#MY MARKER LIED TO ME ABOUT THE SHADE

[pinkcadavart]

Asked my buddies to give me characters I don't draw often and this was the result

#kinda wish I drew Epel closer to everyone but I didn't wanna have to erase Leona's hair #twst #twisted wonderland #traditional #epel felmier #malleus draconia #jamil viper #floyd leech #cater diamond #kalim al asim #leona kingscholar #riddle rosehearts #ALSO IGNORE THE GREEN ON MALLEUS #MY MARKER LIED TO ME ABOUT THE SHADE #anyway my hc faces for them #malleus ur cheekbones......... #this is the most ive done in a sketchbook in a while jfc #fanart

[rxgirlie]

The Girl Next Door part VII

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: dubious content, affairs, sexual content, alcohol consumption, my improper use of commas, JFK references (a warning within itself)

A/N: I can’t remember who posted that photo up there^ but BLESS! Up until this point, this entire fic has been a slow burn. I hope everyone had fun while it lasted because it’s finally about to kick off. Big thanks to @vivalafae for talking me off the ledge multiple times while writing this chapter and @runningwiththefoxes for being the love of my life. Also, there’s a cutesy little playlist I made for this entire shit show, if anyone is interested in it, lemme know.

WC: 2539

I became more delusional the further we drove. Each mile marker was an omen, a declaration of how removed I was from real life. Our premeditation personified when he insisted I leave my car parked at the university after class on Friday.

“It’ll look weird if we leave together with multiple bags,” He told me. He was right, after all, but the notion still didn’t put me at ease.

The more secretive he became about our destination, the antsier I became.

“I don’t like surprises,” I told him as I gazed out the passenger’s window.

“Lighten up, Olive,” his hand on my inner thigh squeezed reassuringly, bunching my dress up even further under his fingertips, “just trust me.”

Trusting him was also easier said than done, but I did it with the type of ease that made me feel gullible, diminutive. Like I had folded myself up into delicate pieces to fit into the intricate, hollow spaces containing all the lies I had told and would tell in his name.

Nevertheless, he drove on, and so too did my desire for him, stretching endlessly like the highway laid out before us.

By the time we arrived in town, four whole hours later, I was content to continue spinning the web.

A fly does not struggle in a web in which its very wish was to get caught.

“I used to come here every summer with my parents before they divorced,” I told him, my wide eyes reflecting back to me through the window as I realized we were in Cape Cod.

“We’re going to Hyannis,” he said, squeezing my thigh as he continued to drive.

“To live out your Kennedy fantasy?”

“Which one are you referring to?” He glanced over at me with an impish grin, “The one where my brains are blown out of my skull or the one where I veer off this bridge up here and land in the pond?”

He jerked the wheel to the right, his car veering dangerously close to the edge of the road before realigning the wheel, crossing a small bridge as I grabbed onto his forearm, my mouth agape in a silent scream.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” I dug my nails into the tender flesh of his forearm to solidify my point.

“Can you swim, Olive?”

_________________________________________

“It’s beautiful.”

Settled on a bank directly overlooking the sea with unfiltered access to the beach, I stood back and took the house in with all its charm. Snowball hydrangeas teetered in the breeze, accenting the yard and picket fences, adding softness to the gray cedar siding. In typical New England fashion, the house was weather worn, but warm and inviting nonetheless. White adirondack chairs formed around a dining table on the concrete patio, only a few feet away from the entryway of the house.

“I used to think this place was a mansion when I was a kid.” He said as he came over to unlock the door.

He opened it, inviting me inside.

The house was swathed in navy blue linens, neutral shades, and pale pastels throughout, giving it a pop of warmth amongst the white planked walls. The living room and adjoining kitchen was bathed in natural light from the surrounding colonial style windows, spilling onto the natural wood floor, shining blindingly into my eyes as I made a right down a long hallway.

“Last door on the left,” He said from his place behind me, but I kept walking, stopping long enough to run my hands across the markings on the first door frame I passed.

‘JM’ and ‘JA’ had been etched in pencil along the door’s frame ranging from midway up my thigh, spanning to above my eyeline. A simple two digit year was beside every entry.

“Are you JM or JA?” I turned back to look at him as he made his way up to inspect the markings.

“JM.”

“Jeryd Motherfucker,” I joked and he looked at me with a grin.

“It’s French.”

I only nodded in response, running my fingertips along the scattered pieces of driftwood that hung along the hall’s narrow walls as I sought out the bedroom I would be sleeping in.

The bedroom was functional and simple, its shaker furniture characteristic of the quintessential New England style. A four poster bed sat against the far right wall under a bare window, a bookshelf directly across it on the opposing wall, with a dresser nestled into an alcove beside the windows leading out to a stunning view of the coastline.

“What a view,” I mused as my fingertips danced across the windowpane.

