. He could tell she wanted to bite about that particular endearment but she obviously thought there were more important battles to win today.

"You do realize that if I still had my original booking I wouldn't have to share at all?"

"You do realize that your original room is a shoebox compared to this, right?"

"Yes, but it was my shoebox," she insisted, her blue eyes blazing angrily. "One that apparently wouldn't be available any longer because it's peak season, except your assistant managed to find both Kat and Bonnie rooms at short notice."

"Well, when you're a Mikaelson…"

"Yes, life is so easy when you're a freaking, Mikaelson," she shot back, and Klaus couldn't miss the venom in her voice. It felt almost like a slap in the face. Why did she hate him and his family so much? Being a producer of their reality show would be a good start but Klaus knew there was more to it. She marched towards one of the bedrooms before he could properly respond.

"I take it I've got the other bedroom then," he assumed, placing his bags on the bed.

"Why can't my friends just stay here?" She asked, appearing again, hands on hips. "There's plenty of room. We could have a sleepover and paint each other's nails and then have a pillow fight in our underwear."

"You seriously do that?" He was joking but it didn't stop her from rolling her eyes in his direction.

"We both know the rules about fraternization amongst the crew and the ban against friends visiting the set. In fact, a little birdie told me you actually came up with those," he replied, taking a seat on his bed and patting the spot next to him.

"Trust me, Elijah will be thanking me for that rule," she replied mysteriously, making him curious about exactly what that meant. "And I am not sitting there. It's already bad enough we are staying together, I mean it's hardly professional given the aforementioned rules."

"We are co-producers, if the rest of the crew has a problem, they can speak to me about the accommodation arrangements."

"The crew I'm fine with given they're my rules and I'm also their boss, it's your brother. He sent me a text with a childhood taunt about us K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree accompanied by multiple, kissy-face emojis."

Hearing her say that, Klaus immediately felt a stab of something right in his chest, he decided to blame it on the interesting food they served in Coach. They'd briefly run into his family outside the airport but he'd happily ditched their too-close-for-comfort limousine for a cab with Caroline.

"Please tell me you're talking about Henrik?"

"Do you really think Henrik would do that? He may only be sixteen but the kid is one of the most mature teenagers I know and given the circus he's growing up in that is impressive." Klaus immediately felt pleased that she thought as highly of her little brother as he did. But back to his younger, more wayward brother.

"Wishful thinking on my part, I guess. How exactly does Kol have your cell number? I remember it took me at least a month to procure that."

"He asked," she replied, shrugging her shoulders lazily. "I thought it would be rude not to oblige."

"Unbelievable," he growled. "What else does he send you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know. I'm his producer and he's one of the cast," she explained. "It would be unprofessional of me to divulge those details."

"Why are you so hard on me?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. It was something he'd been wondering for the longest time but never had the courage to ask. Klaus knew he could be difficult and a little arrogant at times (he blamed his upbringing for that particular trait) but when it came to his family, he was the least of her troubles.

"I'm not," she murmured, although her indecisive tone was telling Klaus she was lying. "But you definitely give me more grief."

"I give you grief? You do realize I have immature Kol and spoilt Rebekah as siblings, right?" He shot back. "I'm no trouble at all, in fact, not only have I lightened the workload with the producer duties, but I also suggested this little trip so we can rate the pants off the competition. I mean who wants to watch five conceited brunettes whose names start with the same letter shop?"

"Plenty of people but I'm not going into our competition with you again. However, I need to correct you on a few of those outrageous claims, Mikaelson," she argued stomping on the spot briefly. Klaus had discovered that's what she did when she was trying to make a point. "Number one, you stole half my job without asking, I might add. I never gave it to you and I was handling the workload just fine. Number two, I still maintain that you brought the entire team down to Mexico to hook up with your ex and ogle other women on the side." He stood up to interrupt before she held up her finger to stop him. "Yes, I said ogle. And number three, I'm going to go shower now for dinner with my friends before I say something else I might regret."

"Wow, so much restraint, Forbes," he scoffed sarcastically and moved closer, the distance between them not so far anymore. "Number one, I didn't steal, I asked for the producer job and number two sounds like someone is very jealous about who I do and do not ogle."

"Oh, you are way off-base, mister," she huffed, poking him in the chest accusingly. "I could care less what or who you do, I'm just stating a fact. Although, please refrain from doing it so close to my bedroom."

"Well, I'm sure you can ask the set medic to keep you warm at night if you feel left out, sweetheart." It just came out, and he immediately regretted it. Klaus was starting to realize she had that effect on him but she didn't retreat and neither did he, their gazes held, heated and intense.

He'd be lying if Doctor Wonderful hadn't taken him by surprise after showing up on set to swoop in and save the day. His mother Esther was still frothing at the mouth over his 'soulful, brown eyes' and Klaus had found himself wondering just how close he and Caroline were. Not that he liked Caroline in that way, Klaus was only trying to make sure things on set were professional. Given Caroline invented the rules she should be happy he was adhering to the protocol.

"I cannot believe you just went there," she drawled, finally looking away. "My love life and who I choose to sleep with is none of your business."

"You started it," he muttered thinking it sounded much more mature in his head. "But you can't go out with your friends tonight, mother has summoned us to a private dinner at her villa to discuss the shoot."

It was kind of true, Klaus insisted that he'd only attend if Caroline was invited too. He couldn't explain why he wanted her around all the time especially given how much of a hard time she gave him.

"I don't do family dinners, especially with the Mikaelson Brady Bunch, I would need way too many Margheritas to deal with that." He cocked his left eyebrow thinking that was a strange thing to say. About the family dinners and not about the excessive alcohol.

"Welcome to my world, trust me mother will have more than enough alcohol. How do you think we survive Christmas and every other holiday each year?"

"Mikaelson," she groaned. "You really hate me don't you?"

"Yes," he scowled, thinking she should have her own show because she could be just that dramatic. "Look, if you don't want to go then, by all means, let her know. I'm sure you have her cell number too and text her regularly."

"I cannot believe you," she muttered. "It truly is your mission to destroy what little social life I have, isn't it?"

"You do whatever you need to do sweetheart, I'm going to shower," he strode past her and towards the bathroom.

"But I said I was showering first!" She whined.

"Well, it looks like you're going to have to wait your turn," he teased, giving her one final smirk before shutting the door behind him.

Fifteen minutes later and Klaus was enjoying his shower, well except for the constant interruptions.

"Mikaelson get your butt out of the damn shower." She banged on the door in short, sharp bursts. The frequency of her interruptions was increasing. Klaus smiled evilly, he was having way too much fun annoying her.

"You know it would go a lot quicker if you didn't knock so often, love. Maybe it would be easier if you just came in and helped me with all the hard to reach places?"

"Over my dead body," she muttered. It seemed to work as her knocking finally stopped. Klaus chuckled to himself thinking that he'd won this latest battle. It was only when he turned to put back the cake of soap on the dish, that the water went freezing cold. Klaus screamed, jumping back in fright. It was only when he heard her laughing on the other side of the door that Klaus knew who was responsible.

"Ooops, I turned the faucet on! Was I not supposed to do that?" He leaned in and shut off the faucet, shaking his head as he did it. Maybe this particular battle went to her but Klaus knew the war was far from over.

You can read and review on AO3 and FF

#reality bites #gimme shelter #misssophiachase #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline #my writing

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actualbird · 5 years

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and for this rec list for @dghdafeedbackfest, it is time for the TEARS!!!!! here are some fics that made me cry real actual goddamn tears, many times in public. be warned and have tissues ready if you decide to embark on these fics!!!

in this world, we’re just beginning by cakesnake, nosecoffee

“I'm going to solve a mystery.” He tells Todd proudly.

Todd snorts. “Because you're a detective?”

“Correct. And you're going to help me.” Again, telling him, there is no question, Todd is intrinsically linked, he can feel it.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“This place is legitimately paradise, there's nothing to be solved, no mysteries here.” He shrugs, and takes another sip of his drink.

“If this place is such a paradise then why aren't you having fun?”

( A San Junipero AU )

CONTENT WARNING: DEATH. it’s a san junipero AU and if you dont know what that means, i implore you to quickly google it before you endeavor on this fic, just like i did. will that make you cry any less now that you know whats going to happen? ABSOLUTELY NOT. i read this fic right before an 8am class and my eyes were RED from BAWLING. the emotions in this fic are intense and really god me in the heart but also made me believe love is real.

I Can't Tell One From the Other (Did I Find You Or You Find Me) by Lavellington

"I can't possibly meet your parents on Sunday, Todd! It's too soon! I haven't done any preparatory research!"

"Yeah," Todd says, "we all know you're Mister Preparatory Research."

Todd's still trying to Fix Things with his family, and he's not sure if introducing them to Dirk Gently counts as progress in that department.

part of a series!!!! the whole series is wonderful but this fic is really my favorite of the whole thing. it doesnt look like itll make you cry, but it will, oh it will. i love this fic so much because it’s the kind of hurt that feels like pulling out a splinter. it has to happen to get better. wonderful piece.

and i could give you all the olive trees by orphan_account

Todd opened his eyes to a vision of dancing white and yellow blobs.

‘Daisies,’ he croaked.

‘I told you to run,’ Dirk said.

(Dirk and Todd get captured by Blackwing. It's no picnic.)

CONTENT WARNINGS: BLACKWING, VIOLENCE, AND INJURY. this fic is not for the faint of heart but if youre a fan of seeing characters get hurt but never give up this fic is gonna be amazing for you

The Only Way Out is Through (Or: How to be Almost, Mostly, Okay Again) by electricteatime / @kieren-fucking-walker

"Terrible as it is, it’s easier to cling to the hope that there were good reasons for what they did. That the people who treated him well were at heart good people, and they hadn’t just been lying to him the whole time, that the small amounts of affection he’d been given were real and tangible. Even when he knows the truth somewhere deep inside it doesn’t mean he wants to acknowledge it.

But, like all things, it’s only a matter of time."

*** The only thing Dirk Gently has ever learned to do with his trauma, is shove it down as deep as it will go, lock it away, and hope that ignoring it means it isn't really there. For a while at least, it works. But when the past comes knocking looking to make amends, and pretending that none of it was as bad as it seemed isn't an option anymore, the delicate balancing act he's been practicing for years finally tips over the edge.

Healing is painful, recovery isn't linear, sometimes you have to tear everything down before you can start to rebuild.

His own demons might be the scariest thing he's ever had to face, but it's not something he has to do alone, and in the end that makes all the difference.

OHHHH MANNN OKAY OKAY SO. this fic is my all time favorite wip right now. i patiently wait for new chapters like a frothing at the mouth chihuahua waiting for a treat. this fic contains some real heavy stuff in terms of dirk’s trauma but more importantly, dirk’s recovery, and it is handled so goddamn well. this fic makes me cry, but it also gives me hope. do you want dirk gently to Get Better? THIS FIC IS FOR YOU!! PLEASE READ IT, I LOVE IT A LOT!!!

All Roads Lead to Nowhere (Except the one that Leads to You) by electricteatime

Todd’s heart stops. Or it feels like it does because… that’s a voice. That’s a human voice. That’s a human voice that he must have been hallucinating. He’s been driving too long, drunk too much coffee, didn’t get enough sleep last night he’s just-

“Bloody hell, it’s dark in here.”

Nope. Todd scrambles to open the car door and flings himself away from the vehicle, stumbling backwards until he lands on his ass, staring at the car with wide eyes and struggling to catch his breath past the sheer terror that’s overcome him all of a sudden.

This isn’t happening. ***

Todd knows the work he does isn't the most morally sound, being a delivery guy for a local gang was never going to to be, but the job is good, the pay is better, and no matter how temporary it was supposed to be when he started he has no intention of stopping now.

Then a strange man with an even stranger name wakes up in the trunk of his car, and everything goes to shit.

this is one of the first few fics i read for this fandom and i am blown away every single time i reread it. todd’s characterization in this fic hits the ball out of the park, and characterization and journey are just done so well it brings tears to my eyes. gorgeously crafted fic!!!

(He Wouldn’t Say) Kidnappings Were a Routine Part of his Career by Bumblie_Bee

Dirk is woken by something colliding with his face. Hard. He opens his eyes, and at first the room around him is hazy and dark, but as his eyes adjust and the blurriness clears a little, he sees he’s in what looks to be a warehouse and realises that the ‘something’ that had collided with his face was, in fact, probably a fist. Which would make it more of a ‘someone’ than a ‘something’, if he’s going to be precise.

