#why must the urge to draw always strike me late at night when I have to work the next morning

[toonyballoony]

fionna and cake spoilers maybe (though it’s in the intro) but thank you F+C team for designing this outfit for me specifically

#fionna and cake #fionna the human #fanart #clip studio paint #adventure time #adventure time with fionna and cake #why must the urge to draw always strike me late at night when I have to work the next morning #part of me wanted to add more to the canvas before I posted but not everything has to be perfect and I need to go to bed

[sableflynn]

Felivy - The Choice

Soooo after a solid week of constant gushing about this au with @whumpopology I decided to try writing a bit of it! I'm uh pretty much completely obsessed with this au at this point, the amount of brainstorming we've done is incredible and soooo much fun.

Very brief context: AU where Felicia and Ivy both end up at Volkan's mean man estate together. The girls bond, Volkan is mean, the teams try to find them. Volkan decides to spice things up, contacts the teams and tells them they can choose one girl to have sent home and he'll keep the other. This is the timeline where they choose Ivy to come home.

cw: drugging, noncon kiss/touch, general noncon implications (none happens), whumper pov. ao3 link here.

---

The girl was strapped into a chair, thick leather cuffs tight on wrists that strained against the imprisonment. Even with the needle still in her arm, the drug coursing through her bloodstream, she fought; she had fought from the moment he first showed her just how he planned to transport her back to her team.

Red, Harrison had called her, for the striking color of her thick curls, but her hair color wasn’t enough to set her apart here. That fighting spirit, though; that was something his healer lacked, a tenacity bordering on feral that kept things interesting in a way Felicia couldn’t. And yet all it took was one wandering touch, one comment dripping with innuendo, one look, and she fell apart. Beneath all her bluster and bravado, Ivy was a scared little girl, and he was happy to remind her of that every time.

Her head began to droop and he thought that was it, until she snapped back to full alertness with fresh fire in her eyes. “You’re—” Her words were slurred, the effort to get them out visible in her face. “You’re fucking sick.”

He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You should relax,” he said, and just to make sure she couldn’t relax, he leaned over her where she sat, one hand rising to brush strands of hair from her face. “Just let this happen. Next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in your boyfriend’s arms.”

“Nuh—” Despite the determination blazing in her eyes, she shuddered. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead, and he imagined he could see the drug working its way through her body, slowing her nervous system until she succumbed. Yet she still fought it; she couldn’t not, not with the needle still in her, and the knowledge that there wasn’t a single thing she could do to stop him from taking anything he wanted.

He leaned in for a kiss, and she was still awake enough to snap at him. Pulling back with a grin, he watched the terror dancing in her eyes, drank in the soft hitch of her breath as his hand caressed her cheek before traveling down further. His second kiss dipped lower, lips tracing the curve of her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise until he pulled a weak sob from her. Her pulse was racing beneath his tongue; every touch from him would send the drug through her body faster, which would make her more and more vulnerable to his touch. A delicious feedback loop of her suffering.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and the fire he’d seen there moments before was snuffed out. She was breathing heavily, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, mouth working as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t push the words out. He took her in another kiss and she whimpered against him, and god, he was going to miss this. Her fear was so different from Felicia’s, tinged with frustration at her own helplessness, and he could spend months drawing it out, showing her again and again that she was small and weak and nothing. But he had made a deal, and he was a man of his word. Better to leave her a sweet memory to remember him by, then.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he let his hand drift lower, until his thumb fretted with the fastenings of her pants. He hadn’t thought she could become more despairing than she already was, but at that touch she let out another sob, her head shaking weakly, slurring out words that might’ve been stop, please, no, don’t. He didn’t particularly care what they were. Fingers deftly undoing the button of her pants, other hand rising to press a harsh thumb into the bruise he’d kissed into her, he took her mouth in his one more time. She had no resistance left, and his tongue touched hers, his teeth dragging along her lower lip as he tasted her once again.

Her cry left her in a rush of air, and she slid into oblivion.

He studied her face, hands still on her body. In sleep, her features softened, the panic and desperation of moments before dulled to the slightest downward curve of her lips. So different from the wild thing who’d spat blood in his face, laughed under the threat of his knife, fought against him with everything in her. So much more fitting for the weak, terrified girl she became whenever he began to undress her, the lost thing he knew she was deep inside.

Refastening her pants, he took his hands from her body and began undoing the leather cuffs holding her in place. She had somewhere she needed to be, and it wouldn’t do for her to be late.

***

Felicia blinked, and stared at the bare white wall of her room, and fought a losing battle with her emotions.

One of us is going home. Volkan had dropped that bomb on them, and then dragged them off to their separate rooms before they could fully process. Before they could think to ask a single question. Before they could say goodbye.

She couldn’t hope. She couldn’t dare to hope, because if she went home, that would mean Ivy was staying here, and if Ivy stayed here alone she would be dead within the week.

She couldn’t hope, because she wouldn’t be strong enough to survive if her hope shattered and Ivy went home and she was left here, alone, with him.

There was no solution; only branching paths that ended in different flavors of heartbreak. Even when he offered them freedom, he twisted it into a weapon against them. Her heart raged against the unfairness of it all, and she crushed that feeling down, closing herself off, a few stray tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut.

The door to her room creaked open and she gripped the edges of the cot she sat on. He filled the frame, silhouetted against the hallway lights. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, and yet she knew she had to. His expression was unreadable. Maybe she just didn’t want to read it.

“Come with me,” he said, and walked away without waiting for a response. She rose and followed him.

He brought her to his lounge, all dark leather and polished wood and a fire crackling in the hearth. At a gesture from him, she sank into the couch and he poured two glasses of amber liquor, handing one to her. He sat across from her, and in his eyes she saw that look, that fucking look that meant he was savoring the anticipation of breaking her down in some new way, and that was how she knew to prepare herself a heartbeat before he said, “Why do you think they chose her over you?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and willed herself not to feel. From the moment she had woken up in his office, some part of her had always known she was going to die here. This changed nothing. At least Ivy was safe. She could take this.

He gestured at the glass in her hand, the drink within untouched. “Drink. It’ll help you relax.” She stared through him, setting the glass on the table without a word, and he took a sip of his own liquor. “I just want to talk tonight. I know you must have a lot of mixed feelings right now.”

She shifted her gaze to look him in the eye, and his face crinkled with a genuine smile. “I wish I could’ve been there for the discussion,” he mused. “What do you think was the deciding factor? What was it that pushed them over the edge, made them realize that Ivy was worth more than you?”

He wasn’t going to let up. She bit down the urge to say they made the right choice—self-deprecation was only playing into his hands. And she couldn’t do it, couldn’t dwell on what sort of conversation must have taken place, so she said, “I don’t know.”

“No theories at all?” He raised a skeptical brow. “You have no idea what might’ve led your girlfriend to look me in the eye and tell me that she was choosing to leave you here with me in favor of a stranger?”

Elyse. Her face flashed in Felicia’s mind, and shit, a few tears welled up before she could close herself off to the feeling, and then her chest ached with longing and grief and despair, and her fingers dug into the leather of the couch as her breath hitched in a sob, and then another.

Volkan shushed her with a faux-soothing hum, his hand like fire against her skin as he tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I know this must hurt.” Through the haze of tears, the smirk on his face was infuriating. “If it helps, I think their choice makes sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense, and you know that, you—” Now that she’d started, the sobs kept coming, racking her body with shudders. “You know, because you rigged this fucking game from the start, because that’s what you do, you—”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips as he shushed her this time, and she flinched. “You’re getting emotional. Try to think about this logically. I’m sure your team did when they made their decision.” He sipped his drink again, considering. “Ivy’s a strong girl. A much better fighter. She doesn’t just roll over and submit at the first threat of pain. Although,” and his smile turned mocking, conspiratory, “you and I both know she’s not as tough as she likes to pretend. For a girl with two boyfriends, she sure fell apart quickly as soon as I—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about her,” Felicia lashed, stomach churning. Her skin warmed with the memory of Ivy’s touch, the only kind thing about this place. Ivy’s beautiful fierceness as she fought Volkan in every way. Ivy’s smile, and her tears, and her whispered promises in the night. “She’s—she’s so brave, and she’s good, and she’s not going to just leave me here.” Please.

Volkan’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Adorable. She already did.”

The flash of Ivy’s hazel eyes, wide with shock as she was dragged to her own room to wait for a decision to be made. “She didn’t leave. You took her.”

He chuckled. “Technically, you’re correct. Would you prefer she was still here with you?”

“I—” Felicia hated herself, then, for how close she came to saying yes, and she hated him even more for the slight quirk of his lips as he saw the indecision play across her face, as he read her like a book. “I’m glad she’ll be safe now,” she managed at last.

“Safe is a relative term,” Volkan said, setting his empty glass down on the table. “But I’m sure we can both agree she’s in a better place than you are.” He leaned in closer to her, pressing her against the couch, and his arms surrounding her were the jaws of a trap closing in on her.

#whump #lady whump #my writing #my oc: felicia #my oc: volkan #felivy #whumpopology #OBSESSED with this au #there are so many things about it and they're all perfect #the two branching timelines both have so much good angst and whump in them #soooooo many good arguments among the team #i will leave the arguments to april queen of teams arguing lol #i can't even begin to describe the amount of everything in this au #idk it's just so many good feelings good story good characters #thank you april for letting me play with your characters :') #and inspiring me to write always #ou content

[sevendeadlymorons]

Hey I’m that one anon from a while back that sent those long ass paragraphs about Lilith and Simeon, remember me? Anyway I know I’m very late to the party, but some of the boys are either getting to much hate or too much love over here (in my opinion) so I made a pros and cons list for all of them, I’m sorry- (I’m warning you now this will be long but I’ll put it in bullet points so it’s a bit easier to read, just read it whenever your mentally ready lol)

Lucifer (I hate this man.)

Pros

He’d help a lot with getting your life together wether that be finding a job, choosing the right college or other shit like that

He’d make sure your working hard and getting everything done, which is both a blessing and a curse tbh

He would be the one to take the most care of you whenever your ill psychically

Cons

He would probably overwork you

Doesnt have much time to spend on you and doesn’t make a effort to find more time unless your getting really sad about it

Probably wouldn’t be the best of help through issues with mental illness (he just doesn’t strike me as that type, feel free to disagree)

His pride would cause some serious problems in relationships :/

Mammon (I love this man.)

Pros

He’s the “if your sad, I’m sad” kind of guy so he does whatever he can to put a smile on your face

Makes his affection towards you known once he’s comfortable enough, mostly through things like hugs and head pats tho

He shows off anything you make, and I mean anything (you gave him a drawing? After showing it to everyone he puts it on the fridge. You wrote something? He reads it to everyone then puts it in his notebook to reread later, I think you get where I’m going with this)

Cons

There would probably be some communication issues due to his tsundere nature and habit of ignoring you when he’s mad

He’d get super mad at you when your trying to help him financially, maybe it’s a ego thing or maybe he’s just tired of hearing it

While his possessiveness is cute at times he’d definitely get way to overbearing if you don’t force him to cool it

Levi (I kin this man.)

Pros

He’d try to set up designated hangout times (like Friday is movie night, Tuesday is for RPGs etc)

Wanna spend time with him but aren’t very into what he’s into? While it will be harder to bond with him because of this I think if you REALLY wanted to hang with him he’d at least try to meet you in the middle (like if you like sports he’ll offer to play wii sports lol)

Insecurities getting you down again? Well never fear, levi is here! He’d find characters with flaws similar to those you see in yourself to prove that they don’t really matter (and since he struggles with insecurity himself he’d know how you feel and be one of the best at helping you through them)

Cons

Even if he makes an effort to meet you in the middle if you have different interests he’d refuse to get into “normie” stuff

He’ll guilt trip you constantly, even if it’s not on purpose (“Oh your hanging out with Asmo today? I get it, of course you’d wanna hang out with somebody cool and perfect like Asmo and not a gross yucky otaku like me”)

You have to initiate almost everything Hugs? You hug first. Handholding? You reach out to him. Confessions? You seriously thought he’d be the one to confess first??

Satan

Pros

Similar to Lucifer he’d be good at helping you get your life together and putting you on the right track

Unlike Lucifer, he’d actively make time for date nights and/or hangouts multiple times a week wether your going out for dinner or reading in front of the fireplace

While he himself might not be best at helping with comfort in the moment, he’d be great to turn to if you needed a long time treatment (you need a therapist? He’s got the best three in your area that you can afford and he found some helpful things you can do in this book)

Cons

As stated previously, he’s not the best with comfort, which can be an issue if you need a friend/partner who can be your biggest source of comfort (I’m not saying he’ll do nothing, it’ll just be kinda awkward ig)

If you vent to him about something he’ll always offer advice and while that can be good, sometimes all you want is someone to listen to you and getting advice can be annoying in the moment

I feel like hanging out with him you’d rarely ever get to talk about pointless things, everything would be serious you know? And while serious and deep conversations are good for bonding, some people (myself included) need to be able to talk about dumb things without having it turn philosophical

Asmo

Pros

He’s the best at boosting your confidence, there’s no competition

He’s more into spontaneous outings (he suddenly got the urge to go shopping, your coming with right?)

You can talk about just about anything with him, no judgment and he’ll never speak a word of it to anyone else if you don’t want him to (although he may brag to his brothers that you told him your secrets)

High emotional IQ

Cons

He has set things of things he’s interested in and his idea of trying the things your into is doing whatever it is for about 5 seconds then deciding it’s not for him

He cares a lot about looks, I don’t mean he’ll hate you or insult you cause he thinks your ugly, I mean he’ll constantly try to do your makeup, hair, and nails and he’ll always say things like “Your hair is a bit messy today, did you brush it? Yes? Well not good enough, let me do it” and “your wearing that out? There’s nothing wrong with it, I just think you’d look a lot cuter in this” and if your anything like me, that’ll get on your nerves a lot

While he’s great with emotional issues, if it’s a problem with anything like school or your job he’ll have no solution to offer, all you’ll get is a “You can do it!” and a good luck kiss

Narcissistic, need I say more?

Beel

Pros

He’s the best person to vent to, no judgment and tons of hugs and comfort food

He’s a mom friend, no explanation needed

Very supportive and always concerned for your health

Your in trouble? Call beel, he’ll help you and make sure your home safe before questioning you and will only lecture you out of love (unlike a certain older brother that will lecture you because “Your tarnishing Diavlo’s reputation by acting out like this. Your an exchange student, you must abide by the rules and behave yourself.”)

Cons

Food is his answer to everything (Sad?Food. Injured? Food. School’s stressful? Food plus a little help studying) and while food can be good for comfort, sometimes you need him to provide more than a snack

He’s the opposite of Satan in the sense that he’ll almost never offer advice when you rant to him, he just assumes getting it all out is help enough and won’t offer much more then a hug and food

Not getting along with one of his brothers? “They can be a handful, but they’re great people once you learn to handle the chaos” yeah he rarely thinks what his brothers did is a big deal so he gives you advice on how to apologize and get past it and he’ll give you food

Belphie (he really does attract the mentally ill people huh-)

Cons

I feel like he’d be good for certain people with social anxiety and people who have issues with always being scared about being a bad person (“you think your a bad person and are becoming more and more toxic by the day? Well your a better person than Lucifer that’s for sure, wether or not your toxic were going to cuddle now get in bed” or “your worried everyone is constantly staring and judging you for everything you do? Well I don’t really care about what your wearing or the way you walk so I doubt they do either, can we go home now?” ((Side note, I experience both of these issues and his uncaring personality would calm me, which is why I think this one of his pros))

He just wouldn’t care about whatever type of life style you lead and as someone who’s constantly scared of being judged for their lifestyle this would be amazing (“you sleep all the time? Same let’s nap together” “You don’t eat very healthy? Whatever, it’s fine, can we sleep now?” ((although it is a double edged sword))

He gets a burst of energy and just does the most random things (you see that tree? He’s already climbed half way up it. That petting zoo? He’s already feeding the lambs. That store? He’s already spent 30 grim)

Cons

Just like his twin he thinks every problem has one solution, but instead of food he thinks the solution is sleep (your sick? Sleep is the best medicine. A lot of homework? If you sleep you don’t have to think about it.)

At some point he just doesn’t care enough, if you come to him with a serious issue he’ll half listen to you rant then pull you down to sleep

He teases you a lot, which is fine teasing is fun, but he takes it too far. Maybe he touched on something your insecure about or he was too merciless, whatever it was, he won’t apologize for it, he just thinks your being sensitive. If he brought up some bad memories he’ll consider it, but his way of apologizing is cuddling

He doesn’t wanna do something? You guys aren’t gonna do it. You don’t wanna do something? Too bad, he wants to so your gonna.

I’m sorry this is so long- I tried to shorten it I swear- but anyway if you disagree I’m with anything, I wanna hear what you think

And even tho Beel doesn’t get much screen time and more serious moments, I think his character is way more then hunger

Random but I wanna add that other then Levi I kin Tamaki from mha and Ranpo from bsd

Dude do you just like torturing poor college students? This is so much to read, I’m about to cry 😭

I agree with the Lucifer part actually! Tho I do kinda thing he’s be good emotion support in some ways, for me, anyway. I feel like he may lack empathy that is needed in a stable relationship. Yes, he may be able to tell you with shit and honestly, he’d book my doctors appointments when I’m too anxious too so yknow. But yeah

Also agree with mammon. He’s a jackass when he wants to be, and I know he may not mean it, but his words are still hurtful in a lot of ways and he just can’t convey those emotions that’re needed in a loving relationship. But he’s so sweet and will show you off so it’s all good~

As much as I love Levi, I agree. He manipulates and guilt trips you throughout the entire game. It can’t be healthy in relationships but that don’t stop me from loving that sweet otaku boy 😔🖤

I agree with Satan too. I don’t have much to say but he’s avatar of wrath for a reason, for a start, and he honestly looks like he’d prefer talking about books than that funny thing that happened in class that made you laugh earlier

Agreed with Asmo too. Sometimes he may just get overbearing and the narcissism and the constant need to make you look better and improve you may get irritating

I agree with Beel. I don’t think he can comprehend that food isn’t an answer to everything and as a person who doesn’t cope with food and relatively hates it, he won’t be any help to me emotionally. He’s so sweet but he just won’t give you that proper support

I love Belphie so so much but I absolutely agree. He’s one of the most unbothered brothers who won’t care what you look like, yes, but that also means compliments may come rarely and like his twin, “sleep is the answer to everything” I can admit I like to sleep but I have a manic side that comes with insomnia and if he’s dragging me down and not letting me move and I just cannot sleep, I’m gonna get irritated and pissed off.

This got a bit long on my end too. I just really liked how you worded this and it was fun to see pros and cons of the ‘perfect’ brothers

I think Beel is more than food too, but I just don’t particularly like him either way cuz I’m not really a foodie so I can’t relate with him lmao

[mommymooze]

Post Timeskip Hugs from the Resident Hugmeister: Blue Lions Style.

This was the worst you have ever seen any of your house members. There was a brief feeling of a bright light ahead when Byleth returned, however the next battle had some of the former students, our friends, on the wrong side of the battlefield. To say that your comrades are sad, despondent, unhappy, melancholy, despairing or down right down in the dumps, well, they seem to be lower than that.

You need to get them to the right path, tomorrow the sun will come up and things will look better in the pure light of day. Deciding only you can cure their sorrows and chase away the gloom, you find your friends one by one to give them a supportive and healing hug.

First is Sylvain. He’s still here at the little campfire the Blue Lions built in the area of the pond. A metal barrel bottom holds the wood and ashes, making easy cleanup. He’s staring into the few flames that remain. You run up and hug him from behind. It is a bit difficult with his armor and all of those pointy things sticking out but you try.