“Yeah,” He walked up to join at my side, never taking his eyes off mine, “What a view.”

_________________________________________

The rest of the day was spent in town, perusing the little shops that littered Main Street, fighting through tourist sludge, and a quick trip to a local market to pick up non-perishable necessities. It felt normal and fun doing such casual things with him. For a while I was oblivious to anything but the pleasure of being with him.

He chose Pain D'Avignon for dinner. We drank Belgian beer on the intimate patio, people watching, until my Dutch courage kicked in, willing my curious nature to take the lead.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Here, to the restaurant,” He asked, stopping long enough to take a pull from his pint, “or to Hyannis?”

“Hyannis.”

“Don’t question my motives, Olive,” he lowered his eyes at me, “Can we have dinner without an interrogation?”

“Sure,” I sat back in my seat and nodded, “Whatever you want.”

His eyes sparkled like crystalline snow, more gray than blue at that particular moment, possibly due to the beam of sun that had broken through a small sliver between two buildings across the street. I surmised, though, they reacted to my giving him the reins to do whatever he pleased.

At some point, after a hearty serving of Wellfleet oysters, I lost all interest in questioning his motives.

We both watched curiously as a small boy, no more than three, picked up a glob of cotton candy pink ice cream from its cone, lobbing it directly at his mother as they crossed the street away from us.

“We used to be able to sit and enjoy each other , too.” His mother looked over at Jeryd and I, laughing sarcastically as she combed her fingers through the sticky concoction leaking from her blonde curls. She grabbed the ice cream cone, now covered in fingerprints, and tossed it in the garbage can a few feet from us. All the while her kid screamed bloody murder as he was dragged away by, what I assumed, were his older siblings.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” She offered us a genuine smile and rejoined her clan.

“I don’t know if I’m fit for that type of nightmare,” he laughed, tossing his napkin on the table.

“Kids are gross,” I laughed out and he nodded in agreement.

“And codependent,” He added.

“I guess that’s why I’m an only child.”

“Surely you couldn’t have been that awful of a child, Liv.”

“There was no real reason for them to try for perfection a second time when they got so close the first time around.” I flashed him a big smile, and he reached across the table, dragging the palm of his hand down my forehead, slender fingers down the bridge of my nose, gripping my chin with a delicate squeeze.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a good dad,” I offered, obviously on my way to being drunk because why else would I have said something so out of pocket?

“You don’t know that much about me.” He eyed me over the rim of his glass as he finished his beer.

“I guess I don’t.”

I realized then and there that it would never just be dinner with him. My internal monologue would always fire on all cylinders, leaving me musing to myself about a future with him, his past, and everything between where we sat now and where we would go in the future. His mother’s words fueled my delusions even further, nowhere was safe, every place leading back to what she had said days prior. It was never just dinner. Every place led back to his arms, to his grasp. Him still virtually a stranger throughout, where I stood, open and transparent, ready to be sought out and read, cover to cover. Oftentimes I found myself desiring to be the painter instead of the muse. Thus, it was easy to see a future with him. To imagine things far beyond my scope. But it’s always easier to not see the forest for the trees, isn’t it?

“Where’d you go just then?” He asked, bringing me plummeting back down to earth.

He reached across the table, seeking out my balled up fist.

I hesitated, eventually unfurling my palm to him.

“Why are you so scared to touch me, Olive?”

His fingers danced across my palm, his nails following the trails of the deeply etched lines.

“I’m not scared to touch you.” A lie if I had ever told one. All I did was lie. But it came so easily when I was looking at him. That in itself should’ve scared me away. But it didn’t. It never did. Never would.

“What do you want from me?” I asked him.

He angled his head to the side, an inquisitorial look painting his features as his lips pulled into a smile.

“What do you want to give me?”

“You say that as if I have a choice in the matter,” I laughed dryly, pulling my hand back from him like a scolded child.

_________________________________________

A subdued energy overtook me once we were back in the cottage and I walked on eggshells contemplating what would come next.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth like I normally would that time of night, alone with myself and my thoughts just long enough to realize the gravity of the situation and let it all come crashing back down on me. Nothing like looking in the mirror and seeing the problem staring back at you.

When I exited the bathroom, he trapped me between his body and the wall, looking down at me like prey caught in a trap.

“You have a choice,” He grasped at the halter strap tied intricately at my neck, unwrapping me like a gift from the neck down.

“Do I?” I wriggled to accommodate him as he slid the dress down my stomach and over my hips.

He nodded down at me, grasping my jaw to tilt my head up to him.

“Everyone has a choice.” He worked my mouth open with his, enough for his tongue to find solace as it tangled with mine.

He broke away long enough to speak with his tinged sarcasm, “What’s your excuse going to be tomorrow?” He asked, “‘I was drunk.’” Parroting back the words I had said to him the night I embarrassingly apologized for kissing him in his car.