CONTENT WARNINGS: VIOLENCE AND INJURY. okay this is straight up whump with comfort but goddamn do i love whump and comfort. what i love so much about this fic is that it doesnt just whump the hell outta dirk, it makes dirk go through the messy process of physical recovery. it’s so so difficult, and that makes me cry. oh but what an honor to cry for this fic!!!

you are the one (you hold me in my place); by unintentionallyangsty

three months after the events of Bergsberg and Wendimoor, Dirk is kidnapped again.

following this, it becomes very clear, very quickly, that Todd hasn't yet taken the time to mentally process the drastic shift that has taken place within his life, leading up to this point.

this is the aftermath.

CONTENT WARNING: BRIEF SELF-HARM. this fic is pretty intense on the emotions and it makes me cry because it is so apparent that the trio care about each other so much!!! wonderful look into how todd is dealing (or not dealing) with everything happening

if you cry reading these fics, dont forget to drink some water to re-hydrate!!! also dont forget to leave a comment to show these fic writers some love!!!! happy (or not so happy...) reading :Dc

#dghda #dirk gentlys holistic detective agency #fic

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ambivalentangst · 6 years

Text

Skewed Magic and Lucky Hearts

After having to deal with way too many misplaced commas, I’ve finally finished my piece for @vldshipexchange! This fic was created for @breeeliss, who asked for some plance! Taking into consideration the fact that I've never written romantically for the ship before and the point of this particular exchange, I’m pleased to present you with approximately 9.5k of modern witch!pidge and parkourer!lance. It was a pleasure to create for this exchange, I hope you enjoy it!

tw: mentioned verbal abuse

Pidge was not expecting to be plowed over by a lanky mess of flying limbs, cracking the plastic cauldron she’d gotten from a pop-up Halloween store in the process, but Wednesdays had been awful ever since Pidge had accidentally blown up her color-coded and star aligned magic calendar in a spell gone wrong. She’d liked Curtis a lot, as she affectionately dubbed the enchanted and dog-eared pile of paper and ink, but he was the spiteful sort (half the reason they got along). Pidge cursed her luck and the stranger who was hurrying to pick up the scorpion tails that had fallen out of a Ziploc Pidge hadn’t sealed properly. It had gone flying from its place in her cauldron in the collision.

Pidge placed two small hands on her hips, scrunching down the fabric of her oversized NASA tee, a gift from Matt who originally had taken it from Shiro and was then stolen by Pidge because it was already spaghetti stained, and was therefore ideal for when her magic exploded in her face. The stranger who had knocked into her was looking a little sheepish, holding out the baggie.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. You dropped--er--I guess I dropped these--uh--things. Here you go.” Pidge snatched it from his grip, stuffing it hastily back into her cauldron despite the offset crack she could see going down the side.

“You are so lucky nothing happened to them,” she snapped, doing a headcount to be sure she had as many as she needed. Allura made fair trades, but never for even a little less than she was owed. Upon finding herself one short, she huffed and got down on her hands and knees. When she looked up she saw the face of the stranger staring down at her in bemusement. She huffed irritatedly.

“Are you not gonna’ help? I need one more of these,” she announced, pushing her useless glasses up her nose. Matt claimed they’d helped him get a feel for his magic when he was younger, bought from a store across town to service him like training wheels on a bike. Pidge was just glad that mostly nobody knew their purpose because while it was embarrassing to still have to use such rudimentary techniques, her already poor abilities only got worse without them.

The boy dutifully stooped down to her level, scanning the dirty concrete for any spillings strewn across its grey surface.

“Charming, aren’t you?” he asked as Pidge’s continued search came up empty handed, letting out a colorful stream of curses as her chosen method of coping. She still thought it was better than what Matt would’ve come up with in all of his “jinkies” and “funky fudge nuggets.” When Shiro was over and the three of them played video games together he preferred to listen to Pidge, or so he claimed. Pidge resisted the urge to snap her cauldron in half.

“I’ve been told,” she grumbled. The stranger laughed, and she wanted to snap him in half too. It had taken a damn long time to find a troll willing to part with what could make a very nice dinner.

“Where can I find somebody else as lovely as yourself?” Pidge reached for her Ziploc, counting again while her tongue poked out the side of her mouth in concentration.

“Try the local sewer,” she replied and grinned as she found she had merely miscounted. That nugget of luck wasn’t enough to brighten her interaction with the stranger, but it sure did make her future better.

“Aha!” she exclaimed. “Miscount.” She blamed the glasses. They were good for magic, not so much for when she actually needed to see. Still, Pidge got into enough standoffs with the goblins living in the nearby dumpster to warrant wearing them constantly. She turned back to the stranger who, to his credit, didn’t appear too put out by her snark.

“Again, sorry about running into you and spilling your stuff. I’m Lance.” He stuck out his hand, flashing a crooked smile. Pidge crossed her arms.

“I’m marginally satisfied despite the state of my,” she glanced down at her shit excuse of a container, “Bag. Thank you for your help,” she told him stiffly. Lance blinked a few times in response but shrugged.

“Whatever. Good luck with whatever you’ve got there, sewer rat,” he told her with a nod to her wares. “Also, I think you missed your chance to walk.” Pidge looked over her shoulder to see her last two out of thirty seconds tick away and was annoyed all over again. She swiveled back to glare at Lance but was interrupted by a blur of red slamming onto the rooftop of a neighboring Thai restaurant.

“I’m winning!” the blur yelled, and Lance lit up again, a devilish grin crowding his cheeks.

“Oh you just wait until I get back up there, mullet!” he shouted, and Pidge dazedly watched him shimmy up the pipe on the side of the wall to chase after him. She shook her head. Boys were dumb, and she needed her ingredients for her potion. She irritatedly slammed her hand back onto the button to the crosswalk in a motion that was most certainly not painful. She waited for another turn, and in the meantime clutched her cauldron to her chest. She didn’t care who she had to watch jump across rooftops as long as she got to Allura’s in one piece.

Pidge had the hindsight to know that she needed to buy more than one brew’s worth of ingredients, but it still didn’t make it any less frustrating to be smelling broiled newt for the third time that week. She had plenty of magic in her--everyone said she had potential, why it couldn’t be accessed was beyond her--it just happened that most of the time it blew up in her face rather than doing anything useful.

She sighed as she took her spoon and stirred the pot. Pidge didn’t actually have a cauldron, other than the one that had been reluctantly retired to a shelf of other odd trinkets in her room after the incident with Lance. Matt and her dad did, but both Pidge and her mom decided that was just because they were nerds, and that some containers they picked up from Walmart would do the trick.

She perked up as she heard the doorbell ring. Matt had mentioned Shiro was coming over with a friend or two, and she nudged Gunther, who was sprawled at her feet. Her mom’s familiar, and even he was better at magic than Pidge.

“Could you get that, boy? I really wanna’ make this batch work.” The dog rolled over on his belly and wagged his tail in the general direction of the door. It unlocked with a click, and Pidge shouted over her shoulder.

“It’s open!” Upon doing so she was greeted with the sound of Shiro’s typical, polite entry, and then a bickering that reminded her precisely why she couldn’t use her awful excuse for a purse. She knew those two, or three voices since they’d apparently roped Shiro into the discussion along with them.

“C’mon Shiro I totally beat him. Just because I was on ground level doesn’t mean I didn’t win,” Lance argued, bustling into the kitchen while Pidge gripped her spoon so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“I told you and Keith to stop doing that,” he argued, completely ignoring Lance’s point. “Just because you’ve got luck doesn’t mean you aren’t going to fall, especially across all the balconies and piping you guys like.” Lance emitted a dramatic sigh, draping himself over the chair.

“I’m fine! You and my mom, really. Where’s Matt anywa-” Pidge’s eyes narrowed, meeting his own. Lance smiled.

“If it isn’t the sewer rat.” Pidge sighed, turning her back to her brew for a moment.

“And pray tell, what brings you here?” she asked and yelped as a bubble from the frothing mixture popped and a few drops landed on her arm.

“What are you doing here?” Lance responded, and Pidge smirked.

“I asked first.” Lance sighed, sulking as he looked to Keith and Shiro for guidance. Shiro shrugged, and Keith was no help to his cause.

“She did.” Lance pouted, turning back to Pidge.

“I’m meeting up with Matt,” he explained, going to stand at Pidge’s side while he stared down at the faintly glowing green goop she was stirring. “But I am far more interested in whatever the hell that is. Keith, Shiro, come look! What kind of magic Pinterest bullshit is this?” Lance didn’t seem to mind the atrocious smell wafting up from the concoction--a result of the fermented lemur oil that was a necessary ingredient.

Shiro walked over at a respectful pace, and Keith ran a little faster to let himself slide into position via his socks on the linoleum. Pidge gritted her teeth and did her best not to laugh upon watching Shiro’s face twist up into something that said he was trying to be supportive but was finding it difficult with the stench accosting his nostrils. Keith was not as diplomatic in his response.

“What the fuck, Pidge?” She shrugged and reached for a pinch of fly legs. Matt always made her add that when it was needed in his own work, so she made fun of him for it. Still, even she couldn’t claim the texture was pleasant.

“I’m trying some vegan recipes out,” she lied as a chunk of some indiscriminate meat floated up to the surface before going back under in a manner that probably did not abide by the rules of physics. It was most likely her thumb of a goblin, harvested herself. The little shits could grow them back in a week or so and stuff like that didn’t cause them pain, so she didn’t feel too bad about it. Besides, they’d gotten plenty of bites in during the scuffle that broke out as a result of her gathering, not to mention the sardine cans they often launched at her when she walked by. As far as Pidge was concerned, they were even. Lance raised a brow. “I cheat sometimes.”

Keith looked ready to call her out for her lie, but Gunther suddenly sprang up and he went sprawling as a result. Lance laughed, Shiro told him he should be a little more observant, and Keith dusted himself off as he grumpily rose to his feet.

“Whatever,” he groused. “Where’s Matt anyways?” As if summoned, and maybe he was, Matt being so good at sensory spells, Pidge heard his clomping footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Here!” he announced, sliding into the kitchen in the same manner Keith had. “Sorry for letting these slinkydinkers into your workspace,” he told her, herding them out with a great sweeping motion of his arm. Pidge cringed. He’d been favoring the term a lot in the past few days, and she couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than tiddlebumps, which was what he’d been using for the fortnight or so previous.

“Out, out! Pidge is an artist, she needs her personal space,” he announced, and meandered over to the stove to see what she had working regardless of his own instruction. For once, despite the smell (which wasn’t bad, as far as potions went that weren’t made by Pidge’s grandma) it actually looked alright, better than alright if one was being generous, and Pidge was smug.

“Looking good. Did they ask anything about it?” Pidge hummed, pulling her spoon from the concoction and smiling as it dripped from the surface at the proper speed for the viscosity she was trying to achieve. She turned the burner to low.

“Lance thinks I’m a Pinterest vegan DIYer, but they seemed to buy it.” Matt laughed.

“I think he thinks you’re a lot more than that if the way he was talking about your incident at the crosswalk the other day is any indication, but whatever you say. You should probably apologize for that, by the way.” Pidge nearly dropped her spoon in surprise.

“What?” she snapped, pivoting to face him, but Matt was already moving past the doorway with a self-satisfied wave as his goodbye.

“See you later, Pidge!” he cried, and the door slammed shut behind him. Pidge wished she had Curtis available to remind her to grill Matt later about what he’d said, but for the time being she needed to bottle up the product of her work. For the first time in what felt like forever in her woefully unlucky experience with magic, things seemed to have gone right.

Pidge wasn’t quite sure how she’d missed the fact that Lance had been friends with Matt for awhile, but once he had shown up once, he kept coming back. Before, something had, apparently, always seemed to come up when they were supposed to meet at their house, so he’d never been mentioned. Pidge supposed she enjoyed the peace while it had lasted, or at least that’s what she said if anyone asked. Truth be told, sometimes it was fun to be on a walk to Allura’s and to see him hopping across rooftops, an alley cat out for a run. Pidge was aware that it was illegal and so was he, but he didn’t seem to care all that much. He told her one day,when Matt had invited her to join in on their Mario Kart game since Hunk and Keith were out on a date and couldn’t make it. Pidge grinned, settled in on the floor next to Lance, and grabbed a remote.