“Hey!” he yelps, grabbing and pulling you onto his lap. You hug him from the front burying your face in his metal covered chest.

“What’s that for?” He asks, a hint of a smile on his face.

“You look like you need a hug.” You say as you close your eyes and put your hands around his neck, playing with the hair there. “We are all here for each other.”

Sylvain wraps his arms around you and closes his eyes. Finally, he sighs.

“Thanks. I needed that. “

You get up and ruffle his hair a bit before you walk away.

Heading to the kitchen you find Ingrid making a late night snack. The candles give off a warm glow as you open the door.

“Want me to make you a snack too?” She kindly offers.

“I’m hungry for something else.” You hold your arms wide open to her. Ingrid slides into them, hugging you warmly, laying her cheek on top of your head.

“I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone.” She softly smiles.

“That won’t do. If you ever need a hug, I’m here for you.” You squeeze her a bit, then let go. “Enjoy your snack” You laugh, before she can say anything you’re already out the door.

You make a bee line to Mercedes’ room. Knocking softly you hear a pleasant request for you to come in. Annie and Mercie are sitting on the bed talking. You run in and leap onto the bed giving them both soft squishy hugs. Merci laughs and Annette giggles.

“That feels nice. What’s this all about?” Annie giggles.

“Can’t I give two of my bestest friends hugs and let them know I care for them?” You grin.

“Sure!” Merci purrs, giving you a warm hug and rubbing her cheek on the top of your head.

“Want to join us for tea?” Annie offers.

“No, I have more hugs to deliver.” You respond as you get up on your feet. “Rest well and know that I’m thinking of you guys!”

You’re nearly skipping out the door. Your hug meter going higher and higher.

Walking past Ashe’s room you notice he has a candle burning.

“Hey Ashe, it’s me, can I say good night?” You softly call to him through the door.

“Sure! Come on in.” He is reclined in his bed, reading one of his favorite stories. You sit next to him, urging him to scoot over. One arm behind him, the other on his chest you give him a warm hug from the side. He rests his chin on your head as he continues to read. He remembers times before the war when you were a cuddly little thing, always hugging people that were sad or down.

“Mmmmm. Never change. You give the best hugs.” He says as he turns the page.

You cuddle with him a bit more, drawing circles around his collar bone when suddenly he wiggles and laughs. “I didn’t even know I was ticklish there!“

You both giggle as you get up and pat him on the head. “Good night, Sir Ashe.” You leave headed for your next conquest.

The Professor sits on the porch in front of their room gazing at the stars. You walk up behind them and hug them, your arms around the tops of their shoulders.

“I guess you can say with me sleeping all this time, I haven’t been hugged in years.” They muse.

“Well then, you are long overdue.” You say as you sit beside them and hug them tightly.

“Have you hugged the others? After everything they have been through, daresay they deserve many and need many more.”

“Yes, they do.” You concur.

“Your hugs are therapeutic. I remember the first time you hugged me. I was quite surprised. It was right after our first battle, with Kostas. You hugged me and thanked me for keeping us all alive. I told you that you don’t have to hug me for doing my job and you told me to get used to it. I believe I have. Sometimes I think your hugs are the only thing keeping us all together.”

You blush and give them a squeeze before you head out for your next delivery.

The cathedral is eerily quiet. Only the sound of the wind whistling through the broken panes of stained glass can be heard. You silently approach the sleeping form of the mad prince. To say you are putting yourself at risk is an understatement. Still you feel you have to try. You see him sleeping on the floor by the crumbled goddess statue. He kicks out, his shoulder jerks. He must be having a nightmare. Softly you stroke his cheek. His body stills and his face leans into your hand. You run your fingers through his hair as you hum a lullaby. His face begins to relax and he appears to be sleeping peacefully. This is probably one of the few times he has felt a human touch in years. You run your fingers through his hair for a while longer hugging his cheek to yours, then sneak away safely.

Quietly you attempt to sneak into the training grounds, however the squeak of the door as you open it betrays you. Felix does not pause his strikes upon the training dummies, however his brow furrows even further than before. Slowly you approach him and hug him from behind. Suddenly you are both on the ground with Felix sitting in front of you surrounded by your arms.

“You put your arms around me and I literally felt my knees buckle, this is so pathetic.“ He groans.

“It’s not pathetic, its human. You’re human.”

His head falls forward as he groans. You hold him tighter to your chest. "Tell me you don’t want me to hug you and I’ll stop.”

“Tsk.”

You hold him until his breathing slows, his heartbeat calms.

He tilts his head back onto your shoulder. “Why?”

“This war is sucking the life, the humanity from us. I am trying to remind you, to remind everyone, why we are doing this. Not for honor or glory. We’re fighting for ourselves and each other. To make this a better place for everyone to live. To remind us when this war is over, we can enjoy the simple things that war has taken from us.” You whisper.

“Hmm.” he responds, placing his hands on yours that are gripped around him.

You nuzzle your nose into the corner of his neck.

“Cut that out!” He grumbles.

“I will leave you to your pursuit of perfection. But only if you take a drink before I go.” You smile, handing him his waterskin.

He takes a long drink, he really should have stopped much earlier to drink more.

“Good night.” You say, skipping out of the room.

Mission complete for this evening. Tomorrow is another day, a boatload of more hugs and reassurance to hand out to your friends, your fighting family.

#fe3h #feth #fe3h x reader #fe16 #fe3h fanfic #fire emblem three houses #blue lions #fe blue lions #x reader

[leapyearkisses]

Nice Work If You Can Get It - (m/m) Eliseo/Padgett

So after a year of abject depression, I’ve decided I still like my writing so I’m reuploading it. For the time being, requests are not on the table. I have definitely flaked out on some people and I’m really sorry for that. :( Hopefully if people still want to read what’s already done though, this will be okay.

NSFW, MESS, CONTAGION - Eliseo has hired Padgett to get him sick.

___

"All right... close your eyes." Eliseo swallowed and did so, blocking out his bedroom, the red-gold sunset light pouring in from the windows, and Padgett, who was straddling his hips. He could still hear, quite easily, the other man's labored breathing and feel the heat of his thighs... and his crotch. Eliseo was under no illusion that he was in an incredibly compromising position at the moment. He hadn't thought much about the.. particulars when he'd first decided to strike this deal. "Are we really doing this?" he asked, voice weak.

Padgett laughed, voice tumbled and edging on hoarse. "Hey now. Not getting cold feet are we, my lord?" His exhale ghosted over Eliseo's forehead and his tousled black hair touched Eliseo's cheek. Eliseo cleared his throat. "No..." He could imagine the other man's smug look. They'd known each other long enough now that the image rose unbidden to his mind's eye. Padgett's eyes always glittered like opals when he was scheming something. The man surprised him with a tender touch on the shoulder, and Eliseo almost opened his eyes again. "The safe word is 'pumpernickel,'" Padgett said, managing not to chuckle. "We can stop whenever you want... Hhk-" He fought off a gasp. "Decide hh quickly, though." Eliseo shivered. "I'm okay. Let's do it." He didn't want to admit it, but Padgett's reassurance did put him at ease, even if this had been his idea to begin with. He relaxed and tried to lose himself in the late afternoon heat. "Yehh-s, my lord." Padgett leaned forward and took a shaky breath. It stuttered and caught on invisible hooks, sounding at once to be full of potential and then gone again, like a ghost vanishing at the window. Eliseo could feel his body tightening again with anticipation, especially when Padgett gasped and leaned back. "Hh-... hah-- "Huh-ktschht!" A warm rush of air burst in Eliseo's face, almost immediately followed by a watery spray over his forehead, closed eyes, and nose. His instant reaction was to curl back, or try to, and he had his hands braced on Padgett's chest before he could think about it. "Hey now," said Padgett, delayed by a sniffle. His tone was light. "Easy. You specified this in the contract, remember?" He rested his hands lightly on Eliseo's wrists. "How are you feeling about it?" Eliseo found he was holding his breath, but-- Well, that would defeat the purpose of this exercise. He cautiously let it go and then opened his eyes. Padgett was gazing down at him, looking neither smug nor concerned, just curious. "I- this was on instinct," Eliseo murmured. After a beat, he lowered his hands, and Padgett let him go easily. "Yes, I imagine so. It's natural." Padgett smiled then, and then his expression crinkled. "Wh- hh- want to do it again? Hkt-- hhh..." Eliseo forced himself to surrender again to his pillows. "Yes." Again, he closed his eyes. Padgett shifted forward on his lap and oh- but then he was sneezing once more. "Huh- hktsschit!" Again, the spray. This time it dusted over Eliseo's nose and mouth. He fought to keep from thinning his lips and... took a deeper breath. Padgett hadn't moved, was still fighting with his own lungs, reeling in another insistent sneeze like a stubborn trout. "Huh- hh... hh hh huh-" He made an annoyed sound. "Hah-- hah-krttschtts!" Eliseo felt droplets of saliva decorate his cheekbone. Padgett sniffled thickly. "...Bless you," Eliseo murmured. He was feeling hot. Maybe it was Padgett on top of him. The man was running a fever. "You are... doing the job admirably." That earned him a laugh. Padgett shifted his weight to his heels, which did interesting things to his cock's relation to Eliseo's own. "Thanks, I guess? I never would have thought anyone would be hiring for this, much less you." "Circumstances are dire," Eliseo intoned without a hint of irony. "Mmhm." Padgett sniffled again. "You must really hate weddings. Couldn't you have just gone on a hunt or something this weekend instead?" Eliseo sighed. "No. My sister would do anything to ruin my plans if I tried to avoid the party any normal way. But luckily, she's terrified of germs. I think a miserable head cold will be the ticket." Like hell he wanted to sit through another of his sister's weddings. Every time it was some new, world-changing drama. He wasn't even sure whether the groom this time was noble born. No doubt the reception gossip would be scathing.  What absolute drivel. "Lucky also that you have me around, hm?" Padgett's next chuckle turned into a bit of a cough.  Eliseo patted his knee awkwardly. "I- well, yes. Very. But believe me when I say that I would not wish for you to be so stricken if I had the power to stop it." "Of course, my lord." Padgett rubbed his nose. And though his breath hitched a few times in the following moments, he stayed where he was.  Eliseo blinked. "Are we...?" Done? He didn't really think the exposure had been long enough. "I am ready." Padgett blushed a little. Blushed? "Sorry," he said. "I can kind of feel that, uh, the uh, next ones are going to be kind of... wet. I could blow my nose." His voice trailed off, wavering again. His nostrils twitched, and Eliseo did see within the promise of moisture. Perhaps it was the taboo of it, but Eliseo was alerted instantly to a sudden thickening of his cock. It pressed at his trousers with some gusto as Padgett sniffled again. Eliseo swallowed. "No. No, this is good. This will... help." Padgett gave him a considering look, at least as well as he could between soft gasps and squinting against the itch in his nose. "If you're sure, my lord." "Just- call me Eli, like you used to," said Eliseo, stumbling over the words. He wasn't sure where they had come from, but now they were bare between them. Still, perhaps a bit of affection wasn't so odd compared to what they were already doing. Eliseo closed his eyes on Padgett's startled look. "Eli," Padgett said, and he sounded like he'd just come home from a long war to find the hearth kept warm for him. "I will." He leaned forward again, bracing himself. "Now, I'm going to- to hih-- to snhhsneeze, hah- haktschtsch! Hrh- Hnkgstschhiu! More spray this time, more wetness, and Eliseo gasped himself when he felt a thick drip against his chin. Padgett hadn't moved. When Eliseo tentatively looked up, he saw his friend caught in a limbo of urgency. His green eyes were shut, eyelashes fluttering. His nostrils, gently pink now, flared. A clear trail hung from one of them, quivering as Padgett panted. He looked wild and fever bright and teetering on a precipice. Eliseo ignored what it might mean that Padgett's desperate expression, his wet nose - even the mess - suddenly went to his cock. He was hard, looking up at a portrait of a sneeze. Carefully, he placed a hand on Padgett's thigh. "It's okay," he said, words coming of their own accord. "I've got you." Padgett's fingers tightened fitfully in the sheet as he shifted his weight again. He was making soft, irritated noises. His nostrils flared and Eliseo saw another drip lying in wait on the cusp. When the urge became too much, it was like watching a wave finally crash down. Padgett's breath caught; he tensed and leaned back. Eliseo hurriedly closed his eyes again, and none too soon. "Hhhhrektschuckh!" He felt the mess streak his face, fly to spatter his mouth and nose and chin. Padgett moaned and then gasped again, chest swelling with air. "Hah- Huhrttschuh! Hshtt! Hah- hsshtt!" Again, he teetered, teasing the air with shivering gasps. Then, he abruptly folded with a crush of vowels and congestion. "Hggtschiucht!" A baptism, pondered Eliseo's brain as it detached from reality momentarily. Pinned as he was to the bed by Padgett's sex, he couldn't move when he felt himself coming just as abruptly as the sneeze. Somehow the slick wash had become a mounting sense of urgency in each of his muscles, racing from his fingertips and toes to his abdomen, where, quite unbidden, his cock had tugged all that energy into a gut-wrenching orgasm that sent the shockwaves back out with renewed vigor. Padgett whined, and Eliseo took him firmly by the shoulders and drew him in for a messy, off-putting, contagious, blindingly good kiss. "Wow," said Padgett, when they finally broke for air. "Don't ask me why," Eliseo muttered, but he refused to be made a fool of by embarrassment. "C- come here." He shifted to sit up further and put his hands on Padgett's hips. "I want-" He wanted. "This. Yes?" Before he could stop himself, he swept his tongue over Padgett's mouth, under his nose, to rest at the edge of a nostril. He tasted salt. It was not entirely pleasant, but whatever pilot was captaining his body right now didn't care. He could still feel his cock pulsing against his trousers. Padgett moaned. "It feels... odd. But, my lord, you can do what you- I mean, Eli." He was breathless for different reasons now. Eliseo laved the tender skin above Padgett's lips, then licked up his septum. When Padgett shivered, Eliseo kissed him again. Slowly, he cleaned away the mess from Padgett's face. When he was finished, neither of them knew what to say. Eliseo was hard again. Finally, Padgett laughed shyly. "I think you'll be catching your cold, Eli." Eliseo blushed and shrugged. "I should hope so. I am-" He bit his lip. "I'm not ready to stop. Will you stay the night? I'll look after you." Padgett kissed him, tenderly drawing them together. "I would like that, very much."

#lyk writes #eliseo jorvald #padgett foxborough #elipadge #snz

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Chronicles of Grief

2392 words, T

Warnings: Discussion of character death, grief/mourning

Minor Russingon, though you can easily read it as friendship only

On Ao3

Russandol,

I do not know why I am writing this if I am not going to send it. I will not risk a messenger for a personal letter. Perhaps I will send it with a bird. Perhaps I will keep it in the hope of handing it to you when I see you. In the hope that I will see you…

You must already know what happened. I should have known it the moment I was told he had ridden away. I must have known, but I did not believe it. It is still hard to believe. I am sitting on his throne, his crown on my head, and I cannot believe it.  

How long did it take you to accept that your father was… gone? You see? I cannot even bring myself to say the word. In the letters I have deemed safe to send I wrote lost, fallen, gone, but I cannot bear to write de

I apologize. I should not have mentioned your father. You did not even have time to mourn him. I have become inconsiderate in my grief. Perhaps I will not show you this letter even if I do see you.

---

We had a small ceremony. It felt empty without the body to bury. Afterwards, Lalwen and I sat with Father’s closest friends and told increasingly gruesome war stories to each other to distract ourselves from pain.

I wish I could go to sleep and wake up a decade later. I know it would not change much (if anything, it would make things worse), but I intensely wish for oblivion.

Forgive me for the grim words. I am trying to find something positive in this (I can see you shaking your head at me). I am trying to tell myself that Father will rest in the Halls, that he might return to Mother. I am trying to tell myself that we are strong enough to survive this, to come out stronger from this, but it does not help, Russandol. It does not help at all.

---

I am king now, it seems. How ludicrous. The blame lies with you, you know? Of course, you do. I am king now, and I cannot lock myself in my chamber and reread your letters over and over again as I long to do.

There are so many things I should take care of, so many new responsibilities. I have been the lord of my own keep, but this is entirely different. I wonder if I can do this. I am not my father. I cannot be my father.

Why did he go and left me alone with this? Why could he not wait? I am… I suppose I can tell you. I am so angry, Russandol. Angry with him for doing it, for not thinking about me. Angry with the Enemy, with the Valar, with your father. Angry with myself.

---

I am going to confess something. I feel relieved that I have not seen the body. I know that the Lord of the Eagles would have taken it to somewhere safe, maybe to my brother, and in my heart, I am grateful that it wasn’t me he chose. I would not want to see him like that, not my father. I want to remember him as I last saw him – strong and full of life. Do you think it makes me a coward? Oh, I know your answer. You are not trustworthy when it comes to my flaws.  

---

I keep waiting. Not for him to return, not for this to be a nightmare, but for an end. An end to what – I cannot say. I would welcome any.

All we have built is falling apart, but I cannot bring myself to care. The world could break this very moment, and I would only shrug. No, worse. I would embrace it. I find myself thinking about it, wanting it. No, not wanting. I am not sure I am capable of wanting anything anymore. I would not mind it if it happened, that is all.

Do you see now? Do you see how unfit I am to bear the crown? If not, I will tell you something more horrifying. I hear about all those deaths. So many Elves and Men. Our cousins, my friends, my close friends. Do you know how it feels? Comforting. I feel comforted that I am not the only one going through this pain. Now, at least, can you see? What kind of a king does that make me? What kind of a person does that make me?

I cannot do this, Russandol. I cannot be a good king. I do not even want to try to be one. You are the only one I can admit this to. Please, do not judge too harshly. No. Judge as harshly as I deserve.

---

It is like living in a house with one wall gone. Gone forever, not to be replaced. You are no longer shielded from the wind and rain. Your home is no longer home.  

---

Sometimes I revisit the memories of the moments before I received the news. They are not good memories, full of uncertainty, pain, blood, and my friends dying one by one in front of my eyes. And yet, they bring comfort because at least my father was still alive then, I still had hope, I still had him to rely on even after such heavy losses.

I would give so much to have him back. It frightens me how much I would give.

---

I should have known disaster was going to strike. I had been so happy lately. We had had peace for long years, the Edain had come to their own, and I was free to wander. And if my wanderings often led me to you, I was the happier for it. I should have known it could not last. I had dared to forget we were cursed.

Everything feels different, Russandol. Everything is different. I do not think I will experience joy ever again. My joy will always lack something.

I keep talking about my own pain, but the truth is I do not care about it. Despite my anger, I do not care that he will not be here for me. I only care that he will not be here. Do you understand the difference?

Perhaps there is none, and I am only trying not to appear selfish. It is hard to tell sometimes.

---

I am still so angry. I have surges of violent thoughts. I want to rage against this unfairness, this injustice. I want to break the chairs, I want to sweep off the dishes from the table, I want to scratch the walls. It is so unfair! It should not have happened. He should not have done that.

I go and practice with the sword to let the anger out, but it does not help. I am powerless against the natural order of things, against the unchangeable and cruel finality of it.

---

I was passing by the kitchens the other day, and I heard the cooks sing. It was Snow upon the Taniquetil; my father loved that song. I joined in from afar, and halfway through the song, I noticed that I was trying to imitate my father’s voice. I stopped then. It was a poor imitation. It was not even close.

What am I supposed to do, Russandol? How am I supposed to replace him? His absence is felt so deeply, and not just by me. If only you could see Lalwen… You would not recognize her. The bold and merry aunt we know is gone. She is a shadow of her former self. I have never seen her like that. Not even after Grandfather died.