“I’m not sorry.” I looked up at him, reaching down to grasp onto his collar. “I wasn’t sorry then and I’m not sorry now.”

“Maybe I’ll be sorry tomorrow,” I shook my head and looked down, feeling transparent and small under his gaze, “Maybe I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life, I don’t know.”

He grasped my chin, pulling my face back up to look at him. We were still for a brief second, staring at one another as if we could read each other’s minds.

He was quick to hoist me up by the back of my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist, and we bounced around the hallway, my fingers combing through the hair at the nape of his neck as we did a dance of sorts through the narrow hall and into the bedroom.

When he laid me out on the bed, I leaned up towards him, practically tearing him out of his clothes. He took his time undressing me, exploring every inch of my body as he removed the remnants of my dress. Each time I’d rise off the bed to touch him, to graze my hand across his chest, he would press me back into the mattress with a smirk. He went down and pulled off my panties as he kissed around my navel and teased my inner thighs with his lean fingers. Just when I least expected it, he dipped his head low, licking a stripe through my folds, never taking his eyes off mine.

I took a deep breath and laced my fingers into his while he worked his tongue, exploring places I had never imagined him. My other hand raked through his scalp, pressing him further into my cunt.

He came up for air as I felt myself on the precipice of an orgasm, crawling his way up my body to hover over me. When he kissed me, I tasted myself mixed with a flavor that was unmistakably him.

I wrapped my legs around him, letting my body follow his lead as he pressed himself into me. Usually he was quick and relentless upon entry, but that night, he took his time filling in gaps, touching places he had never been before, places he had never seen.

A sort of unfettered pleasure transpired between us. One born from pure, unbridled lust between two people who knew right from wrong, but chose the latter because burning out simply felt better than fading away.

He moved his hands over my lower back and ass, grasping for purchase, driving himself further and further into me. I laid there, clinging to him for dear life, as I plummeted into an intense orgasm. For a while, it was hard to discern where one began and the other ended. We melted together, and each time his face would end up in the crook of my neck, moaning and groaning into the sensitive skin, I would nod along, pressing chaste kisses to the side of his head and into his hairline.

That night, I would lose all sense of fear in regards to him. I would, instead, get lost in his sea blue eyes, the light freckles that littered his cheeks and chest, the scar on his chin. I would watch closely as his shoulders flexed with each thrust, my hands roaming over his flesh with amazement as his body worked its way into mine. The tiny part of me that longed for normalcy, a foundation in which I could build from, got tucked away when he pulled back to look at me with his icy blues. The intensity was there, it would never fade, but a longing that I finally understood and felt deeply myself, shone through then.

He drug the palm of his hand down my forehead, pointer finger down the bridge of my nose, crescendoing with a tender kiss on my lips.

I fell in love at the tender age of twenty-two, in Hyannis, at a cottage by the sea, under the weight of a married man. It was simultaneously one of the best and worst things that I would ever do in my entire life.

Tag list: @aurorag98

#jeryd mencken #jeryd mencken x oc #jeryd mencken fic #jeryd mencken fanfiction #jeryd mencken x ofc #jeryd mencken x original female character #justin kirk

[rosedmuse]

entitle; for haruseonne 950 days

if i had to write on a wish list just one gift out of millions in the world to treasure forever, then i wouldn't hesitate scribbling your name down on it.

happy 950 days (and more), harutosan! 

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

And thus, it's time his flight is due. Amidst all lies, he very well went and grew. Across endless skies of the brightest blue, A bird of ambition finally soars through.

Ah, lines like these never grow old; never failing to prompt me into being completely honest about just how pretty of a name 'Haruto' is. And so is 'Asuka'.

Pair the two up and immediately a masterpiece is born. A work of art in its truest formーan actor encapsulating the essences of beauty, passion, and an endless pursuit of perfection.

Anyone would think a person of this character exists solely in a realm beyond what an ordinary human can ever imagine. But guess what.

Here I am, sitting right behind the being divine in question.

"Seonne?" He asks.

"Haruto-san," I respond.

"What chapter are you on?"

"Five."

With a shrill almost like that of an eagle, he quickly shifts a quarter around in his seat to face me; looking nothing less than bewildered, "already!?"

A warm, sunny day veils over Veludo Way this morning, making the final couple hours of daytime an ideal setting for an outdoor unwind, specifically at the park.

While parked beside a large tree for shade, an old blanket is laid down onto the grass to get ourselves comfortable on. I take a seat on the spot where the view features children fly their kites and families enjoy their own picnics, and Haruto, who is sits opposite of me, relishes at the sight of the townscape spreading out gradually below us; both of us leaning onto each other's backsides for support. And how could a date at the park be an actual date at the park without... books! I brought with me two volumes from the series I'm currently a huge fan of. Why two, you might ask? Well, the second book's for me; and since I'm done with the first one, my companion promised to start this story alongside me.