After arguing with Lance over the use of a wheel and if it was necessary--clearly not, the wheel was for quitters--she blue shelled him three times in a single course and while she was impressed with his ability to come back into first every time, she was more satisfied with stealing it out from right under his nose at the last second. Lance pouted, but Matt high fived her and they tucked into a half-eaten carton of Ben and Jerry’s they had lying around afterward so everything worked out alright. Besides, Lance got her back when he landed a nice clump of cookie dough right on top of her head, though he claimed it was by accident. Pidge wasn’t fooled and shook her spoon angrily at him while she swore vengeance.

“You’ll have to fight the security guard at the mall for first dibs on revenge” he teased in response. Shiro, the other addition to their party, leveled a disappointed stare his way.

“Lance, didn’t Varkon threaten to call the cops on you last time you did that?” Lance sighed, rolling his eyes.

“The food court has too many health violations, and I happen to know that he lets a particularly speedy pickpocket go when he’s not up to a chase. He can’t do shit.” Pidge interjected quickly while using a napkin to pat at the ice cream in her hair.

“How do you get away with any of that, anyway? Didn’t he catch you hopping up on the balcony after climbing the Christmas tree last year?” Lance waved her off.

“That was in the past, and yes. Keith thought I couldn’t make it without using the escalator as support, so I had to prove him wrong.” Matt’s spoon scraped the bottom of the carton obnoxiously, though he didn’t seem to care too much.

“Yeah, but be careful, dude. Just because you have freakishly good balance doesn’t mean you’re not gonna topple something over one of these days, and send you down with it.” Lance laughed.

“Yeah, I’m really worried about a traffic light caving under my weight,” he teased, Matt feigned upset, and they laughed. Pidge’s curiosity was piqued. Balance, did he say?

Pidge would just like to say, for the record, Matt was blind and she was gonna’ hold the Lance thing over his head for years. It had started on a rainy day when she’d found Lance scaling an apartment building, hands clutching at the brick and concrete while he perched atop a street lamp to get a grip. Pidge nearly had a heart attack on the spot, seeing him move with very inhuman grace on his way to the roof.

She was well aware that Lance liked the rain--he’d refuse rides home if they were close just so he could walk in it--but this was a little more then a preference for the weather. It was coming down pretty hard, and nothing could convince Pidge that the metal he stood on wasn’t slick, or that it was perfectly normal for him to keep standing, unruffled by the downpour.

She rushed over, standing at the base of the post without actually touching it. Even with her small stature, she wasn’t going to risk having Lance fall.

“What are you doing?” she yelled, getting Lance to look down as a result. It was hard to see in the rain, but she was almost certain that he took a hand off the wall to wave, which didn’t help her feel like he was any more secure.

“Hey, Pidge!” he shouted back, and Pidge cursed the way he smiled. She stamped her foot, a habit that she had picked up jokingly with Matt when they were bickering, but one that stuck. She thought she heard him laugh, and she resisted the angry grandmother in her that wanted to retort by shaking her finger aggressively.

“Get down from there! Are you insane?” Lance shrugged, or at least she thought he did.

“It’s fine! I’ve done this before!” Pidge didn’t like the sound of that. She wondered if there really was more merit in Matt’s claims about Lance endangering his own life then what she gave him credit for.

“Get down!” she commanded him in return, and the way he gripped the pole and slid down it set her on edge. Pidge was bad at pretty much all magic. Creating and casting spells, removing curses, brewing potions, the whole nine yards. However, she prided herself on what Matt affectionately called her “zero bullshit tolerance policy,” meaning that glamours as a whole were incredibly ineffective on her. Therefore, Lance wasn’t one of the fair folk, and she didn’t smell any wolf on him. He was far too fond of the beach to be a vampire, and he was certainly not a goblin or a troll or any other thing that had thrown a variety of rotten fruit at her. There were other options, but mostly Pidge was forming the opinion that Lance was just weird.

Pidge watched him walk over to her, a smile plastered on his face in spite of the fact that he was drenched.

“You know, that whole foot stamping thing might be endearing if you didn’t look like you actually want to murder me, sewer rat,” he announced, and Pidge glared sharply at him. Lance’s smile widened. “And you continue to prove my point,” he teased. Pidge sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose while moving closer to shelter Lance under her umbrella with her.

“You’re an idiot,” she told him playfully and quirked a brow when Lance moved out from under the cover she provided. At her curiosity, Lance shrugged.

“I don’t mind the rain. It’s nice, soothing, kinda’. I always feel better when it rains,” he told her in his defense. She sighed but figured it wasn’t her business if Lance wanted to ruin his hair and have it return to its natural curls.

“Where are you off to?” she asked, beginning to walk again towards the coffee shop that had been her intended destination. She could drive, she had her own car, but she didn’t do sports and her mom was a health nut, so unless she had a lot to carry she was firmly instructed to walk on down to where she wanted to be. With her newfound progress, she wanted to get a drink, sit on one of the funky little tables they had, and look through her spellbook to see if she couldn’t find something a little more complicated to test out. Lance responded, she could hear it as background noise, but Pidge’s attention was stolen away as her eyes slid back to him and she saw that he was glowing.

Not to a normal eye, he wasn’t, and it was subtle enough that she couldn’t notice without focusing out of the corner of her eye, but it was certainly there. Pidge was a smart girl--she’d understood all the technicalities of magic for years, it was the practical use that didn’t really work out--and she understood what was up real quick after the revelation.

She doubted Lance knew, but he or someone in his family must’ve gotten a boon from one of the fair folk at some point. A water inclined one if she had to hazard a guess based on what she’d seen of Lance. Element aside, it seemed to give him a good bit of luck that rubbed off on himself and others. Pidge hadn’t initially realized it because she did have some semblance of confidence in her skills as a witch, but it was always when Lance was lounging around the house that her spells and charms seemed to work right. Not surprising, and Pidge wasn’t sensitive enough to take it to heart. However, she was enjoying all that she could do with him around. With that in mind, she stopped in the street and placed a hand on Lance’s arm.

“Hey Lance,” she drawled carefully and did her best to pretend that she wasn’t trying to schmooze him into spending time with her for no reason other than to help with what he presumed were random homemade medications. He looked down at her, and she pretended not to notice that her shirt was getting soaked too simply from contact with Lance. “I realize we kinda got off on the wrong foot, mostly because I was an asshole, sorry about that.” Pidge had been trying to get him alone for weeks to apologize, but she was never sure how to phrase it right. She hoped what she’d put together in the three minutes they’d been talking was alright. She wasn’t great with that sort of thing.

“Putting that aside, how do you feel about helping me with some of my, uh, DIYs?” She hoped she didn’t stumble too badly over her words. It was weird referring to things from her mother’s prized spell book--worn and creased in all the right ways from years of careful use--as mere crafts. She expected to have to persuade Lance, but to both her surprise and delight he merely shrugged.

“Sure.” She grinned, and Lance held up a finger to stay her enthusiasm for a moment. “But, we have to stop at my house first. I need a change of clothes. You should probably stay down the block for that one.” He paused for a moment, and Pidge supposed he was thinking. “I want my good blanket too. I figure I’m just moral support since I have the artistic skills of a five year old holding a crayon in their non-dominant hand, so at the very least I want to be cozy.” Pidge nodded. The detour was not convenient, exactly, but it could be expected.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, deal,” she agreed, and only just paid attention to Lance’s warnings as they worked back to his house. Pidge was beyond excited to finally have working magic.

Magic was not worth it.

Lance had told her to stay put, but Pidge was stubborn and insisted upon coming along to help him carry his things. Lance tried to argue with her, but Pidge put her hands on her hips and leveled him with a stare that told him any resistance was a waste of time, so he sighed and brought her along for the ride.

The first thing she registered upon entering the house was that it was loud. There were kids running around, that almost instantly plastered themselves to Lance’s legs. From the kitchen, she heard someone yelling in Spanish, far too fast for her two years worth of classes to make out. The kids, a boy, and a girl unlatched from Lance’s legs, and swarmed Pidge instead, yelling questions out of gap-toothed smiles.

“Tío has a girlfriend!” The girl shouted, brown eyes sparkling. Pidge’s eyes widened, and Lance was quick to slip his hands around her waist, fingers moving to tickle her. She dropped to the floor in a fit of giggles.

“Don’t be rude, Ceci,” he admonished, but the quirk at the corner of his lips betrayed his lack of intent. Pidge was startled to hear footsteps, and then a commanding voice, though it was not unkind in nature.

“What are you two little bugs doing?” The kids--and the male was still crowding Lance, shaking his shoulders while he tickled Ceci--startled, looking up towards the source of the sound.

“Mama!” they cried and abandoned the two of them to rush her. “We weren’t doing anything bad, promise!” The woman who had spoken laughed and ruffled their hair.

“Sure, you weren’t. Who’s this, Lance?” she asked. Lance straightened up, brushing the dirt off himself after landing on the floor. His clothes were still sopping wet.

“Veronica, Pidge. Pidge, this is my sister Veronica, and her kids, Cecilia and Emil,” he introduced them. Veronica waved, seemingly oblivious to her kids teasing one another on either side of her.

“Nice to meet you,” Pidge greeted politely, unsure of how to deal with the whirlwind of commotion. Her own house could get rowdy and she understood that it was summer, but that didn’t stop her shock upon being thrust into such an environment.

“Likewise,” Veronica replied, and shooed the kids towards the kitchen. “Go on, Lance will be around later,” she promised, and they ran off with a last glance back at them. She didn’t miss the way Ceci cackled after an indignant cry rose up from Emil, or so Pidge assumed, somewhere beyond where she could presently see.

“I gotta’ get a change of clothes,” he confessed, motioning to himself. “Keep an eye on Pidge for me while I get dressed?” he asked, and Veronica nodded quickly.

“Yeah, no problem. Hurry up, though. Mom’s gonna get mad if you leave a puddle on her new rug.” Lance yelped and tore off and up the stairs while his sister laughed.

“Sorry about intruding, I didn’t think I’d cause such a commotion,” Pidge admitted a little sheepishly once Lance was gone. Veronica waved her off, leaning against the wall.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. The twins get excited about Lance no matter the circumstances. You’re just a bonus,” she teased, and though they’d only just met Pidge found she didn’t mind. She laughed, and after a bit of silence that followed once the utterance quieted, Veronica spoke again.

“So, how’d you stumble across him?” Pidge shrugged and decided to skim over some details in her explanation.

“Oh, we bumped into each other around town, and then had some mutual friends. Nothing all that exciting.” Veronica nodded and stared down the way he’d gone.

“He doesn’t bring people around here too often. Kinda’ cool that he let you in, not gonna’ lie,” she admitted, only to be overpowered by some commotion in the background. A rougher, more irate tone. Pidge could hear the twins’ names being mentioned somewhere in the midst of the scolding that appeared to be taking place, all in Spanish. Veronica’s mood soured, if the scowl on her face was any indication.

“Hey, Pidge, why don’t you wait outside?” she asked, but Pidge knew it was the sort of demand that was more politely phrased as a suggestion. It was still raining, but Pidge was good at telling when she wasn’t wanted. Veronica practically pushed her out the door, hands warm on her shoulders as she steered her. “I’ll send Lance out when he’s done,” she told her quickly and slammed the door. Pidge frowned. She’d always been too curious for her own good, but she at least respected Lance enough to tamp down her own inquisitive nature. Her foot tapped impatiently, and she did her best not to let her interest show when Lance stalked out the door.

“Let’s go.” He took her wrist in his, not a tight grip, but not idle either, and where Veronica’s palms had been soft and smooth on her freckled skin, exposed from her tank top, his were a little calloused. Like the rest of him, his fingers were long and nimble, skin pale under his finely curved nails. They looked worlds better than Pidge’s own, bitten from nerves and stained with different ingredients. She didn’t argue with him, and soon his grip faded to a mere memory while he made for her place.

They walked in silence for a ways, and Pidge watched as the farther they got away from his house and whoever the voice had belonged to, the tenseness went out of his shoulders and his posture slackened. She’d never seen Lance, who waltzed into her place and flopped on the couch like a sack of potatoes, uncomfortable before, and it set her on edge.