How can I help her, Russandol? How can I be what my father was for her? I cannot, I know I cannot, no matter how hard I try.

---

Everything reminds me of him. I had never thought about how many of my memories are connected to him. Even something as simple as brushing my hair or riding my horse makes me think of him.

It is only natural, of course; he was my father. And yet, I find myself astonished to discover just how much he has shaped me, how great a role he has played in making me what I am, how entrenched he is in every aspect of my life from my mannerisms to my habits and preferences.

I hear his voice sometimes, I hear his laughter. I go somewhere, say something, and I know for certain how he would respond. I hear it with perfect clarity, and I almost want to reach out and touch him, let myself lean against him as I used to do when I was younger.

I miss him. It is unbearable.

---

My father used to say sometimes that when this was over, he was going to leave the governing to us, youngsters, and go live on the seashore in a small house he would build for himself. I laughed, convinced that he was joking.

The other day I found drawings in his chamber. Drawings of a house. It was truly a small one, but in his nearly illegible handwriting, he had scribbled my name and the names of my siblings over the chambers. He had reserved one for each of us and another for Itarillë.

He never got to have that, Russandol. Isn’t that so terribly unfair? He was kind and strong, and he had tried to be the best father he could be for us. And he did not live to achieve his dream.

---

Time has lost all meaning. Sometimes I remember last summer’s feast my father held or that time just a month before the firefall we rode in Ard-galen with Aunt Lalwen and a small company (Angaráto and Aikanáro came to join us, and we spent a few nights under the stars), and it seems like it has just happened, it seems impossible that most of the people who were there are no more, that my father, larger than life, is gone, all his hopes and dreams are gone. He seems so alive, so present.

When I think back to the first days after his death, I am surprised I survived them. It still seems unthinkable to go on when you have lost someone so important. At times, it seems it happened so long ago that I cannot believe it has been only several months. And yet, I feel that a part of me is still there, locked within those terrible moments, reliving them over and over again. That part of me will always stay there.

---

Sometimes I wonder if I could have done something. If I could have stopped him. If I could have saved him. I wonder what I could have done differently to change the outcome. It is a futile exercise that does nothing but bring me more grief, but I cannot stop.

Sometimes I wish I could have gone back to the moment he rode out and stop him. I would stand before him and beg him to stay. I would scream at him that he was condemning himself to certain death. But he knew that already, didn’t he? He knew. Even if I could have stopped him, something else would go horribly wrong, I am sure of it. We are cursed, after all.

---

I still feel rage at times, but it is calmer, mellower, not the all-consuming fury it used to be. I sit at a council and feel the urge to throw the goblet I hold upon the wall, to see it break. I watch myself doing it, but distantly, as if it is a different person wearing my face, while I am calmly conversing with my court.  

Is this how it is going to be, Russandol? Will I slowly learn to accept it, to live with it? To live without him. It is not what I want. It feels like a betrayal.

I laugh sometimes, I make decisions, I keep on living, and it too seems a betrayal. I am wrong to feel this way, but I cannot help it. I look at his portrait – smiling, he wanted the artist to paint him smiling, so when one day Itarillë came to visit, she (a full-grown woman she already was at the moment the painting was made, mind you) would not be scared – I look at it, and I smile back, and I tear up, and I hear him scold me for these thoughts, and still I cannot help it.

---

Will you believe that I have not cried yet? I cannot do it. There are moments when I feel I will break down, when my eyes fill with tears, and my chest constricts with the wretched pain of loss, but they last seconds, and I get myself under control again.

I try to work myself into exhaustion, so I will fall into a deep sleep and not have to think, but I lie in my bed wide awake and think of him dying alone. It makes me want to scream, but I am afraid that if I start, I will never stop.

Perhaps I could weep if you were here. Perhaps I could break in the safety of your embrace. Perhaps I could afford to be fragile and vulnerable if only you were to see me. Oh, how I wish you could come. I am barely stopping myself from asking you. I know that if I sent this, you would be battling with the same desire, but of course, your good judgment would prevail.

---

I have to end this letter one day, but I have no idea how. I still hurt, I will always hurt, I still think of him every single day. There are days I still feel angry, there are days I still cannot believe it, there are days I feel exhausted and incapable of doing anything. But there are also days I am able to remember him without the accompanying piercing pain.

Maybe there will come a time when those days grow greater in number, and I will be able to smile when my thoughts inevitably turn to him. Until then, I will try to do my best and keep living and hoping to see you safe and sound.

Yours,

Findekáno

#silmarillion #fingon #maedhros and fingolfin aren't actually here #but he's writing to the first about the latter #silm fic #this was extremely difficult to write #but if i didn't write it i wouldn't be able to write anything else #now i can focus solely on my trsb fic #zwc fic

[ayatosmlktea]

best boyfriend series | kirishima

A/N: So there is a list me and the gal pals have compiled of who we think are the best boyfriends in the entire world. I haven’t been in a thirsting mood for so long probably bc im mad ✨depressed✨ so the only thing on my mind is soft boys and how amazing they are. This is the most writing I've done in months but I wrote this for Bri’s birthday a while back and am now sharing them with you bc we could all use some wholesome kiripima 

I wrote these as the thoughts came to my mind so...its not really organized ANYWAY enjoy!

- Your sense of humour and easy going personality is what draws him in even if he doesn’t realize it to be love in the beginning

- Even when he’s training with bakugou his eyes are always searching you out, the way you handle your quirk takes his breath away he just thinks you look so badass in combat

- Every time you ask if he wants to study together his heart starts racing so fast it feels like it’s going to burst out of  his chest and he has to fight back the blush that burns the back of his neck and ears whenever you giggle

- As you and Mina become closer, you start hanging out more with the bakusquad.

- Kiri finds himself getting increasingly distracted by you, he notices every little thing like the way your eyes shine whenever you smile, the way cover your mouth when you laugh which bothers him because the entire world deserves to see how beautifully radiant you look when you’re happy

- He notices the way your body language changes when you’re tired, how your attitude gets a little grumpier when you’re hungry and through learning all of that Kiri steps in to make you whole

- When you’re tired he passes you his notes to copy after class just giving you a knowing smile and ignoring the way his heart flutters when you stare at him like he’s your knight in shining armour

- He doesn’t like the way that Denki and sero playfully flirt with you, it makes him feel weird although he knows he has no right to be jealous so he ignores it

- During your second year you start dating Shinsou and Kiri can feel his world come to a halt, his heart plummets into this stomach but he puts on a fake smile and tells you that he’s happy for you and he hopes Shinsou treats you right

- You don’t seem to notice the way the light in his eyes is gone, how much more time he puts into training now that you’re busy with your new relationship and as bitter and mad as he wants to be he knows you deserve to be happy, even if it isn’t with him so he pushes his feelings down and acts like he isn’t being punched in the gut every time you kiss shinsou and not him

- Your last night in the dorms before summer vacation Kirishima finds himself being woken up by a quick series of knocks on his door

“Denki I told you already pennywise is not under your be-” he stops mid sentence when he finds you outside of his door, sniffling with red rimmed eyes

- He’s barely awake and processing what’s happening as he opens his door wider so you can come inside before one of the teachers catches you out of bed and on the boys side of the dorms

- He can hear that you’ve been crying and are still trying not to when you apologize for waking him up so late but you didn’t know who else to go to and suddenly his entire body is burning with anger when you tell him that Shinsou broke up with you

- He can’t help but let out a broken laugh, Shinsou never deserved your heart in the first place. If he couldn’t see how dedicated you were to the people you loved, how you cared for your friends and put their needs above yours, how incredibly talented and hardworking and beautiful you were then he was the dumbest man alive

- You’re suddenly quiet and Kiri realizes that he’s said all of that outloud and the overwhelming urge to disappear consumes him. He was sure that you were going to get up and walk out and never speak to him again but you don’t

- Instead you ask if he means what he said so quietly he can barely hear it and despite how hot his cheeks are burning with embarrassment he tells you he does

- He stops you when you lean in to kiss him and his heart hurts when he can see the rejection and embarrassment paint your features but he tells you that it’s not because he doesn’t want to kiss you, because of course he wants to, but he doesn’t want to take advantage of your feelings when you’re going through an emotional time

- You two spend the summer hanging out- just as friends, he wants to give you time to get over Shinsou because the last thing he wants is to be your rebound

- But with every day that goes by he finds it harder not to kiss you, not to hold your hand, not to text you every second of the day, not to tell you that he loves you

- The realization that he loves you doesn’t scare him, but it is the first time he admits to himself and accepts it rather than trying to bury it and so after he walks you home and you turn to go into inside he grabs your wrist and pulls you in for a kiss

- It’s not the most coordinated kiss but it sets every nerve in his body on fire and you’re both clinging onto each other like it’s your only lifeline. You break apart with the biggest smiles on your face and in that moment Kiri knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life with you

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾　　☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

- Well i wasn’t planning to write all that so now let’s get into WHY he’s the best bf

He’s 100% devoted to you, literally you could be in a room full of fkn models and his eyes would be focused on you because he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman to walk the earth

Any other relationship you’ve had in the past does not even come close in comparison to how Kiri treats you

- He would give up his life to make sure you’re happy, seeing you upset breaks his heart because he cannot stand the sight of you crying. It literally tears a whole in his chest

- If it’s within his power to deal with, he will make sure that whoever hurts you does not make the same mistake again. Maybe its a little unethical to use his pro-hero status to strike fear into the heart of creeps who won’t leave you alone at work, or the girls who enjoy gossiping about your relationship behind your back but he does not give a single fuck

- Your happiness comes before his and if you aren’t happy, he’s not happy.

- If he hears people talking about your relationship and making it seem as though you’re only with him for the fame or money he’ll tear them down with the brightest smile on his face not missing a beat

- While he acts all big and scary fighting villains, when he comes home to you at the end of the day he is the most cuddly person you’ve ever known. It doesn’t matter how exhausted he is, he always grabs you in for a hug and doesn’t let you down until he’s satisfied.

- Kiri is really big on skin to skin contact, expect him to constantly be slipping his hands under your shirt and wrapping his arms around you at the most random times

- When you guys are getting ready to sleep he’ll pull you snug against his chest and bury his face in the nape of your neck,

Your scent helps him fall asleep, not in a creepy way but in a ‘you’re safe and here with me so i can close my eyes knowing that everything is okay’ kind of way.

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾　　☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

- In my humble opinion, once kiri catches feelings for you they’ll never fade

- Even if you fight, it only reminds him of everything you two have built together and that you’re worth fighting for

- You hear a lot of your friends complain about how their boyfriends never listen to them, or how they don’t know what they like, you watch them shamelessly flirt with other guys and wonder what it must be like to be in such an unsatisfying relationship

- Kiri knows you better than you know yourself, he’s so in tune with you and your body that you don’t even need to ask him to do anything, he just knows

- He remembers little dates that most boyfriends dont, your first kiss, your first date, the first time he said “i love you” outloud

- He also is the first one to say it and it happens when you’re just hanging out in his room

- He’s known that he’s been in love with you for months but didnt want to say it too soon and have you freak out but after nearly six months in it’s driving him crazy not being able to tell you he loves you

- When he does your eyes glisten with tears and he freaks out thinking that he’s said too soon until you’re crushing him in a hug and tell him that you love him too

- When you’ve had a bad day at work or life is just becoming too stressful for you to deal with he puts everything else on hold to comfort you

- Makes you your favourite meal for dinner, gets your favourite show ready to watch after your shower and massages your feet while you snack on some ice cream for dessert

- Ever since you’d started dating Kiri had a habit of “accidentally” forgetting his hoodies at your place, spraying them with a bit of extra cologne while you were in another room

- He loved it when you wore his clothes, it filled him with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe but it solidified in his mind that you were his

- After almost four years of dating he knows that he can’t spend another second without you being his, forever

- He stays up all night looking at engagement rings but none of them are good enough for you so he does a little more research and finds a place that makes custom rings and has the date the first time he kissed you engraved on the inside of the ring

- He 100% cries the second he sees you walk down the aisle, if he thought you were beautiful before, there’s nothing else that compares to you on your wedding day

-  Everything else drowns out around him and the other thing that matters is you, sliding your rings onto each other fingers and sharing your tearful vows and then you’re pronounced husband and wife and his entire being is elated

- He kisses you with a passion and fervour you’ve never felt before, like he’s pouring his soul into the kiss , every promise he’s ever made and will make and all the things he can’t find the right words to say are transmitted

#kirishima x reader #kirishima x you #kiri x reader #kiri x you #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x you #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x you #bnha x you #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #kirishima #kirishima eijiro x reader #mha imagines #bnha imagines #kirishima imagines #its been so long since I used tags omg

[whump-town]

See, How The Most Dangerous Thing Is Love

Where you go I'm going So jump and I'm jumping Since there is no me without you

She can’t stop running and, like an idiot, he keeps chasing. 

warnings: i don’t think there is anything to warn against which seems odd... considering... but I did use some weird fucking metaphors and I don’t know if they make any sense... 

Hotchniss

If the tension between Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss wasn’t apparent upon their reunion following Elle’s leave, it was painfully clear after Tobias. Eggshells be damned. He inquires around her compartmentalization, tone dark, and judging where JJ had just meant to build a bridge. He had aimed to tear one down. To remind her just how out of place she is in this unit.

There can only be one lone wolf in the pack.

“You came off of a desk job--”

She narrows her eyes, feet shifting. He’d come out of nowhere, as she’s finding he often does, and that just aggravates her even more. She’s a trained spy and Interpol agent, he shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her. The shield she throws between them does nothing when he already has his own firm in place. Feet planted in preparation for her attack.

Her revenge is sweet.

It starts with the way her back draws tight as a bow.

“No, stop. Stop. All right everybody right now-- what’s my worst quality?”

The flip of her dark hair, drawing the limp branch of a tree towards her chest. Poised ready to strike out towards him and the tight coil of childish glee derived from mischief in her chest. Her words the fiery snap of its release, the edge catches his cheek to leave an open, jagged wound. “You don’t trust women as much as men.” The room’s attention lays in the silence of that lashing. Their eyes watching the dark crimson of his blood trickle down his cheek.

And he wipes it away. Unflinching as he powers on. He can see it in their eyes, the way they keep looking back at the wound on his cheek. Thinking about the words and their implications. How they each drew back and laid into him with their strikes.

He can see it in Emily, the way she awaits her second chance. She’ll draw that branch back again. There are more branches, he suspects, in her forest of mistrust and impatience with him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a few branches of his own he’d like to hit her with.

It is only in the most fundamental way that they trust one another.

“Don’t get me wrong, Johnny.”

A drop of sweat runs along his hairline and down the back of his neck. The heat of Alabama in August is worse than Virginia and even stripped of his suit jacket, the weather is insufferable. The rickety old pisshole of a house groans under the weight of the four adults standing in the attic. With no draft and dust covering every visible surface, it smells like something’s crawled up here and died. He suspects, if he were to look hard enough, he’d find that to be true.

Johnny and Mark Wrights have been murdering and raping teenage girls from the local high school. Grown men covered in grim and old denim-- the epitome of the white trash that comes to mind when they set out to solve these kinds of cases. It makes Hotch feel a deep shame for being raised anywhere near the south. Now, as he stands pinned to Johnny’s chest, the heavy scent of pig shit and sweat covering the man, he feels deep condemnation for the south.

He wants to get as far from this town as possible.

Prentiss’ gun is steady. As far as agents to come to have his back, he’s lucky that it’s her. Her brows raise a fraction when she steps into the room, surprised that it’s him. It takes him off guard that she’s choosing empathy with these men. She repeats her earlier statement. “Don’t get me wrong, boys,” she shakes her head and her eyes flicker to Hotch. “That’s my boss you have there.”

Johnny digs the barrel of his gun into Hotch’s face, the metal biting his flesh. He’s antsy. Emily must see that… surely, she must know that she won’t be able to talk her way out of this.

“Now,” she smirks. Her inflection has risen to nonchalance as if talking to a friend. Her shrug of indifference makes his chest feel dangerously tight. “He’s a dick,” she informs them. “Makes my life a living hell.” His eyes glued to her index finger. She’s talking and moving and if she’s distracted him with her words then she’s distracted the Unsubs too. “He’s got a little boy at home though,” her eyes flick to him.

He’s hit with a sudden understanding.

“So…” he watches her back once again. A bow, bending to snap. He ducks, this time, when her branch comes flying back at his face. Throwing his weight to the side, he takes Johnny by surprise, and before he can blink there are two quick shots that ring the end.

For a stunned moment, he’s laid out on his back. His eyes are on the ceiling just breathing and shaking.

She comes to stand at his side, offering him a hand up.

He takes it.

“Don’t,” she says before he can thank her. Her eyes are dark. She’s displeased. Not only with him and the stupidity that got them in this mess, to begin with, but for the girls. Emily had wanted to bring those girls justice. To sit at Johnny and Mark’s court hearings. To drink herself numb and to see them thrown in jail so they’d never see the light of day ever again.

Executed in the attack of some rickety old house just isn’t the same.

He nods his head.

They part ways.

But he can see her back.

And she sees his hands.

She lashes out and he pulls scabs apart. He agitates old wounds. His thumb works across his finger, picking at a scab, and then he draws blood and she watches as he dumbly looks down at his hands. As if he’s confused at why it would bleed.

A serial arson typically leaves little room for emotional collateral but, of course, he makes an exception. He digs his thumb into his finger, rubbing back and forth, voice breaking, and attention split as he makes connections that no one else sees. Gideon steps to his side, calming Hotch and stopping the trickle of blood over his callused hands. Holds his own hands over the wounds.

She sees that day, the scars that litter his ledger. The scabs… Aaron Hotchner is an open wound. He can’t let anything go. Won’t let the wounds heal. He needs the pain the way she needs the bows. She hates that she’s starting to understand this man that she hates so passionately.

Hearing him shout, the pain in his voice as he tears viciously after Evan Abby makes her falter. There he goes again, picking at wounds that should have healed. Who exactly is he saving? It’s not Abby. The man is a walking corpse, riddled with cancer. Watching as Hotch sinks into Morgan’s arms, his dread and hopelessness bringing him to his knees.

The blood falls down his hands.

But he picks at a wound that makes her bow and all is right, once again, in their little world.

“I want you on that plane with me.”

She finds him on a bender a few days later. The case is solved but that doesn’t mean she feels any better about the way that they left things. A boy swept up in their carnage-- “the boy brought me this last one. Didn’t even ask him to.” She sits down one barstool away from him and wonders if he’s thinking about that too.

But he’s scratching. Not at his hands but at the tumbler he twirls lazily around, mesmerized by the amber liquid in it. He throws what little is left into his mouth and grimaces, not at the taste but at the scab he’s just pulled free. She watches the blood fall.

He gets good at stopping her attacks.

“There’s nothing we could have done,” he breathes, the hurt in his voice the only reason she doesn’t shoot him down with a scowl. For some reason, he takes the seat across from her and pushes a coffee to her. She looks at the mug and then at him. His head dipped, eyes on the sludge he’s calling a peace treaty.

She wraps her hands around the mug. The effect of the warmth is immediate. “I know,” she admits, sipping at the liquid. God, that pisses her off. He always makes the coffee perfect. She can’t even make her coffee the way she likes.

He hums, shaking his head. “I think…” he glances at her and looks out the window. “I think I’m still trying to convince myself that.” The soft admission is so… unlike him. Where is the gruff push? The fire in his eyes. She finds only hard truth. Standing rooted where he is, he frowns with something he can’t convince himself isn’t worry.

Where does she go? Tonight, he will go home and find it empty. Which is fine because he can’t be around Haley and Jack on a night like this. He is no husband. No father. He needs to remind himself of the emptiness that is Aaron Hotchner. The pain and the torture. He’s not meant to be a father and he pushes his father’s legacy a little harder each day he pretends his marriage is a happy one.