"The protagonist reminds me of you," I tell him, eyes fixed solely on the material I have resting on my knees, "strong, smart, a little silly at times but y'know..."

"Hey," Haruto snaps, and I feel a gentle poke by my ticklish side. Glancing back accusingly at him after holding back my sensitive nerves, I meet his lilac eyes and recognize a tiny hint of a tease in them. With a light shake of my head, I return to my page.

It's nice that we managed to finish work a little early today. Sometimes, a brief pause from the world is all a busy person needs to recharge, recoup, and renew the flames driving their fiery hearts forward. Not to mention that today happens to be an extra special day for us, too.

"No, really," I say again, "you do remind me of the protagonist. They're known for a lot of names, too!"

"I'm known only for one other name!" Haruto argues. He may not know it (or simply refuses to admit it) but his sudden outbursts like this make him really cute at times. No way I'm using that word right to his face though or I'd be done for!

He clears his throat. "And, well..." but falters, before he could form a coherent thought out.

Clearly, that doesn't normally happen. Must he be wanting to add something a bit more serious to the conversation?

Temporarily inserting a marker and setting my book aside, I reach out and rest my hand above his shoulder to assure and urge him on. He hasn't directed his eyes towards me yet, so I assume he's still sorting his head out.

"Seonne,"

Wait. His accent changed.

"What's the matter, Harutoー"

"No." He swiftly places his index finger over my lips. Leaning close to my ear, he whispers, "you can call me by my real name when we're alone."

Oh.

Well, this is new.

Mentally practicing every day how the name might sound when I finally can say it aloud seems to have come in handy all of a sudden. What perfect timing.

"So..." After a moment, I clarify, "Genta?"

"Gen-chan," he corrects.

"Gen-chan!?"

"Please."

Extending my arms around him in a hug, I press my cheek firmly onto his shoulder. I may not have seen the reaction on his face, but feeling the weight of his head lightly on mine and him holding onto my interlinked arms, already tells me everything I need to know.

"I 'ppreciate ya keepin' up with me."

"I wouldn't want to keep up with anyone else anyway," I proudly say. "Right, Gen-chan?"

And who could've known that an entity so regal and brave is likewise (though occasionally) capable of showing the world a smile so sweet, genuine and humane?

Although he has yet to own a clue, As to when he'll find out his cue. And once come the first couple few, As fate wills, he is to be born anew.

#a3! yume #a3 yume #self-insert #first person pov #haruseonne

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Every Available Surface

Shameless self shipping RPF because Oscar Isaac will never actually inseminate me.

Surface One

London is sunny this August. Not a big surprise, but rain is of course all too common in the Kingdom. I cross the Roman Gardens at Hyde Park. It is sort of crowded. Mostly with tourists, families with children. But one person stands out. He is unsteady on his feet, like he is unwell. I recognise him, but I don’t want to make any assumptions.

He drops his shades and swears. I see him almost keel over trying to pick them up. No one around him seems to care. So I rush over. I crouch to pick up the shades and hold them out to him, standing upright. “Sir, your shades.” I murmur softly. He looks at me, obviously taking some effort to focus on me. “Oh … thanks.” He rasps. “You are very welcome.” I murmur, sending him a small smile. His fingers brush mine as he takes his shades back. His skin is clammy and his hand trembles a little.

“Are you alright?” I ask softly. His slightly green hue does not escape me. “Y-yeah.” He lies. “Can I help you with something? Call someone, help you go somewhere?” I ask, like a fool. He’s a random stranger. But should I therefor not be kind to him?

“I .. gotta go .. to hotel.” He rasps. “Is it far?” I ask. He does not reply, but starts fiddling with his phone. I wonder, for a moment, if his attention has already strayed far away from me. But then I get his phone pushed into my hand. “Taxi… order a taxi.” He slurrs. It’s an app for the London cab service. I select the Lancaster tube station as pick up point and a time slot 20 minutes away. Better safe than sorry, as this bloke does not seem too steady on the feet. I hand his phone back. “Come, let’s go. I’ll make sure you get to your hotel safe and sound.” I murmur.

I offer him my arm, half joking. He takes it.

“Thanks.” He mumbles. He suddenly seems shy. His already rather flushed face becomes even more flustered. I can ever sort of see it between the hairs of his salt and pepper beard. He smells strongly of whiskey, from this close.

We walk to Lancaster Gate. It goes slowly, he is unstead. We are both silent.

Once at Lancaster Gate, we have to wait a few minutes for the cab to arrive. I take that time to drink in this man’s features. He is not very tall, but somehow cuts quite the figure. He has a very distinctive nose and tousled ebony curls.

Okay fuck, drunk stranger is hot!

The cab pulls over and I help the drunk man sit down. He grasps my arm. “Come with me, please.” He whispers. He sounds so sad. And sort of desperate. Like an absolute dumbass, I give in, sitting down beside him.