“You know if you ever need to get out for awhile, you can always come over.” Pidge tried to force a casualness into the pitch of her voice that she didn’t feel, kicking a puddle to top it off. She stole a glance at Lance out of the corner of her eye and was pleased to see his lips curl just enough to form a real smile.

“Thanks, Pidge.”

Pidge tried to squash down the happy little thrill that ran through her as he moved closer to her for the rest of the way.

They spent the rest of that afternoon, and many more, holed up in the Holt family kitchen and basement, where Pidge finally was able to do some magic and Lance pet Gunther a lot. Lance didn’t ask questions, just laid back and let her leech off the luck that seeped from him in waves. Pidge had tried to figure out what he had done to win such a fantastic boon, but as it turned out, Lance was more altruistic than previously thought. She had asked him once, shortly after going to get coffee together during a break, and seeing him pay for the other three customers in line behind them with a fifty, as well as telling the cashier to keep the change as a tip.

“Do you do stuff like that often?” Lance merely shrugged, sipping his latte on the way back to her house, stomping purposely in a puddle that had formed from a dip in the old sidewalk. Pidge found she didn’t mind too much when some of the splashes hit her ankles. Lance liked making messes, especially if it involved water. Pidge was a fan of organized chaos herself and had gotten used to it after a time as long as Lance cleaned up after himself.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and she both stopped and stared at him disbelievingly as he continued to walk, seemingly oblivious to the strangeness of his own answer. She had to pump her smaller legs fast to catch up with him again.

“You know, doing nice stuff out of the blue.” Pidge had originally felt guilty for using him, even if he wasn’t aware, to make her spells work, but when he started raiding her stash of water bottles and protein bars in her room--supplied by her parents for when she got wrapped up in her latest hyperfixation, and wouldn’t come down for meals--she figured he was getting something out of it after all. Besides, he seemed to like playing with Gunther, and Pidge bought him Pixie Sticks too as a bribe. She didn’t understand how he could so easily eat the pure sugar--she liked salty snacks herself--but when she asked he merely shrugged and dumped another one down his throat. Candy aside, she’d realized pretty early on after her initial irritation had faded, that Lance was a good person. He just didn’t seem to be aware of the fact.

“Nah. Back there really wasn’t a big deal, don’t worry about it too much, sewer rat,” he told her flippantly, but Pidge was skeptical. One night when she and Hunk were left at her house after Lance and Keith went out for a run together, she inquired into the subject again. This time, she got the answer she was looking for.

“Oh, he’s notorious for that sort of thing. He downplays it, but he’d do anything for anyone, as long as he sees they need help. I was with him one day and he found the weirdest cat in an alley. I mean, it looked alright aside from the weird ears--they were all pointed and bald--but its eyes were blue, like, really blue. It had a paw stuck in a mousetrap, don’t ask me why, because I don’t know, but Lance took it home to fix it up.” Hunk’s nose wrinkled.

Pidge liked disorganization, but Hunk was a fan of order and cleanliness, which made sense considering his handmade labels for everything in his kitchen. He did most of the cooking around his house since his mom had gotten injured at work. He didn’t appear to mind much, at the very least, and Pidge listened as he went on. “I told him not to, disease and all, not to mention his dad hates animals, but he wouldn’t listen. I think he managed to hide it in his room for a week or something before his dad found the cans of food in recycling, but Lance said the cat was gone before he ever saw it in person.” Pidge frowned at the mention of Lance’s dad. What was with that? Still, Hunk wasn’t finished.

“I mean, that’s probably a good thing. You should’ve seen the teeth on that thing, looked like a shark, I swear. I mean Lance said it was sweet, but I don’t trust that. He’s weirdly good with animals.” Pidge took the information in stride, aside from a concerning detail that kept popping up. She interrupted Hunk, who was still going on about the cat. Definitely one of the fair folk, and an apparently predatory one at that. How Lance wasn’t dead, she didn’t know.

“Lance is safe with his dad, right?” she blurted and flushed resultantly at her own brashness. She was never very eloquent, and everyone, including herself, knew that. Hunk startled for a moment at her words, and she saw his eyes narrow, hands balled into fists.

“He’s never hit him, or anybody else in his family, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied, but wouldn’t meet Pidge’s eyes. If she could’ve frowned harder, she would’ve.

“And?” Hunk balked, his eyes going to the door. Pidge presumed what he was thinking.

“Knowing them, they’ll get into some sort of race and they’ll be another ten minutes,” she suggested. She wanted to know what was going on. Hunk looked back at her, sighing.

“If you ever tell him I told you, I’m gonna’ tell him you have a crush on him,” he threatened. Pidge blushed to the tips of her ears, shoving her face into a decorator pillow her mom had on the couch, handmade by a banshee friend she’d had in college.

“I do not have a crush on him,” she protested. Hunk hummed knowingly, letting Pidge in on exactly what he thought of her denial.

“Maybe you haven’t admitted it yet, but I’ve read your diary. You show all the signs,” he declared smugly. Pidge gasped, glaring at Hunk from across the couch.

“You read my diary?” She didn’t understand how, she had several nasty hexes just waiting to be unleashed if anyone other than herself tried to open it, but Hunk was nosy and meticulous and she wasn’t surprised that he’d found a way around that, even unaware that the spells were there. Hunk nodded unashamedly.

“And I’d do it again. Promise me you won’t tell Lance.” He held out his pinky for good measure. Pidge sighed and wrapped her own around it without complaint.

“Say you promise.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Fine, I promise,” she huffed at last, and that seemed to finally placate Hunk, who pulled away and gathered his thoughts for a few long moments before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Lance’s dad isn’t violent, physically, but he’s always been pretty harsh on Lance’s family, and Lance receives the brunt of it. When he was a kid and even now then and again, he made him do all the yard work by himself, made him stay up way too late studying, and then would yell at him when he got a bad grade anyway because he was so tired.” Pidge knew Hunk to be petty over small things, knew he bickered lightly without too much prompting, and knew he and Lance had some sort of weird friendship that let them have entire conversations via incomprehensible hand gestures, but Pidge did not know him as someone prone to anger. When she stared at him at present his dark eyes smoldered with it, his hands clenched into fists while the muscles in his arms strained dangerously.

“Lance can get out of the house a lot more now that it’s summer, but still.” Hunk still looked livid, and Pidge was secretly grateful he didn’t get mad more often. Hunk was outwardly soft, but at his core, he was undeniably strong. They lapsed into silence after that, and when Keith and Lance came back in, arguing over the pronunciation of milk (which Lance said he was the superior authority on, since Keith couldn’t even drink it without locking himself in the bathroom for an hour), Pidge paid a little more attention to his little quirks and oddities. She didn’t want to miss anything that big again.

Not that Pidge would ever tell Hunk, because as angelic as was when hefting Keith onto his shoulders or cuddling up to Lance along with his boyfriend on their group movie nights, he held onto information that proved his points, and she definitely had a not so small crush on Lance. In her defense, she wasn’t sure when it had started. They spend a lot of time together, having him hold down the reeds she was working on twining together for a charm, or letting her prop her spell book up on his back.

He’d informed her that his opinion of her had changed from Pinterest fanatic to boho hippie, and apparently stuck with that line of thought despite the fact that Pidge insisted that her assortment of stained overalls and graphic tees--with the occasional dress, she liked the way they felt swishing around her legs--was more grunge than anything. He waved her off and kissed Gunther’s forehead.

“Hippie,” he told her, completely disregarding her use of logic. Pidge couldn’t even take another stab at refuting the claim, because she was sprinkling crushed unicorn hoof around her room as a ward. She’d been pestering the goblins more than usual lately, and they were getting more persistent. She probably deserved a good mud clod to the face, but she was avoiding that for as long as she could. It wasn’t until she’d finally decided he was really and truly oblivious enough to take to Allura’s shop that she noticed how cute he was, curious face illuminated by the faintly luminescent crystals she had hanging on her walls.

As to what they were, Pidge wasn’t sure. Allura officially called herself a witch but she had a good shot of faery in her, and that kind of heritage let her use all sorts of freaky magic that Pidge didn’t even want to know about. She supposed it didn’t matter in the end because soon enough Lance caught her staring like an idiot, and flashed a smile that had his cheek dimpling in the most perfect way. Pidge knew she was a goner. When she went to check out, Allura seemed to see her blush still remaining from the incident, and grinned devilishly, shoving one of the crystals at Lance.

“Here!” she proclaimed, wrapping it up with some cord, faster than what Pidge had previously thought possible, to form a necklace. “It’s on the house. Pidge shops here all the time, it’s the least I could do,” she reassured Lance when he tried to protest. When Pidge glowered at her on the way out, she merely winked while her scales--passed off as tattoos to those like Lance--flashed in the light.

Lance then proceeded to crush whatever shreds of Pidge’s dignity were left, by wearing the pendant constantly, claiming it brought out his eyes. Pidge’s sudden interest in potions again, which she’d abandoned quickly after her luck turned in search of more exciting opportunities, had nothing to do with the fact that any redness in her face could be chalked up to heat from steam, if anybody went asking. When Hunk did, she flipped him off and buried her face in another pillow. Why her?

Pidge was not prepared, in any way, shape, or form, for the panic she felt on her walk back from Coran’s--Allura’s uncle, for all intents and purposes. His shop was farther away for her, but also had a wider variety than his niece’s, mostly because Coran somehow made friends with nearly everyone he met and had about every ingredient under the sun as a result. She had her phone on mute most of the time, almost entirely because she got distracted easily when whatever she was working on smelled bad, and then things burned and everything just got ten times worse. She wasn’t planning to check it, taking the three bags hanging off her arms into consideration, but she started wondering about how long one of her poultices had been fermenting and got it out to check. Instead, she was greeted with a wall of texts and missed calls, from Shiro, Hunk, Matt, and Keith, but no Lance. Had they planned to meet up today and she’d forgotten? She scrolled through the messages and clicked Shiro’s contact to call at random. He picked up halfway through the first ring.

“Do you know where Lance is?” he asked before Pidge could even ask what was going on. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

“What, no! Why? What’s wrong?” she took a detour into an alley, setting her bags down to press her free hand over her ear in order to hear Shiro better. There was a pause on his end of the line, and when he finally spoke he sounded frantic

“Hunk got a call from him about a half hour ago, and he sounded like a mess. He’d been crying, by Hunk’s guess, and he could hardly understand a word Lance was saying. He hung up pretty quick, apparently, and nobody’s heard word from him since.” Pidge felt a drop of water hit her cheek shortly after Shiro finished filling her in, and looked up to see that the clouds that had been lurking towards the edges of the sky earlier in the day were now knitting ominously together. Pidge gathered her bags again, crushing her phone between her shoulder and her ear. Shiro was still talking.

“When he gets upset sometimes he does stupid stuff, tries tricks or to climb things that he needs someone watching his back for. Keith has checked all their usual spots, but he isn’t at any of them.” Pidge listened raptly, scouring her brain for anything that might remind her of where he could be. She swung by Allura’s shop--she promised to keep an eye out, but she hadn’t seen him--the coffee house they went when her house got too stifling--also nothing--and arrived back at her house a nervous mess, running her fingers haphazardly through her damp hair. Where would an upset Lance have run off to? She crouched on her bedroom floor, sticking her hands under her bed to drag out the tub of miscellaneous odds and ends she’d pre-made, or just things that she couldn’t use immediately.

She had to have something that would help, right? Something that could help her track, or even just keep Lance safe. Her hands delved into the mess, and at last, she came up with a few ear drops, or what was supposed to be used like ear drops, anyway. She twisted the cap off, ignoring the oddly colored flakes of dried goop that came with it. That likely meant she’d made it before Lance had shown up, but it wasn’t awful enough for her to throw out. She ignored the fact that that didn’t exactly mean it worked, let alone well. Pidge vaguely remembered that it had something to do with memory, and that was good enough for her. She tipped her head to the side and did her best not to cringe at the wetness that followed a light squeeze of the container.

When she straightened back up, she found herself surrounded by a barrage of clamoring voices, snippets of conversation she’d heard ever since Lance came into her life.

“Sewer rat-”

“Are you insane?”

“What kind of magic Pinterest bullshit-”

Pidge shook her head, though it pounded with the commotion and she bit back a whimper. She had to focus.

“Always been pretty harsh-”

“What the fuck-”

And then, at last, what she had subjected herself to the experience for.