If she can not get lost in these faux realities… What does she do?

Him. She does him.

For a month he convinces himself that he can fix the little pieces of his marriage but finds his hands covered in the jagged wounds of the glass carnage. As it turns out, some things simply refuse to go back together. He bleeds and bleeds and Emily, of all people, comes to mend his aches. Moving him away from the fragments, forcing him to let go.

The sex is harsh. He’s rough and she lets him. Urging him on with the roll of her own hips, his hair gripped tightly in her hand. They’ve hurt one another gravely and to know his weaknesses makes her that much better at drowning out his pleasure. She’s surprised to find that his mouth isn’t just good for smart ass remarks.

It sparks something deep within them both.

“Garcia thought she heard…” JJ tightens her mouth, forcing her smile down. She glances over at Garcia, the two sharing smiles that can’t be hidden. For the first time in a while, Garcia came with them on a case. Meaning their usual splitting of the rooms didn’t work so Emily, instead of rooming with JJ, roomed with Hotch.

Garcia smirks at Emily, “I just heard someone up last night.”

Emily knows exactly what they heard. She feigns innocence none-the-less. “Late?” she asks. “I was in bed as soon as we got back.” Which is true because she had Hotch pinned to the wall with a hand down his trousers before the door could swing completely shut behind them. It didn’t take long for him to flip the script and have her on the bed. “I doubt it was anyone from the team, weren’t you all exhausted?”

Garcia accepts that as an answer. For now, that’s reasonable enough. It’s rather silly, is it not, to assume something is going on between Hotch and Emily, of all people. They really sell their pitch with the heated, just under their breath, argument that they have only an hour later. Though it isn’t to save face but because he’s an asshole sleep-deprived and she’s, truly, exhausted for the same reason. JJ and Garcia both feel rather stupid for having thought the commotion the night before could be them.

Six months later, it happens again.

“We were arguing,” Emily offers with hefty-sigh. She’s not just selling her role. Lately, they’ve had to repeatedly come to a heated, uncomfortable debate. Their relationship, what it is and what is really isn’t, is being questioned. Are they enough to power through the last year? Should they be something that makes it through the next?

She rubs at her eyes, careful to keep her hair brushed over her neck. While she’d checked and double checked this morning for any marks on her neck, Hotch has been rather nippy (in all sense of that word) and the last thing she needs is explaining some rogue hickey he’s placed. Unlike him, she doesn’t have a high collar to hide behind.

JJ raises an eyebrow but says nothing. The two of them are going through something, the whole team has noticed. Though, if they’re honest, they don’t suspect the rocks and tumbles of a relationship getting onto its feet. They’re waiting for one of them to snap. Whether it be Emily, who will likely pack up her belongings and leave. Regardless of her love for the team. Hotch… well, he’s losing his grip on his so solidly built and reinforced shields. His pain and discontent are slipping through his armor.

“Arguing?”

Emily sighs, nodding. “He’s an asshole,” she mumbles. “What do you want me to say?” Her tone, tense and defensive, raises a little more attention than she meant it to. Lowering her head, she digs her fingers into her temples. She’s not sure if it’s better or worse that Hotch notices immediately as he walks into the room. There’s a tense moment, the two of them just staring at each other, before he clears his throat and jumps right back into the problem at hand.

The case always comes first. Their relationship after every other conceivable thing.

It makes sense, for them, until it doesn’t.

“This isn’t what you signed up for.”

Up until that moment, he’d considered himself hiding fairly well behind his scowl. Aaron is safely nestled where Hotch can’t hurt him and, what scares him even more, is how protected he is from Prentiss. Because Emily might have tears streaming down her face right now but he knows he’s looking at Prentiss. From the steel in her dark eyes to the conviction that feels, and is, so misplaced.

He swallows around the stupidity that tries to come fumbling out of his mouth. Something sentimental, foolish. “I don’t understand,” he manages. It has taken him his entire adult life to admit to that. To find the courage to say when he doesn’t follow and all for what? To sit here, at her hospital bedside, and grit out the confession. He can’t fucking say I love you but he can consume the poison of letting go.

To succumb where he should fight.

“Please,” she whispers, softly. But she hadn’t been the other half watching. Unable to do a damn thing while her screams, the muffled sounds of her body hitting the walls, had filled his head. He’d listened as Cyrus beat her. In a way, no he didn't sign up for this. No one in a relationship wants every thought about their partner to be about the end. Will it come soon? Leaving one partner to grieve the other longer than they knew each other? To answer to that mourning call-- what is left when all you are is taken? What parts of him are really her?

“If it’s what you want.” he rasps.

She turns her head, barring to him the sight of the bruise that takes up the right side of her jaw. That’s answer enough.

Dave takes her home from the hospital that evening, wondering what exactly it is that’s happened. He noticed the two of them today. He’s not stupid. “How are you feeling?” he asks, looking over at her on his passenger seat. Getting hurt happens but this is the first time she’s ever had to call someone to pick her up. Dave knows, in that way a parent knows that the silence of their children spells encroaching doom, who was supposed to drive her home tonight. One might call it, also, parental intuition.

She doesn’t lift her head from the window. Doesn’t even look at him. “Fine.”

Dave knows Hotch will answer with the same answer Monday when they return from the office.

Calling the two of them tense is an understatement.

Emily returns to work and they steer clear of her. The whispers follow her weary body around like a cloak. That she can manage. That is nothing.

It’s his absence that she feels.

Her coffee tastes odd. She’s grown used to the way that he makes it. Too strong and with no creamer but no matter what she does it just doesn’t taste the same. He’s even ruined tea. His mouth always tasted of Earl Grey or the bitter remnants of his coffee. Now, even smelling Earl Grey twists a knife within her. One she buried herself.

He’s fucking everywhere.

It’s driving her mad.

The worst part is that he’s not there.

In her bed, she rolls over. Throwing a leg over where his hips would usually be. She finds nothing but soft, used cotton. Not even the pillow carries the lingering scent of him.

His sweater hangs over a chair in her room but it’s absent of his warmth. She’s worn it too often and now she can’t even bring it to her face to pretend he’s here.

Nightmares plague her sleep and she wonders if this is penance for breaking his heart or if he’d just kept them away.

She watches, one night, as her nightmares crawl out of her ears sneer right back at her.

“Where’s Hotch?” Emily falls into step with JJ.

The blonde shrugs, “I called him twice. He’ll just have to meet us here when he wakes up.”

Though she falters, body stiffening and pausing, she tries to carry on unbothered. Seemingly unbothered by this progression. Hotch never lets his phone go to voicemail.

She’s the one that finds him four hours later. Lying supine, unresponsive in a hospital bed. The doctor’s words roll right off her, she takes in only that he will, eventually, be okay. And she wonders what it would have been like to really lose him. Not to just yearn for him but to not even avoid his eye in the hall. To hover with her finger over his contact and for there to be no possibility that he’ll answer.

Dead.

He could have died.

Stupidly, foolishly, she takes his hand. His eyes crack open and she pretends she doesn’t see his immediate relief followed far too closely by the pain. Physically brought on by the wounds of both her hands and Foyet’s.  “I almost lost you,” she says.

He closes his eyes when she kisses him but when they pull apart he grimaces. Consciousness is painful, miserable. Her hand clutched by his, he manages a few weak breaths. Each one builds the strength to speak. “You can’t lose what you never had,” he answers, a moment later. By the time the cruelness of his truth has hit her, he’s slipped back under the drugs. His hand limp and clammy.

He’s right, though.

They both knew where he was coming in. The ins and outs of his embrace. That he’d pull her in and push her away in the same breath. Afraid, too afraid, to try at this again and, yet, he’d tried. He might not have had the strength to manage love but he’d held her through the nights. He knew her favorite foods and was never shy about tearing her apartment apart for missing the heating pad if she needed.

And what had she done for him?

She’d tricked him. Lured him in with the lies that she could do this. But she’s still drawn tightly. A bow that lashes out. Hurting others before they have a chance to hurt her and, as a result, she’s killed him more than Foyet could have dreamed.

Mostly, what he means is that she never allowed herself to have him. She never had him and, yet, she misses him every step of the way.

They have one another one last time.

She settles her hips over his and looks everywhere but the agitated, raised scars across his chest. He’s not cleared for strenuous activity but if he can’t have her, can’t feel her lips moving up his jaw and her fingers snaking up his side he’s certain that will kill him far sooner than any strain to his body. He’d rather die by her hand anyhow.

After that, there is no more, but it lingers thickly in the air.

She’s still Emily when her name comes out of his mouth. She still watches his lips, wondering if she were to capture them with her own if they would still taste the same. He looks for her first when things get dangerous and it’s his name she wakes up crying.

Haley dies. Emily puts distance between them but he still looks for her first.

“Please,” she places her hands on his chest. Forcing his body away even though just the feeling of her palms pressed to his chest sends yearning straight down her spine. “Aaron,” his name comes choked. “Please, if you knew me, if you had any idea of the things that I have done you’d run. I need you to run, don’t you understand that?”

He looks down at her, mouth open. Can she not see him? That he is a man made up of scars and scabs. A wound that bleeds. He picks and pokes and he bleeds all over everything. “I don’t run,” he says. He hadn’t run from the carnage of his marriage. Can’t she remember picking him up after that whole affair. Digging the glass from his hands where he’d stabbed and ripped himself to shreds to catch the falling debris of a life he thought he still had.

She deflates, sinking into the realization that her love is the worst thing for him right now. It’s a drug to him and she’s given him far too much. “I know,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Because you never know what’s good for you.”

His fingers ghost over her cheek and holds her face in his hand. “You let me decide what’s good for me,” he whispers. “I can protect myself, Emily.”

Not against this, she thinks. Not against her. He’s never known when to pull away and when to fight harder. It’s going to get him killed.

But it’s her laying on the ground, impaled, gasping for breath.

Hotch sees her blood all over Morgan’s hands. The hitch in the younger man’s choked breath as he recounts what happened. Attempting and failing to keep the details straight as he tells Hotch, in great detail, what happened. The way she’d lost reality for glimpses. Asked for him. Called out for Aaron, not Hotch, but Aaron. And Hotch doesn’t know what to say when Morgan rises to his feet and challenges-- “What the fuck was that about? What did you two do?”

But it’s fine because JJ comes out and places Morgan right back into his chair, silencing him with seven words. All hitting a little harder, too solidly across his shoulders. “She never made it off the table.”

Emily Prentiss never let herself love Aaron Hotchner but that never stopped him. And, in the end, she’d been there. Through Foyet, she’d been there. Where was he when she needed him?

He sends her to London with JJ, his goodbye rushed, and guilt.

She’s in London. He goes to Afghanistan. Neither make it home entirely alive.

She should have known. 

Admittedly, she is a little wine drunk. Tipsy, really. Inhibitions lowered in the warmth of Dave’s living room. She’s missed them all so terribly that the ache of their absence being lifted has left her exhausted. She’d been in a near daze when she’d taken her wine and moved to the couch. Leaning into Dave’s side when he’d taken the seat beside her. While Jack and Henry recount the events of every day she’s missed according to their greatest accuracy.

Their silly little stories are well worth the soft laughter it draws from the others.

“Where are you going?”

So now, as she stands and leaves Dave’s side cold-- she’s not sure what she was expecting to find in the depths of his eyes but the fear is startling. “Water,” she says, holding up her empty glass. “Water and to pee, I’ve had way too much wine.” She tips the glass and winks at Jack. Trying her best to lighten the mood she hadn’t realized she’d tank just by standing.

Garcia peels herself from the chair she’s sharing with Morgan, ignoring the way he seems to startle at the aspect of losing her pressed into his side. “I’ll join you on the bathroom run, pumpkin,” she says, collecting her glass and Morgan’s from the table at their side. “Another drink, my chunky hunky?”

Morgan smirks but shakes his head, “no thanks, Baby Girl. Someone has to be sober for the drive home.”

As good as that plan sounds, Hotch still grunts. The room’s attention shifting to their leader. He’s been startlingly silent, even for him, all afternoon. Seemingly tucked away from every encounter they’ve had amongst themselves. “You’ve all had too much to drink to drive home,” he says. “You should… calls cabs.” The strength of his interjection leaves his voice as Emily meets his eyes. He lowers his gaze and with it, the point of his statement.

Dave does not fail to notice this. Clearing his throat, he agrees. “I’ll go call your cabs.” He stands, rubbing a hand down his face. Fingers working into the creases of his lips. “Aaron,” he nods his old friend over. “Give me a hand?”

That sets about the motion of the room.

Emily’s making her way down the hall when Garcia catches her. “What is it,” Emily asks, playfully. She waits for Garcia to catch up to her, holding out her hand for what she’s expecting to be a trip full of the secrets of her and Derek’s relationship. Something good. A win.

“Can you make him stay?”

Emily desperately wants to pull from Garcia’s hold. Her grip is intense, desperate. She tries to pull away from Garcia’s hold. “What?” she asks softly, looking over her shoulder for some help. “Who? Who needs to stay?”

The desperation in Garcia’s eyes is unsettling. She lowers her voice even more pulling them closer. Her voice breaks as she says it. Tears swelling and running against the mascara over her eyelashes-- “Hotch.” She clenches her teeth, showing the most self-restraint Emily’s seen since they stepped foot in this hall. “He left us,” she breathes, sadly. “A month after you were gone. I went to his office--” her eyes dart as she speaks. “I started bringing him coffee every morning to cheer him up.”

Emily swallows thickly around the guilt that creeps up. Her death had broken them. She’d known that, of course. She just hadn’t considered Hotch. Brave and strong and it’s so hard to tell when he’s hurting. Then to bare her lie? Another cross on his back. More weight on his shoulders.

“I went in--” the tears fall as Garcia’s voice shakes. “He wasn’t there. He’d cleaned his office up and you know how he is.” That big oak desk is always littered with paperwork. One side to the other. He stacks it everywhere. Leaving pens from one end of the room to the other. You can’t even sit on that old couch of his without getting stabbed in the ass by a pen he’s lost. “Clean,” Garcia whispers. “He just left, in the middle of the night. By the time we came in, by the time we could find him he was already over there. Afghanistan.”

The word makes Emily’s chest tighten. What the hell could he be doing over there? That station is always looking for profilers but it’s a death trap. Hotch had said it himself, warning her when they’d sent her the special request. They’ve been operational for five years and gone through seven profilers. All of which have died. No one makes it out of that station alive.

And he’d gone.

“Why would--” she doesn’t even want to finish the question. Doesn't want to put the truth into action. Admit that she knows exactly why he did it.

At least over there he’d die a hero. Leave his son a flag and another parent to bury.

It’s faster than anything he could swallow over here.

Garcia squeezes Emily’s arm, bringing her back to the present moment. To the thing in question. “Can you bring him back,” she whispers frantically. “Can you make him stay?”

Emily doesn’t honestly know. Has she ever been able to make him do anything? “Garcia, I--” Her mouth snaps shut as the man in question steps into the hall. His eyes dart between them and Emily feels rather like a mouse caught in a trap.

He clears his throat and scratches uncertainly at the beard he’s let grow back in. “I was just…” he looks at Garcia and then back at Emily. Clearly caught off guard. “Dave-- I… You’re, ah, the hotel is close to me. I thought I’d save you the cab fare if you wanted to ride back--”

“Yes.” Emily nods, far too quickly. “Thanks,” she says, looking anywhere but at him. “I’d, ugh, I’d appreciate that.”

Hotch looks between Garcia and Emily, before nodding and ducking his head. He leaves the hall, with a slightly awkward nod and steps out. Hands going to his pocket. Hiding.

“Will you try,” Garcia whispers.

Emily watches him walk away. The apprehension in his hesitant movements. His hand scratching at the back of his head until he can hide behind the shield of Jack’s eager talking. Sinking down beside the boy on the couch and hiding himself there. “I don’t know,” she admits, honestly.

The only person that can pull him from the ledge is Hotch and she’s seen him toe it once before.

Packing things up is simple enough.

Hotch stands towards the edge of the hall, Jack slowly falling asleep in his arms.

“Sleepy,” Emily asks Jack, running her fingers through his soft brown hair. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t raise it from Hotch’s shoulder. Hotch has wrapped him in his jacket rather than choosing to fight the boy into it. It’s more a blanket. She pulls it up around him a little better. “You’re not tired,” she asks. “I am. I can’t wait to get to bed.”

Jack smiles but doesn’t admit to the exhaustion weighing his little bones down. “Are you gonna sleep with us?” he asks. He looks down at her with the soft of his father’s. Same impossible depth is hidden behind light brown iris’. It breaks her heart to see the turmoil within him.

Emily frowns but she’s not forced to tell the little boy no. Instead, Hotch’s hand comes to the back of his head. Cupping his neck as Hotch turns to face her. “You don’t have to do anything,” he clarifies with an all too familiar look in his eyes. Mischief. A plan. “We do have the guest room. With clean sheets. You could come home with us.”

Home.

To a real bed.

“I…” she can’t force out the polite no her mother has solidified in her mind the answer to be. No because that’s not fair or right or-- she really wants to sleep in a normal bed.

He bumps her shoulder, “just say yes.”

She looks at him and then at Jack. It’s not a hard thing to want to go home with the two of them. After Foyet, she’d spent many nights camped out on their couch. Waiting for father or son to wake in a panic. He’d done the same in the hospital after Doyle, sleeping on an uncomfortable little cot just so the first thing she saw each time she woke up was someone she knew.

Now it’s different. The dynamic has changed. While he might not know the course of the night has changed, she does.

She just doesn’t know it’s a futile battle.

There is no use fighting over stupid things like sleeping. He tucks Jack into his bed and meets her in his room. She’s already pulled on his shirts over her head. Refraining, forcing herself from burying her face in the material.

It doesn’t stop her from curling into bed beside him. Pressing her face into his shoulder and focusing solely on his hand slipping under her shirt. “You tired…” he asks. She shakes her head. He hums as he thinks. Dragging his thumb over her hip bone, stroking the soft skin. “First crush,” he whispers, ghosting his lips over her neck.

She laughs at that, twisting in his grip to tilt her hips across his. Settling closer to his chest. Drawing her hand up she draws against his skin. “This girl named…” she taps at his chest as she fails to remember the girl’s name. “I can’t remember her name,” she admits, faintly. Blushing. “Does that surprise you?”

Hotch’s eyes have slipped shut, his face turned into her hair. He hums, scrunching his eyebrows. “Surprised about what,” he asks softly. “That you can’t remember her name or that it’s a she?” He pulls her closer, wrapping an arm around her hips.

Emily just… looks at him. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. He’s not even going to comment? She bites her lip and lowers her head back down. “What about you?”

“None. It’s… I’ve only ever--” he blushes, averting his eyes. “Only Haley and you.” He clears his throat… “That’s why I always tried,” he whispers. “Why I tried so hard…”

“It’s not like I didn’t try,” she defends, pulling away from his embrace. “I was trying to protect you from this whole mess. You’re the one who didn’t know when to stop.”

“I don’t know where you get off blaming me,” he says, pulling himself away. He sits up in the bed, turning himself so she can sit and stare at the wall of his back. Little scars marking up his back as he places his arms on his knees. “You ran, Emily. Every single time, you run. Not me.”

Neither look at the other.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he announces. “Stay. Don’t make me explain to Jack why you’re not here in the morning.”

She stays where she is. She turns this over in her mind. His words are an open palm slap to the face. She sleeps in his bed, holding onto his pillow and burying her face into the scent. She doesn’t leave but only because she doesn’t want to have to walk past him. This feels like winning so she stays. She eats breakfast with them in the morning, playing and laughing with Jack like she always has.