“I don’t usually do this, Mr…?” I look at him, waiting for him to supply his name. “Yeah … me either.” He instead replies. So much for trying to find what his name is.

The cab waves handily through London traffic, arriving at the flipping Ritz in twenty minutes. “Holy fuck.” I whisper. So, hot drunk guy is loaded, too. “Mr. Estrada, here we are.” Says the cabby. The name he probably read from the app. Mr Estrada.. wait…

This is Oscar Isaac! OMG!!!

I get out and walk around the cab to help him out. “Come, Mr Estrada.” I hold out my hand. He takes it eagerly. He is grinning at me like a loon. “Please, call me Oscar.” He murmurs. Suddenly his voice is husky and seductive. Oscar Isaac is a horny drunk ?!?

We head into the hotel. I feel so out of place.

I hold out my hand to him. “Key please.” I murmur. He hands me his keycard without any sort of protest. The room number is written on the back in silver marker. We head to the elevator and head to his suite.

Once I open the door, I happen upon a bit of a mess. It is evident Oscar did not bother to keep his clothes in his suitcase, or fold them into the wardrobe. There are also several empty whiskey bottles strewn about. I wonder what is going on in his life that he is letting himself go like this. But of course it is not my place to pry.

Oscar closes the door quite noisily. It startles me a little.

“How about you brush your teeth and get into bed.” I say softly. He nods, sort of meekly. “Will you stay with me?” He asks. I have no idea how to react. This situation is getting more unlikely by the second. “Sure.” I reply. Because, I’d be a fool to not take the chance when it presents itself. “Thanks.” Oscar murmurs.

He stumbles into the bathroom and I hear the tap starting to run. I take the time to gather up the Whiskey bottles and pick up some of the stray clothes. It takes Oscar three minutes to return, pulling his shirt over his head. And gosh is he attractive. I feel my hands itch to get all over him. But I will not take advantage of his inebriated state.

“Come, to bed.” I whisper. Oscar opens his belt and lets his trousers drop. “Hmm, what are you going to do to me?” He smirks a saucy smirk. “Nothing, you’re going to sleep.” I say. “Yes mom.” Oscar rolls his eyes. He bends down to take off his socks, but wobbles dangerously. “Let me do that.” I say. He furrows his brows at me. “C’mon.” I usher him to the edge of the bed. Oscar plonks down, groaning. I kneel and take off his socks for him.

I close the curtains and turn on the bedside light.

“C’mere.” Oscar rasps. I climb into bed with him, sitting against the headboard. Oscar puts his head in my lap right away. “Sleep now, sweetling.” I whisper. Oscar opens his mouth to protest, but I make a shushing sound. I start playing with his hair and he is off in a few minutes.

He wakes up three hours later. I have tidied up his stuff and read a good chunk of Blood of Elves. He lifts his head off the pillow, looking at me with bleary eyes. “Who are you?” He croaks. “I’m Tessa.” I murmur. “Did we..?” He furrows his brow, trying to remember. “No, we did not. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you, Mr Estrada.” I cooe. “Do you want to?” He rolls onto his back. I reach to the nightstand and hold out a glass of water. He sits upright and takes a big gulp. I look at him. By the gods do I want to. But to just say yes and let him have at it … no.

“Maybe a bit later, when you fully realise what you are in for.” I reply. “I do believe I am in for a good time.” Oscar replies. He finishes his water and hands the glass back to me. “So, not now?” He asks. “You should shower.” I tell him. “And then?” He asks. “I don’t know.” I murmur.

He crawls a little closer. “You could.. stay.” He murmurs. He is leaning forward. I give him a little push. “You have morning breath. Go shower.” I tell him. He comes on a little strong. I am not sure if this is what I want. To be fucked and forgotten by one of the most stellar men of this planet. I can’t handle that. I need to find a way to make a lasting impact.

Oscar gets out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. “You can join me if you like.” He offers. “Go shower.” I hiss. Oscar rolls his eyes and disappears into the bathroom.

I gather my belongings and wait, sitting in the windowsill and looking out on Green Park. I wish I knew what a Nightingale sounded like, singing in Barkly Square. It would be romantic when this were like the Rita Reys song. But of course it is not.

Oscar appears again, a towel around his waist. I look away. “Don’t be shy.” Oscar purrs. “I don’t want to spoil things for later.” I reply. Oscar chuckles. “So you are staying the night?” He murmurs.I make a ponderous sound. “I will have paid for my own hotel in vain.” I mutter. I am not made of money and I can’t really stand to put that money to waste. “I’ll cover your loss.” Oscar offers. “I’ll try to arrange a return of the fee for the nights you haven’t yet spent there.” He says. “I haven’t yet slept there. I arrived this morning.” I reply. “That makes everything easier.” Oscar purrs. Once he is dressed, he comes over to me. “What do you want to do first?” He asks. I look up at him. “I was headed to the zoo, actually.” I answer. Oscar peers at his watch. “How about we do that tomorrow?” He suggests. “What about today?” I ask. “We can pick up your stuff and go out for dinner.” He replies.