“You know if you ever need to get out for awhile, you can always come over.”

At once her mind was calm, and Pidge let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. However, a thought occurred to her rather quickly. If Lance was supposed to be at her house, where was he? She glanced slowly around her room, but her eyes snagged on her window. Lance, for how obnoxious he was, was never rude. He wouldn’t have let himself in. She glanced out and down and saw what she was expecting. Huddled against the side of the house was a figure in a white shirt, plastered to his body from the rain.

Pidge launched herself down the stairs and out the back door, tripping over her own feet in the process, waving frantically to Lance to come in. When he stood in the kitchen, she draped towels and blankets over him while he shivered, and clutched the pendant Allura had given him so hard his knuckles shone white.

Pidge sat him on the couch when he was properly dried, shooting texts off to the rest of their friends to let them know Lance was safe. When she had finished, she looked at him. He avoided her gaze, but his thumb stroked the side of the crystal rhythmically. She didn’t try to reach out to him, not yet.

“You wanna’ talk about it?” she asked. She’d never been very good with emotions or words, and, of course, the two combined were even worse. Lance shrugged.

“What’s there to talk about? You said I could come over whenever I needed a break, right? Everything was just too loud over at my place.” His voice was sharp, wielded sloppily like a poorly balanced blade. It wasn’t like his normal easy laughs and crooked but well-intentioned grins. Pidge took that as her cue to offer a hand to him. Lance was touchy, she knew that well enough from all the times she saw him huddled up to Hunk, but they’d never done much. As it happened, Lance latched on without much hesitation.

“That’s fine,” Pidge told him with a shrug. “Sorry for assuming.” She knew very well Lance was lying, and after a second his lip trembled anyways and his eyes got glassy. He scooted a little closer, and when Pidge hesitantly dropped his hand to open her arms welcomingly, he moved into her embrace without further prompting. His hair was curly after being out in the rain, and Pidge decided she didn’t mind how it felt against the skin of her neck. She rubbed his back, unsure at first, and then more steady when Lance didn’t move away.

“I’m not too loud, right?” he asked after a moment. Pidge sucked in a breath and wondered if it was too late to make amends with the dumpster goblins, if only to send them on over to Lance’s dad.

“No, no, of course not, Lance.” She was planning on going on, but Lance had more questions.

“Am I useless? Stupid? Lazy? A nuisance?” It broke Pidge’s heart, hearing him go on while damp spots formed on her shirt, tears dripping off Lance’s chin that rested on her shoulder. His voice cracked on the last word, and she held him a little tighter.

“No, you’re amazing, Lance. A great friend and we all think so. We like having you around.” Lance sniffed, and Pidge wished she knew what to do other than continuing to press him to her, keeping him safe. It was a long time before Lance spoke again, long enough for Pidge’s eyes to grow heavy and for Lance’s shirt to dry out more. Pidge wasn’t great with physical affection, but she liked the feeling of Lance locked into place with her, the tips of his long fingers toying with the ends of her hair, short and strange as it was. His other arm was around her waist, not harsh in his grip, but firm. Like she was his anchor in a churning sea. Pidge wanted to be there for him, to be the one to keep him steady.

“You’re really something else, sewer rat” he whispered, and she could tell from the way his words slurred that he was tired too.

“So are you.” She let the name slide without complaint, the tension long gone out of her limbs, allowing her to properly relax on the couch with him. “Don’t let anyone, even for a second, tell you anything else.”

Matt had woken them that time when he returned home from Shiro’s several hours later, thankfully before their parents got home from work. Ever since the day they spent holding one another, there seemed to be an understanding between them. When Pidge got snappish, skittish and tired of having people around, Lance cleared room for her and set himself up a respectable distance away. When Lance was feeling particularly frustrated, stagnant and full of energy he wasn’t able to properly release, Pidge called him over to help her tie charms and organize ingredients. Busywork, but it gave Lance something to do and that was all he really wanted.

Still, Pidge was worried something was wrong. As of late, Lance had been shooting her looks when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, a kind she didn’t know how to respond to, or understand the motivation behind. His eyes would soften at the corners but grow dark, a little wild, and his brows knitted together, almost like he was concerned, but not quite. It sent Pidge’s stomach into a series of flips every time. She couldn’t seem to get close to him like she had that day, either.

She tried, rented movies they’d talked about seeing together, but Lance always sat on the floor with a blanket, despite how much room there was on the couch. Pidge was at a loss, and she bemoaned her struggles to Matt, who was a good big brother and let her waltz on into his room while he played video games or did homework for his online summer classes. She flopped onto his bed and vented her frustrations, which sent Matt into fits of laughter that she never expected, but was always frustrated by. She bit her lip, glancing at her phone every few seconds. It always made her lose her place in the spellbook she was finally getting around to using--she’d bought it forever ago, but without Lance’s luck had never been able to work with it--but she was expecting Lance, and he was late.

He was never late.

Lance was always on time, if not early, and it was not unusual to see him arrive with some sort of housewarming gift to boot. Pidge did wonder if that had anything to do with his upbringing but never asked. By the time the doorbell finally rang, Pidge was a jittery mess. She hopped up and all but sprinted to get it.

“It took you long enough!” she announced, seeing him standing on the front porch. It was raining again, and Lance’s hair was curling again. Pidge tried not to blush, and Lance stepped inside. Was it her imagination, or did he seem more put together than normal?

“Nice to see you too, sewer rat,” he told her with a laugh, and then shifted a little on his feet in a nervous manner that wasn’t at all like him. Pidge felt her stomach plummet. Had she done something? Lance did seem to be distancing himself, what if they hadn’t made as much progress as she’d thought? Pidge tried to smile despite her worries, motioning to the kitchen.

“Well, come on. I have this thing that-” Lance cut her off.

“Actually, I kinda had something in mind for today,” he admitted, and Pidge froze, already halfway to the stove. She threw her shoulders back, feigning nonchalance.

“Oh, yeah, that works too,” she agreed quickly. Lance flashed a quick smile, but it was nothing like his normal ones that could light up a room. Then, he looked at the ground and moved towards the door.

“The others should be here soon,” he informed her, and Pidge tried not to panic. Maybe she really had done something. They hadn’t discussed inviting anyone else along, it was supposed to just be them. The final straw was Lance’s hand on the doorknob, saying,

“Maybe I should just wait out-” Pidge raced forward, going to his side.

“Lance, are you mad at me?” she asked. She felt horribly childish doing so, but he was just being so weird, she couldn’t help it. His face went blank, before morphing into one of complete and utter surprise.

“What?”

“Are you mad? I know it’s a dumb question, but I thought we were close and recently you’ve just been, well, off I guess? I don’t know and I get that it’s probably dumb but I really like having you around and everything even just as a friend and I don’tknowwhatyou’redoingbut-” Pidge thought she might spontaneously combust, as Lance doubled over, laughing wildly.

“Hunk said you wouldn’t notice anything but I thought I was being so obvious, how could you not?” He snorted, and Pidge cursed herself for thinking it was cute. Over the top of his shirt, the crystal glowed steadily.

“I’m sorry?” She didn’t understand. What was he going on about? Why was Hunk involved? Oh, my god, had he told Lance about her crush?

“I was finally gonna’ ask you out today, Pidge,” he told her slowly. Pidge blinked a few times, staring up at Lance in disbelief, and then she felt a patchy blush spreading up her neck and cheeks. She was going to die on the spot. End of story, no questions asked. How was she supposed to react? She’d never done this before, and her normally infallible mind was not computing. Lance’s expression fell.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to, though! I’ll just go, and we can pretend like this never happened or whatever.” Pidge saw him tearing up, and all of a sudden she had her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a koala on steroids, as Lance would say when he affectionately recounted the incident later. The only problem was that she had meant to just hug him, but she didn’t expect to jump quite as high as she did. In a grand clashing of teeth and also foreheads, Pidge and Lance shared their first kiss. Lance’s arms caught around her waist, keeping her in place when they pulled back to dissolve into laughter.

Between fits of giggles, Pidge reached out to examine Lance’s face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. You okay?” Lance nodded, despite the way his lips were starting to swell a little from the force of the impact.

“You’re something else, Pidge.” She gave him another kiss, not quite on the lips but it was in the general jurisdiction and that was good enough for her. About the time she started slipping from his arms--in all fairness, he didn’t have a lot of time to catch her before her koala grip would’ve failed her--Hunk and Matt burst through the door wiedling cameras, Shiro and Keith following shortly after with a massive bouquet of rubber rats.

Pidge fell on the floor because she ended up laughing too hard, and somewhere in the midst of Hunk’s string of expletives--they missed the whole thing goddamnit Lance--she caught Lance’s eye. The wink he threw in her direction upset Pidge’s growing, tenuous grasp on nonverbal magic and ended with a few slammed cupboards in the kitchen, but if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a thing.

#pidge #lance #plance #langst #vldshipexchange #ambivalentlangst #ambi exchanges

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tardispowered · 6 years

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Book Review: The Day She Saved the Doctor

Summary

Spoiler Warning: If you don’t like spoilers, don’t read. (That being said, it’s basically a one star read)

So, I had an issue with this book as soon as I saw the title. “The Day She Saved the Doctor”. A lot of this has to do with my near contempt for the majority of the back half of Moffat era Who. It’s not that they’re progressive because I am all for that- but there’s this big act like being progressive in Who is this NEW THING BOUGHT TO YOU TODAY BY MOFFAT! NEVER BEEN SEEN BEFORE!

And… it has.

I mean, yes, Classic Who has its problems. It’s as much of its time as anything. However, DW has always been progressive and that includes Her Saving Him all the freaking time! How many times have Sarah Jane and/or Leela saved four’s ass? Even in Nu!Who, 9 wouldn’t be alive if Rose hadn’t pulled his ass out of the fire more often than not. There are instances of her saving him throughout the series so this is not new and to act like it is feels like an insult.

Still, I support women writers of Doctor Who because we need more of them. It’s still very much a boy’s arena. And the fact that I have contention with these stories is partly the writers but also partly the editor who decided these were good enough. Because they aren’t. They really aren’t. And it makes this book seem like a gimmick to shine the spotlight once more on HOW GREAT WHO IS NOW SEE WHAT HE HAS GIVEN US WE SHOULD BE GRATEFUL

Well I’m not—because this is bullshit.

Ok, to be fair it caps off at about 90% bullshit with 10% being decent to pretty good. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?

Sarah Jane and the Temple of Eyes – Jaqueline Rayner

Props where props are due, I started out really enjoying this one. Sarah Jane and Four were both well characterized and it made me laugh out loud in several parts. Some bits made me side-eye a little, such as Sarah getting jitters over the mention of Blindman’s Bluff… but as she’d been blinded and fairly recently I imagine, given the weight of it in the story, I went along with it. There were a few Moffat Era (from here on out abbreviated to ME) bits that me sigh but otherwise, yes fine.

And thennn Sarah Jane gets kidnapped. Which okay fine sure.

And four gets kidnapped trying to rescue Sarah okay sure

The antagonist wanted memories, Sarah offered to give them memories of hers, the antagonist declined saying they didn’t need them, Sarah said the antagonist wouldn’t have memories like hers. Now, this is set in Ancient Rome so I was thinking, right, makes sense, modern girl and all

But no. Because SJ has memories of the DOCTOR and the DOCTOR is the BEST THING TO EVER EXIST and she would HATE TO LIVE WITHOUT HIM

And this is the one ME thing that consistently bugs the shit out of me. This CULT OF THE DOCTOR where everyone falls at their feet salivating in love or fear at his very presence. He is even called a God in this narrative to fit the lonely God title that 12 gets. And I hate that. He’s not a God. He’s not a hero. He’s a guy who likes running around the universe and not being told what to do. And he does help and save the day and that’s what makes him a good person.

But no he has to be THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER AND LET US ALL WORSHIP HIM BECAUSE HE IS GOOD AND RIGHT and so on

Moreover, I am assuming this book is bent toward one of a more feminist ideology, and I have no problems with that.

Only it’s hard to believe that when Sarah Jane has a line like: Oh the Doctor is talking down to me but he’s 700+ so it’s alright.

Also I hated that the Doctor, the fourth Doctor of all of them, said out loud that Sarah Jane is awesome and so good and he trusts her and so on and so on. Because nothing says subtlety like a ham handed asspat right? And ooc for four too.