Like she always does.

“I leave Thursday, if you care.”

She says nothing which is perfect because he’s not sure he can handle anything she might think of.

She knows, without having to be told, that they blame her for not being to keep him here. And, maybe it’s her fault, because she didn’t really try, did she? She did what also does, she hurt him. Now she’s sitting here all alone, wondering what she could have done differently.

Everything.

“We’ll see you when you get home.”

She stands at the back of the group, watching the other’s pull him into hugs. Dave holds Hotch for a long moment, speaking softly so only the two of them can hear what’s being exchanged. Hotch pulls away from that hug with tears falling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me bury another son, Aaron. Please be careful.” And that’s when he sees her.

Derek pushes her forward and she feels all of them watching as she makes her way to him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he confesses. He doesn’t care that the others are watching. They know enough. They’ve always known.

She feels guilty and she should. “You told me goodbye,” she reminds him. He’d kissed her right before they sent her to London with a packet of new names and passports. To be someone other than Emily. For a second chance. “It--” she looks away. She’s running, again, she knows. And she has to stop running. “It was the only thing that kept me alive, Aaron. I couldn’t let you leave without having told you the truth--”’

He glances up and back to her. Just for a moment, he wonders if the others should be hearing all this but--maybe they’re past all that. Pretending is how people get killed, they learned that with Emily, and he really doesn’t feel like being their repeat.

“I love you,” she confesses. “I know you love me, you always have. I’m sorry that I keep--” fucking it up. “I love you and I need you to come home, okay? So I can stop running.”

He doesn’t believe her. He wants to believe her but everything about Emily Prentiss always hurts and he knows it’s stupid to trust her. “Okay,” he says, afraid anything more will send her for the hills before he can even leave the country. And like an idiot, he bends his neck into her touch. Letting her rise up on her toes to kiss him. “I promise,” he whispers.

Jessica gets the call at midnight. The Bachelor finale had ended hours ago but she’d been sucked into some History channel rerun about ancient Mesopotamia. It’s the haze of the light hour, the warmth of the undertones of sand, the steady deep voice narrating, and the blanket curled around her shoulders that puts her to sleep. She doesn’t stand a chance after the day she’s had.

The call comes at 12:34 and the urgent ringing of her cell-phone makes her heart kick painfully at her chest. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she accepts the call without looking to see who it is. Not that her tired eyes would have recognized the caller anyway.

Not serving as a soldier, the process for notifying the family of any health changes requires a different take. For Aaron Hotchner, it’s put into the FBI’s hand. He’s their tool after all, not the US Army’s.

“I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am,” the voice offers.

Jessica scowls at the formality, sitting up on the couch and desperately searching for the remote. She kills the screen and the room is bathed in silence, aiding her ability to understand and think about what’s going on. “Ugh, can I help you?” She pushes her hair up out of her face, searching the ground and coffee table for a spare hair tie.

“I’m calling in regards to Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I understand this number is supposed to be the personal line of Jessica Brookes? You’re his emergency contact--”

He deployed in October. Giving her only a week’s heads-up. He’d had the decency to look ashamed of himself, of the state of being he’s caused for them all. She’d understood his situation. Losing his friend had broken him irreparably and he’d wanted to talk about that even less than he had Haley. At least he’d warned her, she knows he hadn’t extended his team the same courtesy.

The man on the line goes on. Something about moving bases and a promise to get back to her as soon as possible.

“Thank you for your service,” the man concludes.

Jessica blinks, frowning at the phrasing. Aaron wasn’t serving. He was punishing himself. This was penance.

“Goodnight.”

She sits back on the couch, eyes vacantly taking in the wall in front of her. He’s on his way home. That’s good but she can’t help but… he’s hurt. Hurt enough for them to discard him back here. How bad is it?

Emily can’t deny her horror.

His eyes move to the blanket. To the empty space of where his limb once was. “It’s… It’s just a leg,” he whispers. He blinks heavily once, twice, and sighs softly as he fails to keep his eyes open. Humming, he parts his chapped lips but can’t find any more words. He’s too tired. “Could be…” his voice slurs and he exhales a heavy breath. “...worse.”

Emily wants to hit him but she’s done being defensive. She’s tired of being the first one to pull away. For once, she just needs to be the one that holds onto a hug a little longer. That lingers. “You could have died,” she whispers thickly. Gently, hesitantly she touches his hand. To her surprise he is the one to move, intertwining their fingers. She sits by his side, eyes glued the empty part of the bed. The nothing of where his leg is supposed to be. Does it really matter that much, though? A single leg?

Not to her. She’s had months to pretend. Every night she has escaped to a new reality with him. Come up with every variety of reality that might occur. What she’d do if he’d come perfectly fine and how they’d have kids and he’d never wake in the middle of the night with nightmares because she’d kill his monsters. How she would cope if he came home horribly disfigured or entirely different. Would it matter? They’d still be Aaron and Emily.  

“I’ll never walk again,” he informs her. His head is tilted into the pillows, casually watching his news wash over her. He wants to know if she’ll stay if he can’t go. If all these years were about the chase, would she stay if he can no longer follow?

She sits down in the chair pulled up to the side of the bed. People have been in and out all afternoon but she’s the first one to receive this news. The other’s don’t really matter because he knows the script, can imagine how each of them react. Garcia will cry. JJ will too but not until she’s leaving. Dave will take it well but he’ll utter something strangely sentimental and sober with the realization that walking was never the priority of Hotch coming home. Morgan and Reid are his wild cards and he doesn’t want to tell them at all. But that’s just not how this works.

“At least you won’t go running off on me.”

He knows what she means, the implication and the diversion. With a huff he raises an eyebrow, “I’ve never been a runner, Emily.”

Emily.

No, she supposes, he never has. “If you can’t run,” she says, heart skipping around in her chest. She feels it pulsing in her throat, tossing itself around in her stomach. “If you can’t run then I won’t run.” She stands, swallowing thickly around the swell of fear in her throat. He watches her, looking up at her as she hovers for just a moment. When she kisses him there are no sparks. Something cold, icy runs it’s fingers into the grooves of her spine but she’s not gripped by any startling realizations.

It’s too late for that.

But he tastes like Aaron and to a girl who’s never had a home in one place, she’s only ever running. Here, against him, she knows what people mean they say a person can be a home. Because she wants to curl into him and forget the edges of Emily. Aaron. It’s always been Aaron.

It surprises him that she stays. She waited until things got hard.

“I’m going to have to go to physical therapy every week.”

She shrugs, “I’ve got a library of books waiting for me to read them. I’ll tackle my reading list.”

“I can’t walk,” he reminds her.

She raises an eyebrow, “so? I didn’t love you before because of your ability to walk.”

“Emily--” he needs her to understand this isn’t as easy as she’s making it. Using the bathroom, showering, sex isn’t even going to be easy. She can’t just brush it off like it’s not going to bother her. It’s bothering him! “Emily, I can’t hold your hand when we go downtown. I’m going to need your help taking a shower and getting to the bathroom. I’m going to have to look for a new apartment because the one I have, there’s no way I can work a wheelchair around in it. It’s-- I’m not the same! We’re not the same!”

She knows. Yesterday she asked Morgan to rig up something in the bathroom. She spent hours with Morgan trying to put a handle or a rail in beside the toilet without ruining the wall. Ordered a shower chair last week that Morgan is probably putting together right now. Garcia and JJ are looking for apartments with larger floor plans because she doesn’t want to be presumptuous and assume he’d want to move into a house with her. But she’s waiting for the right time to bring it up.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” she says. “That we’re not the same. I’m different too.” Does she need to create her own list? Dedicating it all to words for him to comb over. She can’t sleep through the night. Even though it had been a wooden stake that had “killed” she can’t hold a knife. Her hands tremble, this weakness she can’t explain. Her abdomen is just scars, riddled with ugly skin hardened by trauma. Is he prepared to see that?

“Look at me,” she says, squeezing his hand. “It’s been me and you for years. You’re the only thing I really know. So, I’ll take you as you come. However you come. You loved me when I ran, I can love you with a little baggage.”

He frowns, trying to find an out. Not or himself but for her. But she’s unwavering. “Baggage,” he finally caves. He smirks, shaking his head. “Of all the words in the language you know and you pick baggage?”

She cringes, shrugging, “I didn’t really think about it. It just came out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

She smiles, “you love it.”

He hesitates for a moment but nods, “I do.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss

[joozvoicemail]

Full Moon | LEE Jooheon

(Gif credit goes to me heh)

📌A/N: I waited for a night of full moon to get into the mood for this piece. But when I was finally mesmerized by the view, the story turned out to be...not like what I’d had in mind.  Still, please be gentle and kind to my daydream. Enjoy!

Genre: fluff despite the angst? (Romeo & Juliet vibes) (newbie here still learning about the genres...)

Word count: ~1,000

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The moon was so bright that your eyes became teary after a short gaze.

You always liked the moon better. The sun makes everything alive and allows people to operate during the day; while the moon gives hope in the dark, like a torch that shines on people’s hearts. It gives people time to look at their wounds – bleeding or hiding underneath a scar – and to heal.

It was a full moon tonight. Other than appreciating the beauty of the pearl-like glare vaguely spread on the back of your hand and the wooden floor, you had one more thing to do.

He would be coming in any minute. Maybe he was late. Maybe you were early. You refused to check the time because you knew it would only give you anxiety.

The anticipation urged you to walk towards the window, as if you could step closer to the time frame when he would be here. You slid open the window to let the breeze gently brush away the strands of hair on the side of your face. Time felt slow on a quiet night when everyone was asleep and only several street lights were assisting the moon’s job.

Turning around to have your waist leaning onto the window frame, you grabbed your hair, twisted and wrapped it into a bun so that the back of your neck was exposed to the moonlight.

“You look nice.” A whisper broke the silence when you were appreciating your shadow on the floor. It frightened you to startle and clench your hair tighter. You found Jooheon sitting awkwardly on a tree branch outside, located a little lower than your window, with his arms hugging the tree trunk tensely.

“Get down!” You gasped, index fingers pointed downwards and rushed downstairs. You opened the door of the house when his right foot had just landed on the ground. He smiled and dusted off.

You tried to repress your anger so that you could keep your volume low, “What were you thinking? What if you fell—" simultaneously you dragged him to the darker corner.

“That’s why I stopped half-way,” he interrupted with arms opened to show that he was all fine. “Otherwise you could have lived your Twilight dream.”

After quickly checking his palms and forearms, you rolled your eyes and suggested, “Tell my 10 year-old self. Plus, you don’t have diamond-like skin.”

Together, you sneaked into the house, walked upstairs and arrived in your room. You both stood in front of the window, where you had waited for him, facing each other. He took off his hood and you finally could see his face clearly. You pulled him close, buried your face into his chest, took a deep breath. It was the smell of baby powder, clean and soothing.

“You always smell so nice.” His warmth came through his t-shirt, climbed onto the tip of your nose and gradually filled your chest.

He put his arms around you, palms gently rubbing your back. He placed a kiss on your head and asked, “What about Romeo? Can I be Romeo?”

He created a slight echo, almost like he was speaking from inside your head, like his words were only made for you to hear.

“Sad story…” you took a step back, leaving space of a forearm between the two of you, “but I do see myself as Juliet,” you looked up, then lowered your head in a split second because you were afraid that he would catch the growing sorrow in your eyes.

Your heart ached. The air was still. His hands slid from your arms to your hands. You could feel the hesitancy in his grip but you did not blame him at all. You always knew how difficult this would be.

Loving him was easy, going against the world was not.

His fingers traced up your jawline and stopped close to your ears; thumbs stroked your cheeks while lifting your face. “Listen, if you were Juliet, I’d be your Romeo.”

The moonlight landed on his side profile. “I might not have faith in myself, but I believe in us,” he bent down a bit further to give you a nod of affirmation. Sparkles surrounded your reflection in his eyes. It could be him tearing up, or it could be you.

He let his chest sink; hands lowered to hold your shoulders. He raised his frowned brows and his dimples only made your chest sore.

Before you realized, you had reached out to place your hands on the back of his neck, fingers found shelter in his hair. Your lips pressed against those tender skin of his, eyes shut. He passionately held you by your waist, as if he could grind you into pieces and make you forever his. The moist on your lashes and the escalating heat shared between the two of you left your mind blank.

Somehow you just wanted to fuck the world and die at this very moment.

You let go of his lips when it became difficult to draw air into your chest. “When it all ends,” you took a second to catch your breath and organize your thoughts, “be with me – no matter what.”

“Mark my words,” he grabbed your hand, flipped it over and wrote “YES” while mouthing the alphabets. You put your fist in front of your mouth, pretending to bite it. He grinned squinting his eyes.

He sat on the bed, back leaning on the headboard, and gestured you to sit between his legs. Both looking out the window, you put his arms around you and adjusted your position to listen to his heartbeat.

“Sleepy?”

“No, not at all.” You widened your eyes and inhaled, hoping the oxygen helped. “…but please don’t sing.”

He chuckled and nodded, “Alright.”

“When is the next full moon?” You threw him a random question.

He saw you desperately changing the topic so he could not help to tease, “Hm…25 good night sleeps later?” You gave him a feeble elbow strike and got a fake cry in return.

He pecked on the back of your hand and giggled, “I think I’m Jacob.” Surprised, you turned to look at him disapprovingly. “Like a werewolf, come to you on the night of a full moon,” he claimed assuredly.

“But Bella didn’t choose Jacob in the end.”

“…What about Joker? And Harley Quinn, woo,” he gushed, squinting his eyes on the thought of the partners in crime.

“Uh-uh, they’re super cool except for the relationship part,” you shook your head, “there must be some happy endings out there…” you complained, stroking your chin.

“Us, then,” he narrowed the space between his legs for a more affectionate embrace, “we’re gonna have our own happy ending.”

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Thank you for reading. Have a good day, or goodnight🖤

#monsta x scenarios #Monsta X imagines #Monsta X fluff #Monsta X angst #Jooheon imagines #jooheon x reader #lee jooheon #mywriting

[agentlemuse]

Dea!!! I am so in love with your Buddie the old guard fic I've read it so many times now I LOVE IT could you maybe write a little sequel to it with Eddie whitnessing Buck dying and coming back to life for the first time! No pressure obvs but you'd make me super happy! thanks again for writing the buddie old guard au fic ITS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!

Hayley I am so sorry for making you wait!

Also on AO3

“How much are you willing to wager,” Hen challenges, her own stack of bills being dropped on the table like a declaration of war.

Chim eyes everyone carefully, emptying out all the money in his wallet with a confident pop of his gum. “I’m all in. Buck?”

“All in. Eddie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! It’s tradition,” Buck begs, practically pouting as he tries to get Eddie to join in on the bet. He refuses every time and every time Buck acts surprised.

“Pretty sure the only tradition here is them getting all of your money,” Eddie points out with a smirk, earning a sharp laugh from Athena.

“You are too young to be this lame,” Buck sighs dramatically as Eddie rolls his eyes. He might be lame, but at least he will keep his money.

Just like that Hen is crowing as Buck laments his defeat. He looks to him with wide eyes in hopes of sympathy but all Eddie can do is laugh. He did warn him.

Athena and Bobby were chuckling fondly from their spot in the corner, speaking to each other without saying a word as they do often do. After one night of partaking in too much of Hen’s sangria he asked Buck if they had developed telepathic powers and Buck laughed so hard he snorted red wine out his nose. Considering their immortal status he didn’t think it was quite that funny, but Buck disagreed.

Looking at them now he still says it was a valid question.

“Okay everyone listen up,” Athena announces, drawing the attention of everyone with the simple command. “We have some news.”

“New job,” Buck asks eagerly, already wanting to speed ahead.

Bobby and Athena share a sad look and for the first time since Eddie has known them they look like they’re struggling to find the words to say. Athena stands, picking at a scab on her arm.

A scab.

She shouldn’t have a—

“I’m mortal.”

It’s funny how you can live for a millennia and a single moment can still knock you to your knees.

Athena could still have three, maybe even four, decades with them, but suddenly each moment is finite. He knew this was possible, Buck had told him about Abby, but it wasn’t real until now.

He may not know her as well as the others; hasn’t watched dynasties rise and fall with her, but she’s his family now. He foolishly thought he’d have more time before saying goodbye to family again.

But it’s not about him. It’s about Athena. It’s about the people who have loved her for centuries trying to wrap their minds around life without her.

Eddie doesn’t know much about Buck’s parents, partly because there isn’t much worth remembering from the way Buck tells it, but Athena is his mother for all intents and purposes. Now that she’s - not vulnerable (she’d stab him for even thinking it) - mortal, Buck has been like an overprotective mother hen. Athena has looked ready to strangle him on more than one occasion and he’s pretty sure the fussing is more likely to take years off her life than anything else.

And it’s sweet. Funny even, how Athena looks at him with such exasperated fondness.

Only that overprotectiveness makes a reckless Buck even more reckless.

Which, fine, Buck’s immortal. For now. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? The idea that immortality just ends was hypothetical before now.

And Buck is—

Buck is—

Buck is his family. His person. The only reason he doesn’t spend this eternity of his lamenting every new day.

Buck has been on this earth for nearly a millennia without him, but Eddie doesn’t want to live without him. Not for a thousand years or a thousand days or even a thousand minutes. Not because he needs Buck, but because he wants him. He wants his kind eyes and infectious laughter beside his side. He wants the feel of his breath on the back of his neck as he lays curled in behind him. He’s not sure he can go back to sleeping alone.

A shame he’ll need roughly a thousand years to figure out a way to finally tell him, which is not going to happen with Buck being so eager to get himself killed.

Buck insists on throwing himself into danger, which means Eddie has to throw himself further. He’s younger, newer, he can take more hits. He knows logically that Buck must have died hundreds of times before him, but he hasn’t died since Eddie killed him. Maybe he can’t keep him alive forever, but he can certainly try.

Bobby catches on first.

“Nasty hit you took today.”

“I’ve had worse,” Eddie says nonchalantly, fingers flexing against a phantom wound long since healed. Buck stormed out earlier, pissed he jumped in front of a bullet for him only to bleed out slowly. Tonight Buck will hold him closer, making sure he’s still in one piece; a bittersweet ritual they’ve formed together. He’ll take the anger if it keeps Buck safe.

“You’ve been taking a lot of hits lately.”

“Saying I should work on my ducking skills?”

“Saying you can’t take them all,” Bobby replies, cutting off whatever comment he might be opening his mouth to say with a look. “When is the last time Buck died?”

“You should ask—“

“When?”

“When I shot him,” Eddie admits, jaw clenching.

“He’s had a good run, but good runs end. He knows what’s at stake just like everyone else. We can’t outrun the inevitable. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you try,” Bobby says softly, an unspoken pain behind his eyes. “Don’t miss out on the good worrying about the bad.”

“Wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t so eager to put himself in harm’s way,” Eddie deflects, no real malice in his words.

“Funny, that’s what Buck said about Athena.”

That was hardly the same. Buck is being reckless, Eddie is just—

Well it’s not like he can take care of him through his cooking, now can he?

The next few months they take it easy on the missions, focusing on time together as a family. It’s good, great even, but it’s only a matter of time before the world has a need for their set of skills.

Which is how they find themselves in this dimly lit warehouse in what is clearly a trap.

He and Buck have taken the front, trying to clear a path to the escape route so they can’t get pinned in. The sharp pops of bullets flood his ears, a fog of plaster dust filling the air as bullets lodge in walls instead of bone.

There are too many blind spots and not enough cover.

There’s shouting, cries of pain, but none of them familiar. They’re gaining ground, they’re getting out, they’re—

The sick sound of a bullet striking flesh, muscle, bone enters his ear. A spray of blood hits his cheek.