“I am not an early eater, how about we pop by Regent’s Street?” I suggest. “Absolutely.” Oscar agrees. “Awesome.” I stand up from my place by the window and retrieve my shoes. Oscar sits on the sofa to put on his own shoes. “Is your hotel far?” He asks. “Just off Hyde Park, across from Lancaster Gate.” I reply. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour, lovely.” Oscar smiles up at me.

“Are you feeling better?” I ask, while we head out. Oscar orders a cab, for ASAP. “Yeah, I do, actually. Thanks for taking care of me.” He replies. A cab pulls over almost right away. We get in and are brought to the hotel I planned on staying. That plan is firmly overboard.

Once there, Oscar proceeds to flirt so thoroughly with the receptionist that I get all my money back. In cash. Because I haven’t been in the room yet. Goddamn, I am jealous tho! I wish he’d turn up those charms to me.

We are back at the Ritz within 40 minutes.

We drop my suitcase off at his room and head back out. This time we walk. From Green Park to Regent Street is only a ten minute walk. “What shop would you like to visit first?” Oscar asks. “It’s Hamleys or bust, baby.” I purr. “Hamleys it is.” Oscar chuckles.

We head into the bright red toy store and right away I feel excitement bubble up inside me.

“Got in mind what you are looking for?” Oscar asks. “Nah, I’m just browsing.” I reply. I skip off to look at all the plushies on the ground floor. Oscar calmly strolls after me. I browse for a good while, finding a beautiful pinto horse, which I put in my basket. I got money to blow on it now anyway.

Oscar nabs my basket. “My pay.” He says. I open my mouth to protest, but Oscar shakes his head. “I owe you.” He says. I send him a pout, but submit. He reaches his free hand out to mine. I let him, even though it feels strange. It’s like it’s always been this way, but at the same time new and a bit daunting. I am not sure what to think, or feel. But Oscar smiles at me. And gods, I am definitely feeling a lot! Maybe a little too much?

We head down the escalator. In the basement the Funko’s and Wands wait.

I rush to get a Crocoloki, right away! Oscar leisurely strolls after me. He holds out the basket to me. I plop Loki into it and discover there are already two funko boxes in the basket. In said boxes are two white suits. Steven and Marc. “I am not sure how to feel about those.” I tease as I streak past him. Oscar looks after me. “What do you mean?” He asks. “Well, that is you, twice.” I point out. “For you.” Oscar replies. “Both of them, or do you want me to pick a side?” I ask, while wandering over to the wand display.

“You can have all three.” Oscar tries to sound casual while gazing into the Tolkien replica display. I look over to him. Should I take the bait? He sure does his best to lure me in. And by the gods I am so weak. I want him so badly, already. “I did not see Jake in the basket.” I reply, just as casual. Better not give in yet. I might be weak, but I am not a fool. And I’d be a fool to believe something real could be between Oscar and I. He is so much better than I am.

Oscar comes over to me. He wraps an arm around. “It is not Jake who’s the third in this scenario.” He murmurs. “Then who is?” I cooe. “Funny girl.” Oscar leans in, his breath gusting over the shell of my ear. I whimper softly. “I am not a girl.” I huff stubbornly. “Then what are you?” Oscar sounds so earnest I almost stop being petulant about pedantics. Almost .. “I am a woman, Oscar.” I murmur. “But ‘good woman’ does not sound very sexy.” Oscar replies. “Then call me a fox.” I cooe. “A good little fox, huh?” Oscar teases.

We head to the first floor. I spend a good few minutes at the playmobil section. I am hesitating if I should pick the Manatee set. It looks so nice. But I had best keep the money in my pocket, for later. Oscar grabs the set and puts it in the basket. I sputter a protest. But he shakes his head. “Let me.” He murmurs. I want to tell him that it’ll make me feel like I owe him something, but I know that that will just pool out in a useless conversation. So, I will let him.

Then I head to the second floor, where I pick up a few Breyer blindbags, before moving another escalator upwards.

On the third floor is what I am really here for. Schleich, CollectA and Papo. And I can’t decide what to pick. There is so much I want. But, I must make a choice, I can’t take it all home. No matter how much Oscar is willing to buy me.

“Got a lot of cousins to gift shop for?” He teases. I fluster, bright red.”No … I am a collector.” I mutter. That sure as hell tanks my fuckability. I can kiss my chance goodbye.

“Just the horses?” Oscar asks. I am not sure why that is his go to assumption. Maybe because of the Breyer. “No, just whatever appeals. But, a lot of it is horses.” I mutter, rubbing my neck. “Then pick what you like.” Oscar replies. I flush brightly all over again.