But one thing that really bugged me near the end was the Doctor saying: “After all, if we can’t trust a bunch of women with the secrets of the universe, who can we trust?” And not even tongue in cheek. I imagine it’s supposed to be feminist or something but iit’s really not because HEY GUESS WHAT Women can be evil too and use that knowledge against others. And in fact the main antagonist ALREADY HAD but she was a scheming woman who wanted power and not like these who… are apparently better or something. I don’t even know.

It also felt really patronizing to women of ancient Rome who were, apparently, so shackled by the patriarchy that they couldn’t do anything else but be Oppressed. And, granted, it probably wasn’t great being a woman in Ancient Rome compared to modern day, but it showed nothing of their strengths and what they did have. What they could do. It was all: Poor Women Oppressed Doing Terrible Things.

It also didn’t help that Ancient Rome was just a set dressing. Like I’m not asking for a historical epic but it was just presented so slap dash and very little effort was put into making it seem like a real historical place.

Finally, Sarah Jane read a bit young to me. She generally has more confidence then that. (BUT IF SHE HAD THAT CONFIDENCE FROM THE BEGINNING, HOW CAN THE DOCTOR INSPIRE HER? /gag) Though it feels to me (and I could be wrong) that she just wasn’t used to writing Sarah Jane.

Two out of five stars

Rose and the Snow Window – Jenny T. Colgan

This is the only good story of the lot. The author’s bio says that Colgan writes for Big Finish and done 10th Doctor stories so it makes sense. It’s nicely paced, nicely plotted (more or less) and it’s clear she knows what she’s doing. Though I will say as a bit of an aficionado of 9, the writing in the story does tend to shade more to 10 at times, so the characterization, for me, isn’t as on point as I’d like it. Also there were some weird lines that made me go: bzuh? Overall though, it was entertaining, and Rose was well written and Nikolai was adorable (if not fleshed out terribly well). The ending was a bit more rushed than not but I actively liked reading it. Enough so I’d give the book overall one star rather than just a half.

Because, most importantly, Rose actually actively saved 9’s ass. So well done there

Three out of five stars.

Clara and the Maze of Cui Palta- Susan Calman

Calman’s bio mentions no previous involvement in Doctor Who and, yeah, I can kinda tell. I mean, far be it from me to say someone has to have official endorsement to be a good writer for Who (If that were the case I would be able to watch S10 without frothing at the mouth. Not to mention the awesome fanfiction writers out here) but it’s sort of clear she doesn’t work with these characters often.

You could tell that she at least got the gist of eleven and knew what he was supposed to be like but in reality he was really skewed. But not as bad as Clara. Hooh boy. Clara was not done well. The basics seem to be okay but she’s entirely too giddy in a girlish kind of way (which isn’t really suit her at all.) Laughing and clapping hands and things of that nature. And then I feel like far too paranoid being lost in the maze.

Because that’s all the story is. Them lost in maze. Granted there’s a skeleton suggesting they should probably leave sooner than later, but nothing chases them. There’s no real danger but them being lost. In a maze. It was kind of a boring read to be honest.

And then it ends with another ASSPAT FOR FEMINISM with 11 saying:

‘Clara, I was wrong to have not listened to you sooner. It was the maze, doing funny things to my judgement…. But I do trust you, I hope you know that’

Because if you don’t have it down in Writing that the Doctor loves and respects Clara and knew he did wrong then it’s just not enough. Gotta hammer it in there. Also it undercuts itself by him apologizing then blaming the maze. If it really was the maze, then he’s got nothing to apologize for. If it wasn’t, then don’t bring it up.

Anyway, she sort of saved the Doctor in this one. Kind of. But she mostly saved herself. I mean, yes, they could have been wandering around that maze for a very long time but she would have died of natural causes long long long looooonng before he would’ve.

So, go team, I guess. /shrug

One out of five stars.

Bill Potts and the Jackets-Dorothy Koomson

To start out, I have to admit that while I love the idea of Bill Potts and Pearl Mackie knocks the acting out of the water—I don’t think S10 gave her much character to work with. Oh she had some but to put it simply, S10 was mostly concerned with Missy and PROGRESSION POINTS. (and I am 1000% for a black gay woman as a companion, but hey give her something to do beside saying she’s gay in every episode and then have her wait ten years being slowly turned into a cyberman before ‘fridging’ her in the end to fuel 12 angst. Yes, she want off with Heather. But she’d only known Heather for maybe MAYBE a handful of hours.)

Still despite my extreme dislike for S10 I am always willing to give new writers a chance.

But unfortunately in this story it was clear that the writer had no idea what they were doing and it showed. MAN did it show. Bill was portrayed alright given the circumstances of her characterization (or lack thereof) but 12 was so badly done it’s not even funny. Forget the 12th regeneration, he’s not even the Doctor.

For example

Upon confronted with someone who claims to be Bill (who is the real one) when he already has a Bill in the TARDiS (and nothing otherwise wacky or dangerous is going on) he flat out refuses to consider any possibility but that it’s not Bill and tells them to go home. There’s no investigation. No nothing.

I mean it COULD BE that I missed something in reading (because I was annoyed so I did skim) that fake!Bill was using memory alteration on him or something but if she was it doesn’t stand out.

But even if that’s true, 12 is just acting like an asshole through most of this. Moreso than he even did in S8. It’s like that’s the only version that the author knows and they ran with it. But it’s not 12 and certainly not s10 12 who had learned a lot through Clara. (and retains it despite not remembering her)

Like he is severely mad at antagonist and agrees to help her but tells her to, to paraphrase: Get in the TARDiS now before he changes his mind.

Which fine, if she had been someone murderous or had tortured people or whatever. But there is clear indication at that point in the story (and the narrative supports the idea) that she was going to give Bill herself back but she didn’t trust the Doctor to help her. She didn’t hurt anyone. She just wants to get home. Even grumpy 12 would be more compassionate than that because guess what? Compassion is the Doctor’s default.

Also the real kick in the teeth is that Bill didn’t even save him. There was nothing to save him from. She more or less saved herself which is all well and good but when the title and idea of the entire book is: ‘When She Saved the Doctor’, you’d expect her to do a little saving.

It didn’t help either that the story was poorly constructed to and overall just an aggravating read.

No stars for this one. I’d be tempted to give it negative stars but rather blame the author, I’d rather blame the editor who thought this one was ok.

Because it’s not.

It reallllly fricking isn’t.

SO YEAH I wouldn’t recommend this book at all. It has a decent 9/Rose story where Rose is cute as hell but beyond that, it doesn’t even live up to its own hype. It’s sad too because it could have been so much more.

#doctor who #the day she saved the doctor #book review #sarah jane smith #rose tyler #clara oswald #bill potts #doctor who books #one out of five stars

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windolfcolumn · 7 years

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The Lookout (A Karl Ove Reacher Thriller)

By Karl Ove Reacher

In those days I considered myself a poet, or something like a poet, although one would have been hard-pressed to find any lines of verse in my many ragged notebooks. The days were drifting one into the next, and Uncle Gunnar said, "Karl Ove, at some point you must become serious about your writing, you know."

It was very late in the autumn, the time of year that people will call winter without giving it a second thought, and no one corrects them. Gunnar and I sat in the chill of a dock with the sea wind blowing at us very coldly. Seagulls were wheeling about in the air and in my memory I see also that my uncle and I were not wearing heavy jackets in the fresh darkness and I see, too, that we were smoking slightly bent and rumpled British cigarettes plucked from a soft pack.

I said nothing but only puffed on the wrinkled stick made of paper with the tobacco leaf-scraps packed tightly inside it, and those scraps were burning. It was a fire, but controlled, and I supposed in that moment that I was its master.

"Karl Ove? Eh? Do you hear me?"

"Yes, yes," I said at last. "Who needs more of this dreaded 'literature,' however?"

We trudged away from the spinning sea birds and away, also, from the coldly blowing wind, and we moved on our legs toward a pub. Ever since the summer prior, a small group of romantics -- or so I had thought of those fellows, when I thought of them at all -- had been holding sway over the place, and a pair of them shot looks in the direction of me and my uncle as we stepped over the threshold and into the warmth.

We pushed bills across the surface of the bar in exchange for tall glasses of heavy brown beer and we tipped them back and I saw that the froth was clinging to old Gunnar's mustache, something he was quite unaware of, this bubbly froth, and I supposed that, in time, I would be the same way, just an old man drinking beer on an evening near to winter without even the slightest knowledge that the foam had attached itself to whatever facial hair will have sprouted from my skin.

Uncle Gunnar said something about the state of things in Europe, as if under the impression that we should "discuss politics" now that we had changed locations from the rustic dock to the supposedly more civilized environs of the indoors. Perhaps I would have replied intelligibly but I had not quite caught his words, my ears slow to adjust to the new acoustical atmosphere and the thrum of voices around me, and I offered him but a grunt. Perhaps, also, my failure to respond in kind owed something to the fact that I found myself a bit lost, or pretending to be lost, in my own pseudo-poetic musings about life and its meaning, if any. For instance, if there is no god to keep track of us, then what is the point? Then again, why should some higher power interest itself in human beings more than it would in, say, an ant? And what is wrong with being an ant? Why should I feel superior to such a creature? If the mere capacity of my brain was enough to earn me some sort of special status, celestially speaking, then what good had it done me? Or, perhaps more accurately, what good I done it? Here I was, drifting, depressed, accomplishing nothing of note. And yet, what was the nature of accomplishment? Could there be anything more futile than human accomplishment, which seemed to me necessarily intermixed with cruelty and oppression? Had any so-called advance ever been accomplished without one person's having stepped on the neck of another?

Suddenly, one of the romantic fellows brushed up against my back.

"Europe, eh?" he said.

"Excuse me," Gunnar said, "my nephew and I were having a conversation."

"Nephew, eh?" the romantic -- or so I thought of him -- said.

That was when he and I caught glimpses of each other's eyeballs. Eyeballs looking at eyeballs — that is a strange thing indeed, and it occurred to me that we had each canceled out the other's existence, if only for a moment. At the same time, there was a recognition in our mutual glance, for this was Henrik, who had been a schoolmate of mine. He had been a joker in those days and still I saw a bit of merriment and aggression in his eyeballs. It is a combination that I have long detested. The remainder of Henrik's face looked like a wooden board.

"Eh, Karl Ove Reacher!" he said, with a bit more volume than seemed suitable for a mouth so close to my ear. "We need you to be a lookout man. Go outside, then. Finish the beer, or take it with you, I don't care."

"Lookout?" I said.

"Go back outside, into the cold now, that's a good boy."

"Boy?"

And then I felt the cowardice crawling up my spine and nestling into my brain.

"Keep a lookout for police, foreigners, government officials, what-have-you."

"Foreigners?"

"I am sure you know just what I mean. Go on, then."

The cowardice had me stepping back toward the threshold. By the time I had reached it, a few of the other romantics had joined with Henrik, and they were asking my uncle to dance. Asking is the wrong word, however. They were demanding that he dance. They clapped their hands together and they cajoled him with phrases insulting to his honor and they gave him light taps that evolved into firm pushes, and poor Uncle Gunnar began to make foolish movements with his body that looked all the more pathetic given that he was not wearing the proper clogs.

Standing beside Henrik was a bull of a man names Ingmar. I had known him from the brief time I had worked in the cannery. How many slabs of whitefish had passed me by as I jotted yet another pensee into my notebook? At Ingmar's back were two other men who struck me as impressionable students. Perhaps on some sort of intellectual lark, they had seemingly fallen under the spell of these rough romantics, or so I had thought of them in my effort to block off the truth.

For all the crags in his face, for all his olden ways, Uncle Gunnar was known in the villages as a forward-thinking person who had no patience with the old mythologies, and as he continued with his horrible dancing, he appealed to me with a glance.

Up until this moment, my most serious physical altercations had involved only myself. And yet my moments of self-abuse of the last few disappointing years in which I had found myself unable to translate my pseudo-poetic feelings into any sort of publishable text had steeled me against my perhaps inborn distaste for violence.

I took three strides back to the bar. Henrik and his compatriots were laughing and clapping together their hands.

"That is enough," I said.

"Haha! Karl Ove says it's enough!" screamed Henrik.

"Oh, Reacher, we are frightened!" said Ingmar.

"Come outside, then," I said. "It is too crowded in this place for me to beat you properly."