Eddie turns to see Buck crumple against the ground.

Suddenly there is no noise, no friends or foes. There was only Buck lifeless on the floor, his head a gaping wound of brain matter and skull.

He falls to his knees beside him, blood soaking his trousers as he reaches out to help him. Only, he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“Buck, wake up. Buck. Buck.” He doesn’t recognize his voice, doesn’t recognize the frantic panic of this strange sound coming out of his mouth.

He thinks of all those zombie movies he used to watch with his sisters when he was young. The only way to kill them was to take out the brain. They couldn’t come back from that. Buck couldn’t—

Eddie shot him in the head once, but this was different. There hadn’t been this hole. There hadn’t been brain matter scattered across the floor. Buck hadn’t taken this long to wake up.

He can’t do this without him. He doesn’t want to do this without him.

“Wake up, wake up, you have to wake up,” Eddie demands, then begs.

“Eddie, we have to keep going,” Chim says from across the room, providing cover from enemies he couldn’t care less about. “He’ll catch up.”

He ignores him. Of course he ignores him. He can’t leave Buck. He’s going to wake up, he has to, so why is it taking so long?

The team moves on, because there is no other choice if they want to get out of here, but Eddie doesn’t move. He waits for a sign of life, anything, but Buck stays perfectly still. He should be healing already, blue eyes fluttering and a smile on his lips. He shouldn’t be so still and pale under the stark stream of red.

He’s so lost waiting for puffs of air that aren’t coming he misses the footsteps behind him. It’s not until he feels rough hands grabbing at him that he remembers the fight. He feels a knife slide through his ribs as they try to drag him back. He thrashes wildly, scrambling for any weakness he can exploit. They’re not going to take him away from Buck. He’s not leaving him alone. He’s not—

A single shot rings out and the man Eddie was fighting falls.

Eddie turns back to Buck who is sitting up with a gun in hand.

Eddie scrambles over to him, pulling him close, feeling the side of his head to make sure he’s whole.

“Eddie, we need to catch up with the others,” Buck urges, already back in the game. How can he be so calm? How can he be so steady? “Eddie. Eddie.”

“Your birthmark grew back.”

Buck’s face grows soft for a moment, letting out a puff of breath like it was punched out of him. Eddie can feel the wound on his side healing, but he ignores it, busy feeling the pulse of Buck’s heartbeat where his hand rests on Buck’s neck.

“Eddie, we have to keep going.”

“You weren’t waking up. You took so long to wake up.”

“I’m here, Eddie,” Buck insists, resting his forehead warm and whole against Eddie’s. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you, okay? I won’t leave you. Now let’s go.”

Eddie goes with him because there is no other option. He doesn’t want to be anywhere without him.

It doesn’t doesn’t get any easier to watch him die, but Buck always comes back to him. He has to believe he always will.

#9-1-1 #buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #old guard AU #Cw: gun violence #Cw: gore #Cw: death (brief) #my stuff #for Hayley who has been waiting forever #happy Valentine’s have AU nonsense

[ohsotwistedwords]

Polybius

By Snapdragon

          It was July when the machine came in. My father had ordered some new arcade cabinets for his arcade; it’d been his dream to run one since he was little and then he was teaching me how to run it so one day I’d inherit it. So, I was working on maintenance and helping him with his finances. But, I wanted a more fun job when the cabinets came in. I’ve always been a kid at heart. Video games and dumb stunts were my thing back then, and I always wore the bruises proudly. So, when dad boasted he’d gotten a rare, one of a kind, arcade cabinet I had to get my hands on it. 

          “We should test it out, make sure it’s actually fun.” I’d said. I was hoping he’d say yes. Summer was almost over and I’d have to go back to mom when she moved back home, after living in France for two years as a tour guide. “Cain, we’ll find out how well-liked it is later. We don’t need to test it.” He said with a grin. “Well, I want to. Maybe it doesn’t even work— if it’s so rare, there must be a reason like the machine breaking down.” I said. “Or maybe there just weren’t that many of them made. Besides, Joey wouldn’t sell me a broken machine.” He said. “Dad, please.” I said. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. You can play after we finish moving the machines in.” He said.

          Moving the machines in was easy. It was kind of strange, putting them in place of the older machines I’d grown up with like Pac Man and Tempest. Polybius, the arcade cabinet, was certainly different in appearance. It was a black arcade cabinet instead of an eye-catchingly bright color. On it, outlines of neon green triangles and circles decorated the side. If I had to pick an arcade cabinet to compare it to, in terms of how plain it looked, I’d probably say Tempest— albeit hesitantly. Even Tempest is more eye-catching than Polybius.

          When the moving was finished, my father went home. We lived right next door to the arcade, so he wasn’t concerned about leaving me behind. So, I booted up the cabinet and took out a stack of quarters and put one in the machine. It booted up beautifully, but the graphics were all geometrical shapes. I played as a triangle, and fired at two triangles superimposed on each other. The two triangles put out circles and squares, which my small triangle had to shoot before being hit. But, it was… out of place. Colors and complex patterns covered the screen each level I cleared, and the lights flashed. I was on a high level, with blue and green lights and a moving diamond overlay when I glanced at the time. 

         It was one in the morning, which was strange. It had only been four PM when I finished moving the machines, and yet I couldn’t remember when my feet started to ache or that I’d beaten more than five levels. Stranger still was that my father hadn’t called me home, but when I asked the next morning he told me I’d been home. I’d come and grabbed more quarters, and something to eat. I didn’t remember any of that, but I’d found another roll of quarters in my pockets and my clothes smelled like hoagies. 

          The apparent amnesia was common when I played, but I chalked it up to having fun. After all, time flies when you’re having fun and I had difficulty remembering what I was doing if I was thinking about something else. I thought I just enjoyed Polybius, and that was why I kept going back when I finished work and playing for hours. I couldn’t sleep, either, but I chalked it up to thinking about the arcade cabinet constantly. I wanted to play badly; something was drawing me in. It didn’t help that I only had one friend, Kyler. It wasn’t that I was disagreeable, but rather that I didn’t care how many friends I had. My parents were divorced, sure, but I had a good family, a good job, and a future. Life was good. If only it stayed that way.

          I didn’t know anything was wrong until I came out of my Polybius-induced stupor and Kyler was there. Which was strange; Kyler was blind. I would play arcade games with him, sure, but I’d have to guide him the whole time by telling him where to move. Seeing him adapt to that was always interesting, but even I had trouble determining where things were in Polybius. And besides, he liked calmer games like Pokémon where he could memorize layouts and only needed occasional updates on what was around him. 

          But, while I stared and wondered where he came from, the triangle he was playing as was blown up by a rogue square. He didn’t speak to me as he inserted another quarter and kept playing. He got hit almost immediately. The silence was odd— if I didn’t say anything, he’d say something to me and tease me for missing something or not talking fast enough. So, I put my hand on his shoulder.

          “Kyler? When did you get here?” I asked. He spun around, eyes just slightly off from where I was. “What do you mean? You called me and told me to come here?” He asked. Then he paused and took out his phone. At the press of a button, it started reading off his notifications and the time. It was six in the morning, and he’d had seventeen missed calls from his mom and dad. “Six in the morning?! I could’ve sworn it’d only been five minutes…” he said. “I don’t remember calling you; when did you get here?” I asked. He paused again, then rubbed his face. “Uh… seven, maybe seven-thirty. Shit. I need to go home.” He said. I knew he lived a few blocks away, and I didn’t want him walking home alone at night. Not with his white cane, which I couldn’t help but think would mark him as a target for would-be muggers. “Let me drive you home. It’s pretty late.” I said. He agreed, and we got in the car.

         “Cain, I kind of remember a little bit now. Not much, but… the cabinet apparently spoke, I think.” He said halfway to his house. “It did?” I wouldn’t doubt it, even if I couldn’t remember it speaking. With a little more effort, though, I remembered faint words on the screen, though the memory was too blurry to make them out. “It did.” He said with a sigh. I was very concerned, at that moment, that I couldn’t remember what just happened or that Kyler and I had been hanging out for almost twelve hours. Or could only remember a picture of the machine and not even know when I saw it.

          Either way, I had work in an hour and a half. And I wasn’t even tired. I tried not to think about Polybius, not to play it again, but I found myself inserting a quarter into the machine as soon as I was done with work. With a quarter already in the machine, I resigned myself to playing just a little bit. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I came to in some tunnels underground. Kyler was there, arm linked in mine and his free arm sweeping the ground with his cane. I didn’t even know there were tunnels under the town. Neither did Kyler. We wandered for hours, and exited the tunnels about an hour later. 

          Days had apparently passed from the time we played the arcade cabinet and we ended up in the tunnels. We were declared missing in the time we didn’t remember, and our  parents were upset. Kyler’s, because they thought he’d been kidnapped, and my father because he assumed I got hurt and stranded alone somewhere. He was mad when I told him I didn’t know what happened, that Kyler and I ended up in some tunnels under the town. He said there were no tunnels, that I was lying. I know I wasn’t, and I knew I wasn’t lying then either. I saw things, then. Shapes, mostly, flitting across my vision and people in my peripheral vision who weren’t even there. It went away after I slept. And things like that just keep happening.

          I have to destroy the machine.

          So, I stand with a baseball bat I’d hidden in the supply closet. The machine flashes to life, as if it knows I’m here. “Salutations, Cain.” The words appear on the screen. I take a step closer as my arms and legs feel like jello. I just have to get in one good hit, one good hit and this nightmare is over. But, then, against my will the bat falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor. My legs move of their own accord, and I stand in front of the machine. “You think you can mock me, Cain? I cannot be destroyed so easily.”

          I’m curled up in a corner, next thing I know, and I’m being shaken. “Cain, have you been here all night?! You had me worried sick!” It’s my father. “What time is it?” I ask. My words are slurred, and it feels like there are dull needles just behind my eyes. But I’m still not tired. “It’s eight in the morning!” He says. I’ve been here for… over twelve hours. Have I been in this corner all night? It can’t be; my limbs aren’t stiff. “Are you sure you’re good to work today? You’re really out of it, Cain.” My father says. I look around; the baseball bat is nowhere to be found. “Uh… y-yeah, I think so.” I say.

          So, I stand and get to work opening up. Footsteps shuffle behind me. “Maybe taking the day off would be good for you. I don’t think you’re up for working today.” My father says. I shake my head and refrain from wincing at the ache it causes. “I’ll be fine. Just need to move around a bit.” I say as I unlock the front door, our early gamers already waiting outside. Well, I suppose it’s less that they’re early and more that we’re half an hour late. I stick near Polybius today, and what strikes me more than anything is the long line. It’s so orderly it’s baffling, and then anyone who has played stumbles out quietly. Without touching another arcade cabinet. Maybe the machine is affecting more than just me. The thought sends chills down my spine. It feels… right. I have to try to destroy it again tonight.

          So, after a long day, I dismiss everyone in the line like I’ve been doing every day since Polybius showed up. But, once everyone is gone, the urge to play comes back. I fight against it and fill a bucket with water before going back to where Polybius stands. Dropping water on it may break some other cabinets, but I don't care. I just want this one gone. It flashes to life again, showing a laughing face. I feel like jello again, and stumble forward only to carefully put the bucket of water down. This time, when I come to, I’m in my room. There’s blood on the floor, and a hot ache in my arms. My arms are covered in blood, so I take a dirty towel to wipe it away. I’ll clean them after they stop bleeding. Except, when I wipe it away, more oozes up out of my arms. There are cuts in my arms. I pause. I don’t remember doing this, either. But, it feels right. Like all the other times I’ve come to in odd places, from the tunnels to alleyways.

          I really can’t keep doing this. Polybius needs to go. But right now I need to clean up all the blood on the floor and get my arms situated. So, I take a few more dirty towels and wipe up the blood and take turns pressing down on each arm to stop the bleeding. When it stops, I throw on a long-sleeved shirt and head to the bathroom. I examine the wounds more closely, as I wash them with soap and water while ignoring the stinging. They look like clean cuts; I think a knife made them. But I don’t know. There wasn’t a knife around me when I came to. 

          I go to work again, like every day, but I stop a group of three teens. “I have a job for you, if you’ll take it. You’ll make a hundred bucks each.” I say. They squint at me. “What kind of job?” One asks. “I’ll give you the spare key to the arcade, and you’ll destroy Polybius after hours.” I say. The stout one shrugs. “Pay us first, then we’ll do it.”

***

          I come into work, like everyday. And immediately walk up to Polybius. It stands, with its screen smashed in and dents in its sides.

#polybius #short story #about 2000 words #fiction #supernatural #blind character #I tried my best but am not sure I wrote an accurate blind character #I apologize for being gone so long but I was bust #I haven't forgotten Tumblr

[tae-cup]

Give Me Love | KNJ Oneshot

Inspired by: Ed Sheeran’s “Give Me Love”

Pairing: non idol!Kim Namjoon x Cupid!Reader

Summary: You spent your life, destined to be alone, putting two pieces together. Suddenly, you meet someone that just refuses to be struck by your arrow.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k Words

A/N: I’m sorry, I wrote this at like 1 am so it’s a little rushed. My brain just threw up onto the page and I couldn’t stop myself. Ahhhhhhh school is back and I’m dying. Pardon me for slow updates! 

Other: Masterlist

Give me love like never before 'Cause lately I've been craving more And it's been a while but I still feel the same Maybe I should let you go

      The string bends with ease despite the thousands of years you have used it. No one saw the golden light shimmering around you. In fact, most people passed you by without a second thought. No one paid a second of their time to watch the odd girl pulling back her arms like she were drawing an arrow back. You just felt it would be better if people thought you crazy instead of seeing your bow and think they were about to die. Die of love, maybe. You shot the arrow into the unsuspecting woman and then wrapped the red string from the previous arrow around the end of a new one. Once both were securely tied together, you pulled the string back and hit the front of a man walking in the other direction. 

         They met, fell in love, blah blah blah, the rest is history. You shouldered your arrows and continued on the way to work. You had to check in for a new assignment today. The goddess had proclaimed it was of the utmost importance. 

       You weren’t exactly the warmest person, but you weren’t cold. After all, your job was to make people fall in love with each other. You obviously had to love love. There were many cupids who could be content with this, you were one of them. Watching others fall in love should be a replacement for your own hole. That’s what the mentors had always said. 

       Well, you excelled at that. Despite the loneliness, at least you were immortal and at least you could live a somewhat normal life. The goddess of love herself gifted all her cupids expensive apartments and, despite being immortal, gave them unlimited spending money. What for? Who knew. However, she always looked kindly upon those who were frugal and modest. You somehow managed to convince her that you were one of those cupids. So, you could get away with quite a bit of rule breaking. 

        Such as procrastinating on assignments and sweeping them under the rug if you felt like it. As long as you got it done before the deadline, you were in the clear. You owned exactly half of Seoul. The other half was run by Jimin, an excitable cupid with high hopes. 

       Together, you two oversaw all love affairs in Seoul, Korea. Jimin dealt with the more northern side while you handled the more southern side. Which was why it was a shock to have the packet of a Mr. Kim Namjoon thrown in front of you. Not only was this a task better fitted for an experienced cupid, not that you didn’t have 45,000 years of experience, but it also took place on Jimin’s turf. 

        “Who is this and why?” You demanded.

        “Read the file and you’ll learn about him. Now, I won’t tell you why, that would spoil the fun.” The goddess’ eyes twinkled. “However, I want you to remember your contract, Y/N.” 

        “You’re just teasing me now. I can’t fall in love. You don’t need to remind me.” You frowned, glancing at the paper. The man was handsome, you’d give him that. Whoever is his soulmate is a lucky person. 

        It was tricky, the whole cupid business. Mainly because soulmates are decided by the cupids. It’s an immediate draw. You just know. If a cupid messed up...well, that’s why there was divorce. Just two people who weren’t meant to be. Those cupids were always reprimanded and depending on the severity, maybe even fired. You had a squeaky clean track record and had learned to close yourself off rather quickly. 

         All new cupids go through a period of depression, hopelessness, longing. It was simply because they were born into a contract that prohibited the thing all beings so innately desire; love. A cupid cannot love and give love at the same time. It distracted from the job and made you blind. 

         Kim Namjoon is an odd fella. You thought to yourself as you observed him. You needed to know everything you could about him in order to correctly match him. Yes, you may get the sense, but cupids that solely used their sense had often been fired. 

         Eternity can be boring too, but you wanted to see what the world looked like in a thousand years, or even a hundred. That’s what kept you going. You had been watching Namjoon from a distance for the past month. He traveled around Seoul a lot, often for work, and you had yet to feel his soulmate’s presence. When you did get close, there was a pleasant tingle in your stomach that spread to the rest of your limbs. It disgusted you. 

         You had experienced love enough to know that feeling, but it was impossible. So you pushed it down, full well knowing it would never go away. Perhaps if you just matched him with another woman who had similar compatibility, you could get away with that. And even if they divorced, surely it would be okay to have just one strike on your record? 

        In all honesty, you were terrified of love. But as you observed him day after day, each one marching towards the deadline, you couldn’t help starting to like him. You noticed the little things. 

       Like how he always ordered his coffee; black with two creams and no sugar. The way he smiled with the smallest of dimples, the way his knee moved up and down when he was nervous. How he always leaned in and gave you his undivided attention. It was the little things that made this so hard. Could you even find someone who would notice them as you had? 

        It was much to your happiness, or dismay, when he ran into a nice looking girl at the coffee shop. You watched their interaction. The girl was obviously interested, pretty looking too, while she brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Perfect. You looked at your watch. You had two weeks and this had already taken too long. You needed two weeks to show that a match worked before it was approved by superiors. Y/N, you’ve got to do this now. 

        Your hands shook but you drew the arrow back. Despite the nerves, you never missed. You tied the end of a red string to your arrow and then the other end to another. With a deep breath you aimed eyes squinting against the sunlight’s glare as it hit the big windows of the coffee shop. Just as you were about to let fly, he turned and looked at you, surprise written across his face. 

         Impossible. But that wasn’t the first time you had used that word in correlation to Namjoon. You let fly, your hands not fidgeting, as you tried to shake off his gaze. It missed. It crashed into the wall before disintegrating entirely. 

       Your mouth went dry as you watched him turn to look at the wall and back to you. He didn’t seem scared and when his eyes met yours, you felt...calm. Namjoon mouthed something to the girl and exited the coffee shop. As quickly as you could, you shouldered your bag and ran. Your heart thumped wildly against your chest as you raced away. I’ll get him another day. It must have been a trick of the light. And yet you weren’t quite sure if the quickened pace of your heart was because of the running or you chance encounter with the man that could ruin your life. 

                You tried your best to remain a silent observer, but that was proving harder as the deadline drew closer. Every morning you would wake up with a splitting headache and the strong urge to find something missing. But there’s nothing that’s missing! You thought as you gathered your bow and arrows. At first, you just thought he was clumsy or that you were nervous. But it became apparent as the days stretched on that you just couldn’t hit him. It was frustrating, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to admit the truth or to match him with someone he so obviously wouldn’t be right for. 

          Namjoon was watching out his car window. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel in his parking space. He had felt the eyes of someone watching him for a long time. It made him paranoid. Then he saw..you. He didn’t know who you were or why you were watching him, but he needed to find out. 

          Somehow, he never felt uncomfortable under your gaze. You even relaxed him sometimes, a supporting presence from far away. Namjoon himself felt like a lost cause. Most of his nights were spent at a club, trying to fill the hole in his chest or drowning in his own bile while swallowing drink after drink. With your presence, he just didn’t feel the need to and if you were being forced to watch him, he didn’t think it was fair to drag you to that noisy place every night. 