“Say erm.. what does your wife think of this little excursion..?” I ask, in a bid to distract him. How I have been so foolish to overlook the fact he is married until this point is beyond me. What the hell am I even thinking? I don’t want to sleep with a married man!

Oscar suddenly looks utterly defeated. His grip grows slack and the basket drops, the funko’s and playmobil rattling noisily. I have said the wrong thing.

“I am s-” I begin. But Oscar shakes his head. “You couldn’t have known. It’s the whole reason for my sorry state.” He mutters. I reach out to his free hand. “Is it final?” I whisper. It feels as though I am breaking his heart with my bare hands. I feel anguished for him. Oscar shows me his hands, no ring on his fingers, but he is trembling, too. “Oh, sweetling.” I mutter. I take his hands and bring them to my face to kiss his knuckles.

He looks up at me. A feeble smile. And gods does it break my heart. It is so vulnerable and open. And my gods, I fall in love with him right here and now. I want to lean in and kiss him, but realise I should not do so in public. So instead I let his hands go and stoop down to gather our items back into the basket. Oscar stands motionless, looking down on me.

“I’d really like to kiss you.” He whispers. I stand upright. “Not here.” I murmur. “Then where?” He reaches out for my hand. I don’t pull away. He draws me into a corner, shielded by a display. No one to see us. And then suddenly his arms are around me. He’s pulling me closer, my body against his. “Close those smiling eyes.” He whispers. I oblige, my eyes falling shut. And then his lips press down on mine. I sigh in delight and drive my fingers into his hair. Oscar groans against my lips. This makes me break away, all too conscious we are in public.

“Not here.” I repeat, breathless. “Why not?” Oscar murmurs. His eyes are still closed. He wants to keep kissing. I do too, but not in public. I give him another peck, though. The temptation is too big to resist. He cups my cheek and tilts his head a little. Kissing Oscar is so amazing. His lips are warm and strong and he smells of cloves and worn leather.

But then I do pull away again. “Save it for after dinner, hot stuff.” I murmur. “Must I really?” Oscar’s eyes flutter open. “Yes, you must.” I murmur. “I don’t think I can.” Oscar purrs huskily. I step out of the corner and go back to the Papo display. Oscar follows close behind. He puts his hands on my hips and his head on my shoulder.

“Should you be doing this?” I ask. “I want to, isn’t that enough?” He replies. “If you were just Joe Schmoe, it would be.” I say softly. “I don’t care who sees.” Oscar murmurs. I begin to wonder if he is still drunk. I put the Papo Clydesdale in the basket and then also the Tinker. I move to the CollectA display and begin agonising about which horse to pick. Oscar follows quietly.

Half an hour later, Oscar is paying for what I picked. I try not to listen or to look. I don’t want to know how much he is paying for my bullshit.

“Where to now?” Oscar asks, taking me by the hand. He does not hand over the shopping bag. I suppose I’ll have to earn it. I gaze down at his hand in mine. “I don’t mind. I am sure you know better restaurants than I.” I answer. Oscar chuckles huskily. “I guess I do.” He gently agrees. “Then show me the way.” I tease.

We end up at Covent Garden at a restaurant called Frog. It is amazingly luxurious and I feel like my Loki hoodie is not very befitting.

Oscar pulls my chair out for me. “Such a gentleman.” I murmur. Oscar smiles brightly and sits opposite me. “Of course, you deserve nothing less.” He purrs. I flush brightly. “Don’t be so silly.” I mutter. “But you do.” Oscar says. He takes my hands with his own. “You tore me out of my funk, that deserves some gratitude.” He murmurs. I flush even darker. He makes me sound so special.I am not special, I just tried to be kind. I tell him as much. “I only wanted to do a kind deed for a stranger.” I murmur. Oscar smiles and nods. “And that was all it took.” He murmurs. His deep brown eyes shimmer with something bright that I can’t name. It can be lust as much as boyish excitement.

The waitress takes our drink order. I foolishly request a gin tonic with iced tea green. Oscar grins and orders a non alcoholic IPA. The drinks are brought out quickly and we toast. “To what?” I ask, sipping my gin tonic. “To us, to tonight. To me no longer being a walking train wreck.” Oscar replies. “To tonight.” I agree. I won’t toast to him not being a train wreck, that is just a bit awkward. And not to us either, I am not sure if there will be an us. Maybe it is just these couple of nights… Maybe it will be more, no need for hurried assumptions.

We talk and we drink for a good while. Oscar does not hold back on telling me about his divorce. It was thunder from clear skies for him. But he chose not to trap his ex wife in a marriage she no longer felt happy in. But it fucked him up all the same. He turned to booze, drowning his pain. Until I pulled him out. In turn, I don’t hold back either. I tell Oscar about my own break up and trying to raise my daughter with only a little support from my ex. It is not like he does not love her, but he has so little time. My parents help as much as they can, but I can’t help being sort of lonely.