"Beat us properly!" screamed Henrik.

"Yes, Karl Ove, we shall follow you and fight, then," said the bull-like Ingmar.

In a moment or two, I stood facing the four men on the street outside the place. Nearly a dozen others stood on the lumpy sidewalk, watching.

"Well, Karl Ove?" Henrik said. "When shall the fighting begin?"

"It already has," I said.

"Has it, then?" Ingmar said. "We did not notice."

"In our school days," Henrik said, "I did not know you to be much of a pugilist."

"I have known much failure since then," I said, "and it has made me tougher."

"Ah, but there are four of us and only one of you," Ingmar said.

"Apparently you are a mathematical genius," I said.

The two student types would come at me first. This I somehow knew. I was also cognizant that in their enthusiasm and confidence they would not coordinate their actions. The first one, with a reddish beard, stepped forward and threw a jab with his left. I allowed it to connect with my jawbone.

"Not going so well for you so far, Karl Ove," Henrik said.

In a front pocket of my blue jeans I had a house key. I fished it out with my right hand. With my left, I gave the red-bearded student-type a small slap on his right ear. Then, with the tip of the house key peeking out between two fingers of my right fist, I was able to punch him straight into his nose. The metal drove in past the bone and blood spurted out. Given that he was only playing at this hooligan stuff, in my estimation, he went down rather easily, stunned and frightened, cradling his face and wailing.

The second student-type then made his move. He was a smooth-faced young man with blond hair cut tight to his head. I managed to duck his wild swings, and as I did so, I noticed a loose cobblestone. I grabbed it, lifted it — it was quite cold to the touch — and I smashed it against the back of his head, knocking him out.

Henrik said, "When did you learn to fight, Reacher?"

I said, "I did not learn. Everyone already knows how to do it. It is like playing guitar."

"But can you play an F chord?" said Henrik, leaping into the air and kicking me in the face.

I admit I had not expected that. I found myself on the ground with blood trickling out of one ear. Beside me on the ground was the beer glass I had recently drained. As Henrik moved to fall on top of me, I smashed it and held a triangular shard forward. It penetrated his sternum. I gave it one turn to the right and one to the left for good measure. Henrik gasped and rolled aside, clutching his abdomen.

"Well, well," said the bull-like Ingmar.

I noticed steam emerging in wisps from his nostrils. At the same moment, at my back, I heard the sound of a moped engine drawing near. I turned around, shoved Jarl the postman off of his small vehicle, and leaped aboard the seat. Then I gunned it and drove straight toward Ingmar. In the split-second before contact, I popped a wheelie, and the front wheel of the bike clanked hard against his testicles. With a great heaving of breath and sudden popping-out of his eyeballs, he hunched himself over.

I drove forward a short distance and then turned the bike around. Within seconds, I slammed into him again at a speed of twenty miles per hour, I would guess. I hopped off the moped, grabbed the bloody cobblestone, and smashed it against Ingmar's neck. He lay in a heap on the street. For good measure, I stepped on his neck and told him he was useless and that all humanity was more or less useless, so that whatever notions he had as fodder for his political philosophy, if his collection of what I assumed to be tribal feelings amounted to something that could go by such a name, were not worth his time and effort, and that he should admit as much to me now.

It took a while to make my meaning plain but at last Ingmar got the gist and said, "I am useless."

"Let's go, Uncle," I said, then.

"Yes, I suppose that is enough fighting and talk for one evening," said he.

We walked up the hill, saying nothing, until we reached the clump of piney woods close to his house.

"The events of this evening have given me a notion," I said. "Do you suppose, Uncle, that I should try to write things with a bit more action? Fights and such?"

"I am not sure, Karl Ove," said he. "Perhaps physical altercations are best left to the street. Perhaps there will one day be a market for your melancholy musings."

"I am not so sure about that."

"Well, who can say what the literary trends shall be in the coming years? Good night."

"Good night, then."

Soon I reached home. I inserted the house key into the slot and wondered if the blood remnants would gum up the works. Inside, I found that the place was untidy, and the sight of it made me feel ashamed. First I went at the piled-up dishes in the sink. I washed them and I dried them. Then I scrubbed the floors on my hands and knees. By the time my hovel looked presentable, dawn was breaking, and I could hear the little birds on the other side of the walls and windows making their first chirps of the new day.

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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: Sinning Never Felt So Good : Chapter One : katyasbingowings

AN: a religious Matt and defiantly not religious Jason, mainly Pearlet with some cute lil Biadore and Trixya moments, hope you enjoy! :)

Matt would marry Jesus, if he had not been a male of course, or dead. Basically, Matt was your classic bible-loving, goody-two-shoes - one of the few students who attended St.Annes voluntarily, instead of being sent here to solve his delinquency. When he waved off his loving mother, Eve, and priest of a father, Adam (don’t ask), he giddily scanned his surroundings. Now, what Matt was expecting was equally thrilled peers, all ecstatic to be in such a religious and wonderful environment, cross necklaces, knee length skirts, the whole sha-bang. What Matt wasn’t expecting was an aura of pure misery, disgruntled goodbyes from both conflicted parents and children alike, at least four fellow students breathing out tar and nicotine, and defiantly not a brooding, long-haired figure examining him from afar - he could practically sense the dark-eyed gaze pierce his skin.

The skittish boy quickly focused his attention on the pebbled ground beneath him, now extremely self-aware of his actions and embarrassed that he was being watched - he could already tell that the boy was trouble (to be honest, Matt didn’t trust anyone who wore ripped jeans in the cold, it was simply illogical) and didn’t want their eye contact to be an invitation for interaction. When he glanced back up, the boy was gone, and Matt sighed in relief.

“Good arvo everyone! I’m Sister Courtney, follow me you bunch of you scamps and we’ll get you sorted out in no time!” Matt couldn’t help but giggle at the Australian slang that left everybody momentarily baffled, hearing some try to imitate - and completely butcher - the strong accent, before everyone eventually filled into the impressively large main hall. He was handed his timetable, a list of rules, and a key to his dorm. ‘BLOCK C - ROOM 4’: his new home.

Accompanied by a smile that hadn’t left Matt’s face since he arrived, the brunette practically skipped along to his new quarters, unlocking the door and bursting through with an overwhelming amount of enthusiasm. The first thing he noticed was the two single beds, quickly realising that he would be sharing the bedroom with a complete stranger, the idea somewhat worried the young one, but as a good Christian Matt would welcome his new friend with open arms. Beginning to unpack, the naive boy prayed he would be paired with someone nice, they’d say grace together each morning and night, share bread, and do whatever other religious nonsense running though the poor boy’s mind.

***

Jason wanted three things in life: a carton of cigarettes, designer clothes and a free pass at life. With a personality perfectly fit for reality TV, and a face for it too (as he would tell you), him and St.Annes didn’t seem like the ideal match. For one, he was far from religious, convinced he’d begin frothing at the mouth if he even stepped within fifty feet of a church. He wasn’t frothing yet, so at least that’s a positive. ‘Out of all the boarding schools they could have sent me to, why did it have to be one that bust a nut over the Old Testament’, Jason sighed at his thoughts and examined the endless list of rules that he was not planning on biding by.

While Matt had paid zero attention to the rule list, having already researched all the guidelines weeks in advance (his nightmare would be disrespecting the school on his first day after all), Jason viewed them in disgust:

1. No smoking  2. No drugs or other illegal substances  3. No alcohol  4. No visible piercings  5. No leaving dorms after curfew  6. No sexual activity  7. No leaving the school grounds  8. No chewing gum  9. Uniform must be worn at all times during school hours  10. No excessive makeup

Before he even finished the figurative novel of restrictions in front of him, a swamp-green haired female voiced his own thoughts, “this is bullshit.” Pretty much summed it all up.

“I second that,” Jason agreed, now fully examining the oddity beside him. She was tall, easily towering above him, the black knee-high heels probably helped that fact, but Jason knew he’d still be looking up at her even with them off. The mermaid-esque creature was also doused in various shades of glitter, as if she bathed in the shiny flakes before leaving the house. She was basically a mix between a cartoon character and doll, which both intrigued and amused Jason.

She turned towards his voice, smiling widely, joyed to discover a fellow punk-rock, party-lover who was ready to throw these rules aside and actually make their time in this shithole an enjoyable one. “I’m Adore!”

“Adore? We’re your parents high when naming you or did they just hate you?” Jason cackled, blatantly demonstrating his lack of filter, luckily Adore was too high (on life and life alone) to care about Jason’s rude demeanour.

“Well my parents named me Danny, but I thought Adore was a more suited for a mythical beauty from another world like myself,” she adjusted her shorts that had began to ride up, somehow higher than they already were, and continued bantering with her new friend. Jason introduced himself also, and the two quickly realised they had both been banished to St.Annes under the same reasoning: smoking, partying and sucking dick. The twosome were shedding tears of laughter after this realisation, earning strange looks from a silver-haired boy clutching onto a leather- bound bible with dear life, and a disgruntled demand to shush from Sister Courtney.

After a solid ten minutes the pair had calmed down, Adore pulled a cigarette from her bra, gestured to the door as an invitation, though Jason just shook his head. “I’m gonna check out my roomie, make sure he’s not a psycho bible-basher,” the dark-haired boy explained, “and to check if he’s cute,” he added with a wink. Adore dismissed him by merely stating ‘party’ and strolling off.

***

Matt was a stickler for rules, and they were specifically instructed to find their rooms and get unpacked immediately, so when his roomie was still vacant after a generous half an hour, Matt knew the pairing were not going to be compatible. He, however, had already changed into the uniform provided, reread the rules twice - just to make sure, and secured his own personal cross above his bed.

Dinner was in an hour, and just as Matt’s frustration over a lack of company grew, the door opened. Opened was a loose term, thrown would probably suit the action better, as the door slammed into the wall with such a force that Matt’s treasured cross was knocked onto the soft comforter below. Matt released an almost comical gasp, immediately rushing over to fix it back in its rightful place, all while Jason stared at the boy.

At that moment, Jason went through a spiral of emotions. His venture began with amusement, what could he say, this vulnerable religious boy cooing over a mere cross was considerably amusing. Then annoyance, realising that he was forced to room with a stuck-up freak whose kink was the bible - he brought his own cross from home, who brings more crosses to a bloody religious school, it’s not like they needed anymore. Though Jason could just about put up with all of that, as that boy was unbelievably attractive and Jason was easily won over (that’s a nicer way of phrasing that Matt’s face alone made him undeniably ‘excited’).

‘God I haven’t talked to you, like at all, maybe that one time when I broke my leg and thought I was going to die, but that’s beside the point. I want to send my most grateful thanks for creating that boy’s face, that is all. A-to-the-fuckin-men.’

Matt immediately recognised his new roommate as the boy who had stared him down earlier, the one who must have cold knees from the impractical rips in his trousers, and to be honest, the milky-skinned creature observing him again made him undeniably agitated. Though the bible preached finding the positive aspects in everybody you encounter, so he had no choice but to give the obvious delinquent the benefit of the doubt. “Hello there, I’m Matt! I guess we’ll be roommates for a while, so we best get used to each other!”

To Jason, this was a higher dose of enthusiasm than he could handle, so he merely muttered ‘Jason’ and threw himself onto the leftover, unclaimed mattress. Every time Matt’s peppy voice piped up, Jason merely grunted in reply, and eventually fell asleep to a truly fascinating tale about a pregnant choir singer.

“And so she was in the middle of the chorus, and her water broke, right there in the middle of church, and -”

***

Jason was disgusted by what this church considered food, so with a plate stacked with cross shaped tator-tots, he searched for somebody who wasn’t going to rant about Satan (or whatever religious people spent their free time discussing). He soon recognised Adore sat next to scrawny blonde woman, and joined the pair.

“Hey baby girl!” Adore welcomed as he sat opposite the other-worldly individual, “I was gonna order pizza cause the foods tastes like actual arse, but the nearest place apparently got yelled at by Courtney the last time they brought pizza here or some shit, and now they’re too scared to come back.”

“But that is not the even best part, Adoor, you offered to eat his pepperoni do you not remember,” Jason cackled along with the tale, and immediately clocked the thick Russian accent the woman sported, “I go by the name of Katya in this American land my friend, and you?”

“Jason. Are you from Russia?” He asked, pushing the so called 'food’ around his plate, pizza honestly sounded so good right now.