            Yet, he just needed to meet you, talk to you. Every fiber of his being was calling out for you. It had been a dull ache, but now that he saw you, he couldn’t take his mind off it. The pain had a name, the pain had a face, the pain had a voice. And he wanted to know all of it. He wanted to devour the information, to get to know every inch of you. 

           It was so silly. Namjoon was an impulsive person, but he was never this stupid with his emotions. The ache didn’t go away, as much as he pushed it down. Sitting in his car, thinking, and watching the passing cars, made his mind up. He was going to figure out who the hell you were. 

                   So here you were, quite literally an angel in the darkness. Slipping through the dense cluster of bodies on the technicolor dance floor and ignore the bass that pounded into your bones. You followed him, a man far too clumsy to be in such a place. He pushed into the crowd, and therefore you did as well. Your arrow was in hand. I surely cannot miss at such a close distance. You could feel yourself getting lost in the music.

        You tried your best to pay attention solely to the man disappearing in front of you and the breathing in your own chest. Clubs always made you dizzy, like you were about to lose your goddamn mind. Your fingers splayed, reaching out to grasp his arm. Your hand found purchase on his shirt and you tugged, pulling him back towards you. 

        “It’s about time.” He smirked. You let your hand fall. You’re not supposed to directly interact with assignments, remember? Well, you had just fucked that up big time. You had been played. 

        “So who are you? Some angel? A soulmate? What’s with the arrow?” He shouted over the music. Ah, Namjoon, ever the curious one. If you spoke now, would you be able to take it back? But your mouth was moving faster than your brain. 

        “Well, technically, I’m a cupid.” You explained lamely. “I’m supposed to find your soulmate, but you refuse to be struck and-wait you can see this?” You held up the slim arrow in your hand. 

         “Uh, yeah.” He shrugged. “You’re holding a goddamn arrow.” 

         “Most people can’t.” You murmured inaudibly. The pulsing music made your head feel fuzzy, out of control, and though you wanted to pull away from him, he held onto your waist. 

          “So you’re a cupid? Tell me more.” Namjoon grinned, unbothered by the new information. He had a feeling you were something supernatural with the arrows, the presence, and watchful eyes. 

           “I make people fall in love.” You tried to be vague, but he made you want to open up about yourself. He made you want to pour out all your heartache, the pain of watching others but never having that joy for yourself. It was a curse you were blessed with, a certain pain that had been pushed down. 

           “So why haven’t I?” 

           “You’re...difficult.” You faltered in your words. “The arrow misses you every time.” 

           “Is that possible?” 

           “My aim has never been off. It must be the fates.” 

           “Am I destined to be loveless?”

          “Join the club.” You smiled softly, your gaze long broken. 

          “Well, you’ll always have love in your life as a cupid, right?” His hand gripped your waist tightly. He leaned in, his lips dangerously close. You shouldn’t kiss him, you shouldn’t even be interacting, but here you were, unable to pull away. 

           “I’m not allowed to.” You turned away. There was only one way you could do this, and you weren’t sure if you wanted it to be that way. The goddess of love always allowed one night stands for her cupids, but nothing more. She was merciful. That’s what they always said. 

            “Then how about tonight, no strings attached?” But the look in his eyes said otherwise. You frowned. Did you want him for only one night, never to touch again? Yes. 

             “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You murmured, pulling away abruptly and rushing to the exit. The room was heating up, the music was too loud, the place was too crowded. You felt nauseous. 

             “Wait!” He shouted, chasing you out into the street. “What’s your name?” 

             You turned your head, pausing as you thought it over. It wouldn’t be too bad, right? After all, you knew everything about him and he knew nothing about you. Your hair whipped around in the breeze of the night. 

            “Y/N.” The cars passed by and you were gone. 

            You had never failed a mission so poorly. Your superior didn’t look very happy as she watched you shift uncomfortably. 

             “You could’ve had a one night, you know? But no, you made him a liability. You told him the name of a cupid. Your name, yes, but a name nonetheless. You need to find his soulmate, not meddle in his business.” 

              “I just...” You twiddled your thumbs awkwardly. “I just get this feeling that his business is my business.” You placed a hand over your heart. “There’s a pain, right here.” 

              “Ridiculous, Cupids don’t have soulmates. That’s how the goddess makes sure we are doing our jobs.” She scoffed and stood, pulling out his file. “Unless you want to leave behind your job as a cupid, you won’t be going anywhere any time soon.” 

               As she left the room, stating the rules plainly, you couldn’t help but wonder ‘Is the unknown future more important than my present?’ Death scared you shitless. You actually admired humans for this. They had death thrown at them at every angle and yet they lived on, oblivious. How foolish, humans were. Or maybe you were foolish for having one as your soulmate. 

                 The future was bleak, but at least you could hope for a future. Your hands felt over your waist, caressed the spots he touched. His lips that were so tantalizingly close that night. You pressed two fingers over your mouth, wondering what it would feel like if he had just leaned in a little closer. But proximity was the biggest worry. You just needed to avoid him and it would all be fine. 

               Avoiding him proved harder than you thought. He was somehow always where you were. Most of the time it was easy to lose him in a crowd or walk right past him in the street, but there were certain times where that got a lot harder. 

             “Y/N? Y/N?” The barista called your name and set your drink down. Two people looked up. You. And Namjoon. With a sigh, you stood from your seat and grabbed your drink. When you turned around, he was standing right there. 

              “Did I do something wrong, cupid?” His smirk was not helping your racing heart. 

              “I can’t talk to you right now.” You said quickly, pretending like you had somewhere to be. 

              “Fine. But can I at least take you out for dinner sometime? I get it, you’re one of those girls who doesn’t do one night stands. It’s okay.” He rambled. “I’ve been getting better at that as well.” 

              “I’ve got to go.” You physically couldn’t bring yourself to say no. It was terrifying and...exhilarating. You wanted to go on that date, you wanted to get to know him better. The longing made your chest hurt. But alas, things just don’t work out sometimes. You pulled away once more, trying to ignore the ghost touches on your hands, your hips, your waist. His breath against your face, like a warm caress. You needed to distance yourself and once he was dead, it would all be over.

200 Years Later

       Things were good. The hole in your heart was back, but at least you were seeing the future, you lived another day. 

       Do You believe in reincarnation? The words rung in your head. The goddess had asked you just yesterday, but now you knew what she meant. Your heart was aching, chest pounding. It was hard to breathe. 

        You turned from your spot in the coffee shop, breath halting. Those dimples, that smile, those eyes. The hands that touched you, once again far away. He turned, he saw you, he smiled. 

         You waved and he waved back with a confused look. It was him. 

        “Namjoon?” You walked towards him, the slightest of trembles in your voice. You couldn’t do this again. Last time, you avoided him successfully, but this time, you knew you wouldn’t be so lucky. The soulmate bond was back and it was bigger than ever. It felt like your heart might carve out of your chest if you didn’t do something. 

       “Do I know you?” His expression was of pain, a confusion you wished upon no one. Would he remember you? Of course not, but you could start again. If it wasn’t meant to be in that time, maybe now? But you were a cupid and he was a human. 

        “Yes, you do.” You said firmly. And you weren’t going to let him go so easily this time. You hesitantly reached out and laced your fingers together. “But I’d like to get to know you better.” 

        He wasn’t sure why he followed you, but he knew it was right. It was like all he ever wanted was laid out in front of him and he was left trailing like a lost puppy. 

           But last time isn’t this time. You smiled across from him at dinner. The restaurant was cozy, but the atmosphere was not. 

         “Wait so you’re a cupid and you’re breaking your contract...just to be with me?” He tilted his head. “Now that makes no sense. Soulmate or not, this just doesn’t seem like the right move for you.” 

         “I told you, I already met you, 200 years ago. You were a little different, but mostly the same.” You tried to explain. You just wanted to get through with this date and kiss him, but you had to remind yourself that you had 200 years to think and pine over him while he had about six hours. 

         “Okay...” He mulled it over, the pasta growing cold. “I think I know you, I can feel it.” He murmured. “But I’m going to have to think this over.”

         “Of course, take all the time you need.” Just not too long. You watched him carefully. “Hey Namjoon?”

         “Yeah?” 

        “Wanna get out of here?” 

          One Year Later

          Mortality was...endless. Death was a finality that forced you to live until you could no longer. Mortality brought you closer to him. 

          “Namjoon, wait up!” You shouted, racing across the street as he got out of his car. 

         “Y/N!” He lit up, waving at you as he grabbed his things. It was warm like a summer’s day, despite the season being winter. When you reached him, he swung you around, an arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you in. 

         Your lips touched, an explosion of galaxies. Moving against each other like waves lapping upon the beach. he’s here. And he’s with you. That’s all you could think of as you pulled away. Your cheeks were flushed as he smiled at you. 

        “Hi.” You said breathlessly. 

       “Hi.” He responded, in a similar state. 

       Your heart let out a kick, the butterflies gathered. Impossible. You had once thought it impossible for someone like you to feel it...love. Yet, impossible was a word you often associated with Namjoon. And you wanted more. 

      You tied a red string to the end of an arrow. The last two arrows your goddess gifted you. She claimed you had to use it for something ‘worth it’ As she said. You took out the arrow and pointed it at him. 

      “You ready?” 

      “Ready as ever.” He grinned, staring at the sharp tip. You nodded and shot him a gentle smile as you stepped forward, closing your lips around his once more as you plunged the arrow into him. He didn’t make a sound, it felt like a soft touch, not an arrow plunging into his skin. You tied the string to the end of the other arrow and pulled away. You placed the tip to your chest and his heart leapt at the image. The red string hummed with energy. 

        You took a deep breath and pressed the tip into your chest. The arrows disappeared and a red string glowed vibrantly in between you two before slowly fading. You wanted his love, wanted more of him. And you didn’t have to hide it anymore. 

         He stepped forward cautiously and then swept you up in his arms. 

      “It feels like I’ve been waiting years for that.” He said huskily. 

      “You don’t even know how long I’ve waited.” 

Give a little time to me or burn this out We'll play hide and seek to turn this around All I want is the taste that your lips allow My, my, my, my, oh give me love My, my, my, my, oh give me love

#bts #bts x reader #Cupid #Give Me Love #Oneshot #tatafics #non idol au #namjoon #Kim Namjoon #Namjoon x reader #fluff #angst #I'm so sorry it's so messy #castlebangtan

[gophergal]

A/N: SO, this is the Michael Myers x OC story rewrite I was telling y’all about! I started it in August of 2019 around the time I started this blog. The only warning for this chapter I can think of is home invasion. I would also like to thank @bucketofcowboys for beta reading this for me. I <3 you, dude!

I’m Not Lonely - Chapter One

Word count: 2000+| Rating: M |  Michael Myers x OC | M/F

Houses passing by slowly drift farther apart as the car bulleted forward on the empty road out of town. Clouds overhead obscured the moon and stars that Jean loved so dearly. Instead, the world was masked in inky blackness, save for the headlights and few porch lights left on by the sleepy residents inside. Beyond that, there was nothing, just the varying shades of black that made up the road, trees, and sky. It was a quiet night, Halloween night, she reminded herself. Seems that if you have no kids to take trick or treating and no parties to get drunk at that Halloween is just a date on the calendar. A block of black up ahead drew closer. It was her home, the house she'd inherited when her grandfather passed away. The old man had always been taken good care of her and, even after death, still kept that up.

“Thirteen dead and two injured tonight after a killing spree perpetrated, possibly, by an escaped patient of Smith's Grove Sanitarium. The suspect, one Michael Audrey Myers, is thought to have been caught in an explosion at Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, though police urge residents of the surrounding area to remain cautious until further notice,” the radio droned as Jean tiredly pulled her car into the driveway. Jean shook her head, dirty blond locks sweeping across her face as she frowned. The world's really gone downhill when things like this happen every day, she thought, or maybe I just never noticed how cruel it can be.

A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about the madman running amok, murdering innocents. Mentally, she slapped herself. Keep your cool, Jean. No way could a loony like that evade capture for long. Hell, he might even be lost in the woods, looking around wildly as coyotes sized him up for a meal. He was probably dead, or at least would  wish he were. She couldn't be losing her head over something the police could handle. She was safe here. That name though- It sounded familiar.  

The moon was already high in the sky when she finally pulled open her front door, kicked off her shoes on the mat, and shrugged her coat off, stretching the stiff muscles of her shoulders. It had been a late shift. That was never a problem for Jean though. She didn't have anyone waiting for her at home and everyone knew it, so she was a good choice for late nights. Not that she minded. Jolene, her co worker, liked to lecture to her about getting out there and “catching herself a man”. Well, to Jean, dating was a tiresome and pointless game, and it wasn't like she had a line of suitors waiting to sweep her off her feet. Keys clinked in the dish where they were set and Jean ran a hand through her hair, her body rapidly growing heavy with exhaustion as the day caught up to her. Thinking back on it, she'd never been very popular. No problem though. Popularity didn't matter if you didn't want it to, and Jean was perfectly happy on her own.

She slipped by the kitchen, grabbing first for an apple then, remembering granddad's lectures about “eating heartily and eating well”, prepared a sandwich instead. Lazily she took a bite, too tired to care about how it tasted. Without thought, she flipped on the radio. For a moment she stood in front of the table, knowing very well that getting ready for sleep would zap what was left of her dwindling supply of energy, but not wanting to go to bed. She would have time to read a book if she put off brushing her teeth. She'd recently gotten a copy of that book Jolene recommended to her. Some horror story about a hotel. The Shining, she thought it was called. Jo seemed to like it quite a bit, but Jean had never been a big fan of horror. She often found the protagonists a bit stupid and would reluctantly admit to being easily spooked by those kind of stories. Still, she'd wanted to give it a chance, but hadn't yet had a chance to start reading it.

With the last crumb of bread stuffed into her mouth, she grabbed her pen and pad of paper to jot down a note to buy more bread. Tomorrow would be a good day for laundry and relaxation, she thought. Sunny and warm according to the forecast, as much as early November can be. It would be a good day off, she decided. She finally surrendered to her exhaustion, the need for sleep driving her through her routine. She only briefly stopped to look in the mirror, examining the dark circles under her eyes. She sighed, flopping into bed unceremoniously and snuggling into the soft covers. Exhaustion overtook her and the comforting dark arms of sleep came easily.

THUMP. Jean bolted upright, panic flooding her veins as she became aware of her surroundings. A stone sunk in her guts as she realized that she could not remember locking the door. She groped beneath the bed for the baseball bat she kept for home defense. She cursed herself silently for not taking granddad up on his offer for shooting lessons all those years ago, Her nerves were not calmed as she slid her hand over the smooth wood of her weapon. She had a white knuckle grip on the bat to keep her hands from shaking as she padded silently down the stairs, avoiding the creaky last step with practiced ease. She kept to the wall as she entered the living room, her terror striking her mute as she beheld the sight before her. Upon her couch, covered in blood and soot, lay a strange man, the ragged rise and fall of his chest her only indication that he wasn't a corpse. He shifted, mask clad head turning to her before he sprung up to shaky feet, filthy knife held defensively in his wavering grip. Even from here she could see the shaking of his large hands.

“Woah! Woah, hold it, big fella!” She exclaimed, bat extended in the space between them, “I'm not going to hurt you, not unless you hurt me first” A stupid thing to say honestly, given that he had a great deal of height and mass over her and, even injured as she believed him to be, could likely subdue her with ease. Not to mention the fact that he was an intruder. Logic seemed to leave her when she needed it most, it seemed. She swallowed thickly as he tilted his head, seeming to consider her words. His hand came to hang at his side, the knife loose in his fist. She lowered her home defense, her gaze still shifting nervously as she searched for his eyes behind the mask. A futile effort, for all she could glimpse was the sunken blackness of the eye holes.

“Why don't you take a seat. Wouldn't want you to pass out in the middle of my living room floor. You're a bit too big for me to carry,” she said as she studied his person to see what injuries he'd sustained. Jesus Christ, she thought, has he been fucking shot? Indeed, the telltale entry wounds were present, six in total, on his chest, arms, and leg. The dark blood that had bloomed around them was beginning to dry. The man all but fell to the couch, his sudden weight making the springs creak slightly.

“I'm willing to bet good money that you've been hurt pretty badly from the look of you. But 911 isn't really an option now, not with the breaking and entering, y'know.” The intruder remained stone still, as he'd been since he sat down. Jean fidgeted, thinking of what to do next. “Since going to the hospital probably isn't an option for you, I could patch you up, if you want. I mean, I'm no doctor, but it's better than nothing.”

At the mention of “hospital” he seemed to stiffen, if only slightly. The offer to tend his wounds seemed to relax him again. Though maybe she was looking too deeply into things. “I'll go ahead and get the kit, you- well you need to strip down a bit so I can help you.” She didn't wait for an answer of any kind before she began up the stairs, her full weight coming down on the squeaky step in her rush. She was playing nurse to the strange man- strange masked man, she corrected- that had broken into her home and threatened her with a knife. The ridiculousness of the situation, the pure stupidity of it all, was not lost on her, but now she was on autopilot. Moving without thinking.

With the first aid kit and water basin now safely in her arms, she moved down the stairs purposefully, almost hoping that her unwelcome guest had left or had been a dream. Her hopes were dashed when she saw him there, partially undressed, on her couch. For how scorched his jumpsuit was he had relatively few burns. In fact, the biggest one was about the size of a hand on his left side. It had blistered, but the rubbing of cloth must have caused them to rupture, leaving them as seeping open wounds. The gunshot wounds were concerning though. They were hard to see under all the crusty dried blood, but she knew that the bullets had to go.

Drawing nearer, she saw on the coffee table sat five bullets, droplets of red pooling around them as the masked man's thick, grubby fingers set down the last one. Jean blinked, then decided it wasn't worth the shock, horror, or confusion. She just needed to tend to him, get some sleep, and wake up from this weird dream. If she was quick enough, she could let it fade from her memory with no problems. Carefully, she cleaned the wounds, watching as the water changed from it's original crystal clear state into a murky red. His wounds, however, looked better than they had before. She dressed them with ointment and bandage, every movement slow and deliberate as she treated the wounds.

She lent to him an old pair of jeans and a button down her granddad had owned. Anything would be better than those grubby coveralls. The more she thought, the more she realized that not all the blood on them could possibly be his, but she pushed it from her mind. The sooner he was out of here, the better. And that would be much faster if she cooperated. You'll regret this later, a small voice, probably her common sense, told her. Maybe I will, she thought in response, but I'll burn that bridge when I get there.

With everything being returned to it's proper place in the box and the filthy water  drained into the sink, she looked to him, a slight nervous grin on her lips, “You'd better get some rest then. Those wounds won't heal up very well otherwise.” He looked in her direction in a way that her exhausted mind read as unsure, yet confused. With a sleepy stagger, she made her way up the stairs to her room. The door slammed slightly behind her as she entered the room, the sound of it echoing throughout the room. She greeted the bed readily, succumbing to unconsciousness as soon as she hit the soft pillows.

Downstairs, the man, now wearing another stranger's clothes, sat on the couch. His mind working to weigh the options at hand. The immediate pleasure of stalking up the stairs and watching the light fade from her eyes as he stripped her life from her was tempting, but this woman, she was useful to him. More-so alive than dead, he figured. And so, he would wait. He was very patient; He'd needed to be for 15 years and could wait just a bit longer for her death. The very thought of it satisfied him.

The night's hunt had been less than successful. Prey had escaped. He'd been injured. And the Doctor- he'd tried to kill him; tried to shoot him dead. Not that it surprised him. Doctor Loomis had promised him for years that he would be killed if he stepped out of line. No matter. He was free now. He could not be stopped. And anyone who tried to stop him would simply become more prey for him. There was only one that had escaped him and she would be hunted, caught like a rat, then slaughtered by his hand, and his hand alone. But first, his body needed rest.