“No Shit Sherlock,” Adore drawled sarcastically, causing Jason to playfully kick her beneath the table, before turning his attention back to his new acquaintance.

“No, no, Adoor this is a sensible question, I could have been from many a place. But yes I am from Russia, though I much prefer the Americas, it’s not as cold so I do not have to wear so much fur of the dead animal!”

The conversation continued along that nature, Jason soon learning that Katya and Adore ended up being roommates, and Jason venting about his extremely attractive yet bible-worshipping roomie, until the one and only topic of conversation strolled past. Matt’s eyes were frantically darting around, trying to find an empty table to perch at to avoid awkward conversations with strangers, he was having no luck in the matter.

“Thats him,” Jason pointed out, and he kid you not, Adore and Katya were the least subtle people to ever walk the halls of St.Annes, case in point:

“That one?” Katya asked, arm stretched and pointed directly at the brunette, Matt and all those around him turning to towards her, curious to what spectacle was occurring in the previously lifeless dining hall.

“Jason you were right that man right there is bomb.com.org.co.uk,” Adore voiced, which - again - everyone overheard. Even the neighbouring table agreed, muttering various compliments under their breaths towards the baffled Matt.

“His bum bum is very cute,” Katya just had to add. Adore hummed in approval. And who’s kidding, Jason also hummed in approval.

Matt was completely frazzled by half the hall of students gazing his way, all apparently appreciating his arse and gawking at his physical appearance. Matt looked for the source of commotion, and of course, he made eye contact with a smirking Jason seated at a nearby table, partnered by two fairly unconventional looking women. Be a good Christsin Matt, be nice, smile, and be on your way. As he was about to saunter off as far away from the scene as he could, Jason gestured for him to take a seat. Matt swallowed, hard.

’Weird company is better than no company I guess.’ Matt thought, quietly sitting down beside his new roommate.

#pearl liaison #violet chachki #adore delano #bianca del rio #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #pearlet #biadore #trixya #au #sinning never felt so good #katyasbingowings #rpdr fanfiction #submission #m/m au

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avidbeader · 7 years

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Voltron fanfic: “Scattered” Chapter 2

Season 2 AU. No ships, K+ to T rating. Begin at the beginning here.

Keith stared for a moment at the four enormous stone portraits of Mount Rushmore. He was home. He was back on Earth.

He could report! Even though it was unlikely that Earth would attract attention from the Galra without the Blue Lion hidden there, the fact that they had been here needed to be shared.

“Okay, Red. Do you have a way for me to communicate with the locals?”

The lion seemed to poke around his brain for a moment, seeking details on what he wanted to accomplish, then a screen popped up. Keith touched it and immediately heard frantic conversation about the Red Lion’s crash landing.

He took a deep breath and touched another part of the screen. “This is Keith Kogane, former Galaxy Garrison cadet and pilot of the Red Lion. Please respond.”

There was stunned silence for a moment, then several voices began yelling back at him.

“One at a time!”

“This is Lieutenant General Darzi of Earthforce Central Command. You will surrender that ship and yourself for questioning immediately!”

Keith slapped a switch, feeding more power to the defense bubble around Red. “With all due respect, sir, I will not surrender it. It is part of a force belonging to another planet and I’ll be returning with it when I finish reporting what you need to know.”

“Now see here—”

“Keith, this is Commander Iverson. What do you need to tell us?”

“First off, there is an alien empire, the Galra Empire, that has been expanding for over ten thousand years. They first became aware of Earth last year when they kidnapped everyone on the Kerberos expedition with Dr. Holt. The Blue Lion, another piece of the force I’m a part of, was hidden here. That was the mess that happened…how long have we been gone?”

“About six weeks, son.” “Thanks. Six weeks ago. We got separated in battle and I got flung back here by an unstable wormhole. I don’t think any Galra followed me through it, but I recommend increasing long-range scans. I can share known tactical information about their ships, not that it’ll help. Their technology and power is a thousand times greater than anything we have.”

Darzi, apparently through with being ignored, shouted, “Cadet, you will obey the chain of command and report to the squadron that is on its way to your position!”

Keith leaned back in the pilot’s chair, enjoying the feeling of sardonic amusement coming from Red that echoed his own. “Sir, I am not part of the chain of command. Haven’t been since I was kicked out of Galaxy Garrison. I don’t answer to any of you. I’m trying to do you a favor and fill you in on what you need to know. Sam and Matt Holt are possibly alive but prisoners of the Galra. Takashi Shirogane, as you know, managed to escape and return to Earth before he got caught up in the same chain of events I did and we all got sent with the Blue Lion to Arus.”

“Then we’ll get civilian security to take you in!” Darzi’s shout was furious; Keith imagined some gray-haired old man frothing at the mouth. Red stirred and growled.

“Easy there, kitty. They’re just scared.”

“Darzi, let me handle this! What did you say, Keith?” That was Iverson.

“Nothing, sir.” Keith made a snap decision. He would give Earthforce the information about the Galra, but keep Voltron and most of the information about the Alteans to himself. He didn’t like the reaction he was getting. “I need to send messages to the families of the others. Shiro, Hunk Garrett, and Lance McClain. Everyone’s alive, or at least was when we got separated by that unstable wormhole.”

“I can arrange that. Will you meet me at Garrison headquarters? It’s about a two-hour flight from your position.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll head there right away.” Keith didn’t mention that the Red Lion was capable of getting there in under five minutes. Time to think was a good thing.

<> <> <> <> <>

Hunk led the Metrean fighters, teaching their pilots as many defensive formations as he could remember from his classes at the Garrison, given that he was trained as an engineer and not a pilot. So far they had picked up four more civilian transports, fourteen fighters, and one mid-size warship on the way to the rendezvous.

The Yellow Lion hovered protectively as the fighters docked in the warship and the transports set down at the rendezvous point. They were south of the equator on a planet near a star similar to Earth’s. Hunk was reminded of a vacation his family had taken the year before he entered Galaxy Garrison, exploring the Pampas of Argentina.

The rendezvous was a grassy plain, with two wide rivers feeding into a large lake. Patches of trees lined the rivers. There would be plenty of resources once the Metreans had the chance to cultivate some crops.

At Luvixx’s request, Hunk set the Yellow Lion down on the outskirts of the rapidly organizing camp and exited the Lion to meet him. Luvixx brought a small delegation of Metreans with him. Hunk got his first look at them and was glad they were still some distance away and couldn’t see his first reaction. They were awfully spider-like, with more arms than Hunk was used to and dark, hairy faces.

“Honored Paladin, I am Luvixx and these are the remaining Representors of Metrea who have made it here so far. We wish to thank you – our transport would not have made it out without your help.”

“Hey, part of the job. Glad I could help. And call me Hunk.”

“Your modesty is refreshing, but we must show our gratitude. What can we do in return?”

“Well, how about something to eat and maybe a dip in the lake? It feels like I haven’t eaten in days and I know I probably smell.”

The other Metreans made a high-pitched wheezing sound. It took Hunk a moment to realize it was laughter. Luvixx clapped him on the back with one spindly arm. “Very well, food and a bath to start, Paladin Hunk. Then we will continue this discussion.”

<> <> <> <> <>

As he drew closer to the moon, Lance realized that the Blue Lion wanted him to scan the Galra ship from a distance. He did and his confidence soared to realize it was some kind of freighter, with minimal weaponry. It would be an easy takedown!

Before he could launch an attack, more information popped up. The Lion had continued the long-range scans and found a single enclave of people on the planet. It also showed that the people were a wildly mixed bag of aliens, with no more than three or four of a kind among over two hundred individuals.

“Oh no…it’s a slave camp!”

The Blue Lion sent him a sense of agreement. Lance sat back for a minute, thinking furiously. His experience with the Galra so far suggested that there would be no more than a handful of officers on the ship or in the work camp. The rest would be sentries and drones. If he took out the ship first but carefully, it would provide an escape for all the prisoners. The trick would be doing so without the ship alerting the work camp supervisors, who might be able to call for help.

A new screen popped up to his right and Lance looked at it, trying to puzzle out the Altean script. His Lion was amused and shared the idea.

“A jammer? We can do that? We can keep them from contacting reinforcements?”

Yes.

“Then let’s do this!”

<> <> <> <> <>

Shiro gave up on communicating with the others for the moment and continued to fly over the planet’s surface. Everywhere he looked, there was devastation.

No, not devastation. Just death. There’s no sign of anything destroying parts of this planet with weapons. It’s as if something just...killed it.

He had a sudden flash of Dr. Holt telling his son to be careful as they extracted samples of ice on Kerberos. Perhaps that was an answer, to gather samples of the soil and dead plants. Maybe there was a laboratory on the Castle-ship that would give Coran and Pidge a chance to examine them, if he could find a way to collect and preserve them.

That would help him keep moving. He could feel the pain from Haggar’s strike growing slowly, like an infection of dark magic. His cybernetic arm was twitching in response, as if recognizing its origins in the new injury. All he wanted to do was lie down, but his instincts screamed that it would only speed up the poison seeping into his body. Action, as much as it would hurt, was necessary.

Decision made, Shiro looked for a safe place for the Black Lion. He wanted a cave, somewhere out of easy sight, just in case there were patrols. The Lion responded with alacrity, scanning and finding a cave system in the mountains on the horizon.

As they flew, Shiro let his thoughts drift back to the Holts, trapped somewhere and forced to work for the Galra. He thought of the gladiator pits, of his desperate bid to protect Matt by faking a bloodlust and injuring him, just enough. He thought of Pidge, so determined to find her family but honoring her commitment as a Paladin of Voltron.

I promise you, Katie Holt, that the moment we’re back together as a team, we’re going to find them.

<> <> <> <> <>

As she approached Arus, Pidge started scanning. There was no sign of any active Galra tech, which was a good thing. She orbited around to where the Castle of Lions had stood and saw that the Arusian village nearby was still a wreck. She landed on the hill overlooking the village and did one more scan at the highest levels to be sure there were no threats nearby.

As she exited the Green Lion, Pidge spotted several Arusians approaching, including Klaizap the warrior. He ran forward. “Paladin of the Green Lion! You’re back! Where are the others?”

Pidge pulled off her helmet. “We were separated in a battle with the Galra. I ended up nearby and came to check on you.”

Klaizap bowed deeply. “We are humbled by your concern. All has been quiet here. But the king will wish to hear your news. Come!”

<> <> <> <> <>

Allura tried yet again to enter the repair sequence on the console and yet again it failed, flashing orange and letting out a long mechanical whine.

“Augh!” She slammed both fists on the console, which whined even louder in response. “Why won’t you work?”

Coran moved to her side and put his hands on her shoulders. “Perhaps you should take a break for a few minutes.”

“I can’t take a break! The Paladins are out there, isolated, hurt, and possibly in danger! We need the communication system back online so we can reach them!”

“Princess, think! I’ve got the navigation controls going again. You should be able to trace the Lions even if we can’t speak to the team yet. You do that and I’ll work on restoring communications.”

She looked up as his practical suggestion quelled her panic. “Yes, yes! That will work!” She strode to the pilot’s station and laid her hands on the controls. The star map sprang into view.

Coran looked at the map. “Quiznak, Hunk and Keith are almost on the other side of the universe! Good thing we have the wormholes.” He spun the display for several ticks until the other three lions were visible. “Interesting, Pidge is back on Arus of all places. But both Shiro and Lance are deep in Galra space.”

“Shiro first. He’s wounded and we can’t risk Zarkon getting anywhere near the Black Lion again.”

“Why is that? I saw Zarkon do something to break Shiro’s connection to Voltron, but couldn’t he do that with any of them?”

“No, just the Black Lion. While I was in the Galra base, I could sense the Paladins and their Lions, but after Zarkon forced Voltron apart, for a short time I could sense him in the same space as Shiro. I can’t explain it any better than that, but I know Shiro is the most vulnerable alone. Even if he were unhurt we’d go after him first.”

“All right, Princess. Shiro first. Then Lance and Pidge?”

“Yes. Better to have as many of us back together as possible before venturing to the edges of known space. How long before we can open a wormhole safely?”

Coran squinted at his readouts. “An hour, perhaps?”

“Then let’s get communications back online while we wait.”

Next chapter

#scattered by avidbeader #voltron fanfic #fanfic: voltron #voltron #voltron legendary defender

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