#michael myers #slashers #slasher x oc #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely

[atamascolily]

Tyrant’s Test. Okay, we’re almost done here.

We open with Chewie on Kashyyyk having family time! I may re-read that section because I want to do a Kashyyyk thing later and there’s not that much detail in the TTT. Right now, I’m interested in Luke stuff.

. It’s impossible to work when the Current is in chaos. And it’s intensely uncomfortable to remain connected when the Current is carrying so much pain. 

This is interesting - so the Fallanassi live the way they do by necessity as much as choice - they cannot function without peace and quiet.

We start to see more of Akanah’s perspective and realize she’s manipulating Luke to keep him with her. At least Luke is aware of it?

But that threat was also nakedly manipulative, and his reflexive resentment allowed him both to see the emotional blackmail and to resist it.

It was not that he gave no credence to the threat. Akanah’s conduct on Atzerri had made clear that she was perfectly capable of striking out on her own when her interests so dictated. But he had no compromise or concession to offer her. The old, familiar demon of Duty had reentered his consciousness during the conversation with the shipwright, and he could do nothing else until he either answered to his conscience or silenced it.

There was no point in seeking a rapprochement with Akanah until Luke knew his own mind—until he knew if he could allow himself to continue the journey.

Again, DUALITY. fuck. “my way or the highway” - LITERALLY.

For the question gnawing at Luke was not whether Leia wanted his help, but whether she needed it. If his presence might mean the difference between triumph and defeat, then he would go to her—as she had come to him in his darkest moment, aboard the clone Emperor’s flagship.

Leia had pulled him back from the precipice of the dark power, and joined her power to his to defeat Palpatine. If she had not been willing to sacrifice herself and the child inside her in confronting the reborn Emperor, Luke would never have broken the grip of the dark side—and the history of the intervening years would have been written with the pen of tyranny. He could not have done it alone.

But having seen not only the great strength in her heart but also the Jedi power she could summon, Luke was all the more loath to volunteer himself as a rescuer. He knew that Leia had within her extraordinary resources of will and power—resources she had of late become reluctant to draw upon. Luke thought that he was much of the reason, with both his example and his presence creating disincentives. It was important that she find that strength again.

It seemed to Luke that Leia had neglected, even abandoned, her own training, and that her training of the children had become unbalanced, with the disciplines of warrior and weapon excised as if they were dispensable. Luke had not spoken of it with her, but from what he had seen, it was almost as though Leia hoped to delay, training the children as Jedi clerics rather than as Jedi Knights—as if the path before her, the path he had followed, promised to take her somewhere she did not want to go.

It was her choice to make. Her destiny was no more clear to him than it was to her. But whatever that destiny was, it seemed that she was fighting it rather than following it.

And it was certain she would learn nothing from an errant Knight’s well-intentioned but unnecessary rescue—if she would even allow it to happen. Knowing her streak of aristocratic, self-reliant pride, Luke was not at all confident he could count on her to ask for help, even if she needed it—not after the fight they had had the night he left Coruscant.

No, those around her, the others who loved her, would urge Luke to return to her side, no matter what the circumstances. And Leia herself would insist that he stay away, no matter what the circumstances. It was essential that Luke make his own assessment of the situation, that the decision be his alone. And it was better that Luke stay out of sight and out of reach until the decision was made.

Hey, a Dark Empire acknowledgment! And also, again, duality: either/or. Either Leia saves herself or Luke saves her. There’s no middle ground, no compromise, not alternatives. Sigh.

As always, there were hundreds of blind messages—love letters and propositions, requests for personal favors, questions from amateur and would-be Jedi, the occasional diatribe from an Imperialist stubbornly resisting the idea that his world had changed.

Luke almost never looked at any of it. The novelty value of blatant proposals had long ago faded, and the one-two punch of praise and begging had worn thin even faster—it was as uncomfortable as being surrounded by a crowd in which everyone wanted to touch him.

So let me get this straight: Luke is constantly being bombarded with e-mail requests, yet he’s unaware that women want Jedi babies? UNREAL.

The young woman looked up at him with eyes widened by surprise. Her tattooed forehead and cheeks marked her as a follower of the Duality, a popular and benign Tarrack cult founded on the twin principles of joy and service. 

Oh, wow, DUALITY AGAIN.

“My goodness,” Manes said, his steps slowing as he reached the main level and saw Luke clearly. “My goodness. This is an honor.” As an afterthought, he gathered himself for a salute. “Forgive me, sir—I don’t know your proper rank—”

“I no longer hold one,” said Luke, leaning over one of the data stations.

“Oh—I see. Then I’ll confess that I’ve never met a Jedi. Nothing unusual there, I guess—I don’t know anyone who has. Is there a proper form of address—”

“You can call me Luke.”

LOL.

The event had given both such inexplicable pleasure that he hated to take those memories away from them, but he had no choice. He had already blocked the machine records of his visit from being written to the logs. Compressing a nerve here, a blood vessel there, Luke brought on a moment of unconscious paralysis, and in that moment swept the memories from their minds.

Luke is very cavalier about mucking with peoples’ minds, I’m just going to say. Why not just mind-trick them directly?? Seems like that would be less invasive that cutting off blood vessels. 

By the way, this is how we learn Luke and Akanah Did It:

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Have you ever had sex in hyperspace?”

This time she could not contain her bubbling laugh of bemusement. “Yes,” she said, and melted away into the night.

*shakes head*

“Where the Current touches self-awareness, there is a tiny ripple—as when you sense a presence with the Force. The metaphor is more different than the means.”

“But I can’t feel anything here—nothing more than the energy of the ecosystems on the fourth and fifth planets,” Luke said. “Nothing of consciousness—nothing of will.”

“It is not consciousness or will that matters—it is the profound essence of being, nothing more,” she said. “I can perceive the crew just as you would perceive a handful of sand I scattered on the far side of a pool. From a distance, sometimes you can see only the effect, not the cause.” She smiled. “But you must be very still to see even that, for you are also of the Current, surrounded by the ripples of your being.”

Yeah, okay, so the water metaphor is spot-on. 

“Best for everyone if they never see us at all,” he said as he charted the course.

“Done,” Akanah said, looking on from behind Luke’s flight couch.

Luke looked up at her quizzically. “It can’t be that easy.”

���Why not?”

“Eh—don’t you have to know who it is you’re trying to hide from?”

“Why?” she asked.

“So you have a focus. So you know whose thoughts you’re trying to deflect. It’s done with precision, not brute force.”

“That’s coercive,” she said. “And invasive. You reach into another mind and bind its thoughts, or place your own there.”

“Well—yes,” Luke said. “But the use of that power is constrained. The purpose must be important enough to justify the deed and the consequences.”

“It seems the Jedi are always finding reasons to justify their violence,” she said. “I wish you would try as hard to find ways to avoid it.”

“Violence? What violence?” Luke protested. “More often than not, all that’s required is to induce a moment’s inattention, or reinforce a suspicion. No harm is involved. A sworn Jedi would never—oh, make someone walk off a cliff thinking there was a bridge there.”

Akanah shook her head in earnest disagreement. “You, who’re immune to your own tricks—who are you to judge the harm done? You do this in secret, to lead a suggestible mind, or compel an opposed one. Do you think that those you’ve coerced see the morality of it the same as you do? Besides,” she sniffed, “it’s inefficient.”

“What?”

“Inefficient,” she repeated. “It requires your constant attention and involvement.”

“If you know an alternative, I’m your eager student.”

“What about the way you concealed your hermitage?”

Luke frowned. “That’s different. I created it from elemental substances to have that quality—to blend in with the coastline as though it were part of it.”

“It was a powerful bit of work,” she said. “When I saw it, I knew you had the gift of the Fallanassi. But you didn’t go far enough and apply the principle to its ultimate conclusion.”

“Which is—”

“To make it not merely resemble its surroundings, but merge with them,” Akanah said. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. She let the breath out slowly as she lowered her chin to her chest—and then she was not there.

“I’ll be a—” Luke reached for her where she had been standing, but his hand grabbed only air. “Cute trick,” he said, taking a step toward the refresher, away from the forward deck. “Handy for breaking into libraries, escaping arranged marriages—where are you?”

“Here,” she said from behind him. He turned to find her silting sideways in the right-hand seat, wearing a small proud smile. “Did I touch your mind?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not that I could notice.”

Akanah nodded. “A long time ago, one of the Circle discovered that when she achieved a particularly profound Meditation of Immersion, she would disappear from the view of others. Much later, we learned how to take an object in with us and leave it there.”

“Where do you go when you disappear?”

“Where do you go when you dream? It’s impossible to say. What does an answer from that context mean in this one?”

“Well—is it difficult?”

She shrugged. “Once mastered, it’s no more difficult or mysterious than concealing a cup of water by pouring it in the sea.” Then she smiled. “But achieving mastery is much like trying to remove that cup of water afterward.”

“And you’ve merged this ship?”

“Yes. Some time ago, while I was in meditation.”

“Will the engines still work?”

“Did the floors of your hermitage hold you, and the roof keep out the rain?”

Luke wrinkled up his face. “So we’re completely undetectable now?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing is absolute. But we’re safe from eyes, and from the machines that are like eyes.

gotta say, Luke totally deserves being dragged so hard here, given his behavior in these books.

“If I have to pick between your being an illusion and your being real, Akanah, I think I have reason enough to know that you’re real.”

OH COME ON WHY THIS COYNESS ABOUT THE SEX, LUKE??? Are you never even going to talk about it directly???

Oh, and Luke deduces that the Fallnassi are around him, and he can’t see them, which is clever. Not all of them are human - interesting. Luke convinces them to abandon their vows and help the NR against the Yevetha.

Leia goes to see Mon Mothma, which is kinda nice. They watch birds and it’s nice for Mon to be a mentor figure to Leia.

Leia turned and looked back at her mentor. “But I still don’t know how to choose between the other two.”

“I think you do,” said Mon Mothma. “What you don’t know is how to live with the choice. And there I can be of no help to you. That secret escaped you when the clarity left you.”

“When did that happen?” Leia asked, returning to sit on the edge of the stool at Mon Mothma’s feet. “I didn’t see it go—did you? Never before in my life have I struggled with decisions, or with accepting their consequences. It’s been so strange, watching myself from the inside, wondering why this woman was speaking for me.”

“Your clarity came from your certainty that our cause was just and our purpose worthy,” Mon Mothma said. “But there is little certainty of that kind to be had in a place like the Senate, in a city like Imperial City. Certainty is eaten away by the thousand and one compromises that are the currency of democracy. Causes fall victim to the building of consensus. Accountability becomes so diffused that it vanishes, and agreement becomes so rare that it startles.”

OH NO, there’s the duality again. Luke and Leia are mirrors of each other - see Luke’s ideas about isolation vs. civilization earlier. Sigh.

#star wars #eu fuckery #the black fleet crisis

[angelofthequeers]

Will You Marigami Me: Marigami Week Day 1

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Okay, yes, I know this is like a day late for the @marigami-week 2020 day 1 prompt but I’ve had wifi issues all day, don’t @ me

Day 2 | AO3 link

1. Kwami swap

“Here. I trust you.”

Fukō blinks down at the small hexagonal box that’s being offered to her by Scarmony. “M-Me?” she says. “But you picked Foxglove and Princesse Tortue. You always choose the other heroes.”

Behind Scarmony, Princesse Tortue giggles, the fringe of her blonde pixie cut falling in her eyes as she ducks her head. Next to her, Foxglove shifts on the balls of her feet, peeking sideways at Princesse Tortue with reddish-brown eyes.

“I figure it’s time I got your input,” Scarmony says. His blue eyes glimmer playfully behind his spotted scarlet mask as he places the box in her hand but doesn’t let go, giving her the option to back out if she truly wants to do so. That’s one of the things Fukō appreciates about her partner, to be honest: that he doesn’t bluster and try to boss her around like some egomaniac, but rather treats her as though they’re truly equals, such as when he’d told Master Fu off for trying to keep her out of the loop at first.

“If you’re sure, then I won’t let you down.” Fukō slips the little box into a pocket of her black suit. “I’ll find the perfect Bee holder.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” Foxglove says dryly in her usual quiet voice. “Or we’ll just think that you’re trying to hide from the mean akuma while the rest of us get sent to dreamland.”

“Foxy!” Princesse Tortue elbows Foxglove. “Be nice!”

“What?” Foxglove says. “It was a joke. I was kidding.”

“I appreciate your attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere,” Fukō says. “But I don’t intend to hide. I’m going to find the perfect Bee to paralyse Fatigue and then I’ll be back.”

But who to pick? rings in her head as she leaps through Paris. Scarmony seems to have the talent to pick a frightfully fitting holder for the Miraculouses; Foxglove is quiet and used to skulking, making the most of being a deceptive hero, and Princesse Tortue possesses a loud, vibrating energy that makes her perfect as a hero to draw fire and shield others from that damage. If the Bee’s power is subjection then they’ll need someone quick, both physically and mentally; someone who’s not intimidated by power but will jump in to do what’s right regardless; someone like –

Like Marinette. The thought hits Fukō like a bolt of lightning, and before her brain can catch up with her body, she’s bounding in the direction of the Dupain-Cheng bakery, praying that Marinette’s there and hadn’t ventured out and gotten caught up in Fatigue’s attack. Despite wielding the primordial force of destruction and bad luck, it seems that the universe has granted Fukō her wish, because when she lands on Marinette’s balcony and raps on the hatch door, it swings open after just a few short moments.

“Fukō?” Marinette says with wide eyes. “What’s wrong? Are we in danger from the akuma?”

“No. May I come in?” Fukō waits until Marinette nods before slipping inside and leaping off Marinette’s bed with the grace of the animal that she embodies. Marinette follows down the ladder at a more sedate pace. “We need your help, Marinette.”

“Me?” Marinette points at herself. “What could I possibly do? Unless you’re – oh no – you’re not going to –”

Fukō grins and fishes out the little Miraculous box, then holds it out to an ashen Marinette. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I present you with the Miraculous of the Bee. With the power of subjection, you will help our team defeat Fatigue, then return the Miraculous to me after the battle. Can I trust you?”

“W-Why me?” Marinette pushes Fukō’s hand away, her own hand trembling. “My only superpower is super clumsiness! Why not Alya, she’d be a much better superhero –”

“Because being a superhero isn’t dependent on your physical attributes,” Fukō says. “Your mind and soul are what matter. I already know that you have a brilliant mind and you never hesitate to stand up to people like Chloé Bourgeois. You’re exactly the type of wielder we need for the Bee. The Miraculous will take care of any physical shortcomings. You don’t think I can jump off buildings as a civilian, do you?”

Marinette snorts as she chews her lip and frowns at the proffered box, while Fukō holds her breath. Thankfully, after a heart-stopping few moments, Marinette nods, takes the box from Fukō, and snaps it open. Brilliant golden light pours out, making her gasp and shield her eyes, and when the light dies down and materialises into a little bee kwami, Marinette’s rendered speechless.

“Hello, my queen!” The kwami bows. “I am Pollen, at your service!”

“Bug-mouse! Fuzzy bug-mouse!” Marinette jumps away from Pollen, trips on a stray piece of fabric, and would have fallen backwards and collided with her chaise if not for Fukō swooping in to grab her. This close, Fukō can clearly see the freckles that dust Marinette’s cheeks like stars in the night sky, and she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to gently lay Marinette down on the chaise, then count every single freckle with her lips and –

Fukō blinks and resists the urge to shake her head. Where did that thought come from? Clearing her throat, she sets Marinette on her feet and releases her.

“Sorry,” Marinette says shakily. “I understand if you don’t want to work with me –”

“Of course not, my queen,” Pollen says, her blue eyes gleaming. “I’ve seen far stronger reactions in the past. A previous holder attempted to impale me with his sword, so at least you didn’t throw anything at me.”

“O-Okay…” Marinette removes the Bee comb from its box and slides it into her hair. “Um, what do I need to know? How do I transform? What’s my power?”

Fukō smiles. She can most definitely appreciate someone who asks the right questions. “Your special power, from my understanding, allows you to paralyse an opponent. Pollen is the kwami of subjection.”

“Indeed,” Pollen says. “Your Venom will allow you to immobilise one opponent and then you’ll have five minutes before you detransform. And you must simply say “buzz on” to transform.”

“Pollen, buzz on!” When the golden light that encases Marinette fades, Fukō can’t help but look over her outfit. It’s simple but striking, just like Marinette: a tight suit that’s black across her shoulders and upper arms, meeting elbow-length yellow gloves with black fingers, and a yellow torso with a sweetheart neckline and black stripes tapering down her abdomen, yellow thighs with black stripes also tapering down, and knee-length black boots with yellow soles. Her pigtails are striped and tipped with yellow, her bright blue eyes now stare out from behind a simple yellow and black mask that unfortunately hides the freckles on her cheeks, and –

Fukō blinks and wrenches her eyes away before Marinette, who’s now examining her weapon, can realise that she’s openly staring. It wouldn’t do to be seen exhibiting such unprofessional behaviour, especially since she’s never once stared at Foxglove and Princesse Tortue like this. What’s going on with her today?

“Um…” Fukō clears her throat. “Name. You need a name. And then we can go and help Scarmony, Foxglove, and Princesse Tortue.”

“Oh, wow.” Marinette replaces her trompo around her waist. Her gorgeous, shapely waist. Oh no. “You need Foxglove and Princesse Tortue as well? This must be a tough akuma!”

“He can put anyone to sleep with one hit,” Fukō says, praying that her warm cheeks aren’t visibly red. “That’s why we need you to immobilise him. Foxglove and Princesse Tortue are there to distract him and shield us from hits. We really need to return and help. Name! What should we call you?”

Marinette hums. “I never really considered a superhero name for myself. I never even thought I’d be a superhero. What do you think, Fukō?”

Well, if Fukō can choose a name for Marinette, it’ll most definitely be something to do with honey, to reference Marinette’s sweetness. Honeybee? No, that’s far too generic and common for someone like her. Honeycomb? Hmm, close but not quite. What else does Fukō love about Marinette?

Her pastries, whispers an annoying voice in her head. Fukō tries to swat it away. And her buns, as Adrien would say, not that you’d understand that kind of –

“Honeybun!” Fukō blurts out. Marinette blinks.

“Honeybun?” she repeats. Fukō nods and scrambles for an explanation to hide what had just played out in her traitorous brain.

“Yes! Because, um…your parents are bakers! And you like sweet things, and honey is sweet and references bees!”

Tell her that you think she’s sweet as honey, you coward.

Marinette’s face lights up in her signature wide smile. “I like it! Honeybun. It’s sweet and cute, but too much of it and you’ll be sorry.”

I could never have too much of you. Okay, seriously, Fukō’s going to have words with her brain after this. For now, she forces herself to compartmentalise her flustered feelings and she clears her throat.

“Excellent reasoning,” she says. “But we should really go now, before Fatigue catches Scarmony and the others.”

“Right!” Honeybun unslings her trompo and follows Fukō out of the trapdoor and onto the balcony. “So, um…I just jump? Off a tall building? And fall?”

“I’ll catch you if need be,” Fukō says, her lips twitching. Honeybun giggles and hoists herself onto her balcony railing.

“And I trust you to do that a hundred percent. Okay…here goes!”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #aotq fic #aotq: marigami me #marigami week 2020 #marinette dupain-cheng #kagami tsurugi #luka couffaine #juleka couffaine #rose lavillant #ladybug!luka #cat!kagami #fox!juleka #turtle!rose #bee!marinette #kwami swap #kagaminette #marigami #oops kagami are you falling for a certain honeybun #julerose