Around seven, we get our dinner and we fall silent for a while as we eat. It is arguably the best food I have ever had.

Oscar barely takes his eyes off of me. It makes me a bit shy.

After dinner, we walk back to the hotel. He holds my hand and kisses my knuckles every so often.

“Don’t do that.” I whisper. “Don’t do what?” Oscar asks, his voice a gentle warm purr. “Don’t make me fall in love with you.” I mutter. Oscar smirks and I know I’ve said too much. “Why not?” He stops, drawing me close. I blush brightly, avoiding his eyes. I am not sure how to answer him. I don’t feel worthy of him. I don’t want to be a rebound. I don’t belong in his part of the world. “I don’t think I could ever move on from you.” I mutter. “Who says you should?” Oscar replies. “Okay, you will need to explain me your intention, because my brain is coming up with seven possible scenarios.” I tell him.

“Can we first go instead, please.” Oscar murmurs. I nod meekly.

We walk the last few minutes to the hotel and head up to his room. There is an odd sense of tension while we ride the elevator up. Oscar opens the door and holds it for me.

Once we are in, Oscar is on me right away. He presses me against the door, kissing me fiercely. If I at all had a mind to protest, it dies when he licks into my mouth. We moan in unison. He presses his body into mine. He is so warm and so hungry. I will want no one else from this moment on. This is all I need. He is all I need.

I tangle my fingers into his hair and gave a slight tug. Oscar groans and tries to deepen the kiss even more. He wrings a leg between my thighs. I can’t help grind down on him. “Fuck yeah.” Oscar hisses. The sound of him turns me on so much. I can’t focus on anything but Oscar’s body against mine and his mouth devouring my lips and tongue. I am so fucking wet. I want him so bad.

I start to back him off to the bed. He lets me. That makes me feel so powerful.

Oscar kicks off his shoes and falls down on the bed. He draws me down on top of him. I wriggle free for a moment, so I can take off my shoes as well.

“Goddamn I want you.” Oscar topples me over as soon as I got my shoes off. His mouth is on mine again before I can even blink. I let him devour me, moaning and arching against him. Our bodies fit together so well. We are sort of the same height and neither of us has to bend weirdly to make our bodies align well. It makes my inner walls and clit throb.

“I need you.” I whisper against his lips.

His mouth wanders from my lips to my neck. I tilt my head away to give him better access. “Good fox.” Oscar rumbles. He kisses hotly up to my ear. I whimper loudly, arching against him. “You’re so eager.” He chuckles, before biting my ear. “Oh fuck!” I whine. He drives me wild. “You like that?” He growls. “Yes … fuck yes. Please… more.” I mutter. “Absolutely.” Oscar replies. He sucks at my earlobe and I shudder. I feel wetness gush from my core. He’s got me in the bag for sure!

“May I undress you?” Oscar asks. I can only nod in response. “You sure?” He murmurs. “Y-yeah.” I mutter breathlessly. “Good.” Oscar replies.

He backs off, sitting back on his haunches. He looks down on me with abject desire in those deep brown eyes. I look away and fluster. I am so afraid I will underwhelm him. I am not some gorgeous Hollywood woman, I am just little old me. And I fear it is not enough.

“I am going to enjoy you so much.” Oscar murrs. “Truly?” I whisper. “Of course.” Oscar leans in for a kiss, likely to reassure me. I eagerly kiss him back, looping my arms around his neck. He chuckles against my lips. “I can’t undress you this way.” He murmurs. “That’s fine.” I whisper. “Do you want me to fuck you with your clothes on?” Oscar growls. He uses the tone he used in the reading of Beirut. Lust stabs me fiercely through the abdomen. More wetness gushes from my core. I am so glad I am wearing a pantyliner. Because I am fucking drenched.

“I can smell you. I want to taste you.” Oscar murmurs hotly. “Take things slow, please.” I whisper. It has been a while since I last been this intimate with someone. Sure, I’ve had sex with my ex before we broke it off. But I haven’t heard this desire in a man’s voice in a good while. “I will, don’t you worry.” He purrs. “I will fucking worship you.” He promises hotly. “Oh gods.” I whisper. He kisses me again, fiercely and I moan into his mouth.

He sits back again and slowly tugs my shirt upwards. “Wait, hold on.” I whisper, tugging off my hoodie. Oscar patiently waits for me to finish doing so. Then he continues rucking my shirt up. His eyes trail to my waist, gazing at my marked skin. He brings his hand down to caress my most obvious stretch mark, just off my right hip. A ponderous look crosses his face.

“Oscar..” I mutter. I wonder if the marks make me less attractive to him. He tears his eyes from my belly and looks back to my face. “Yes baby?” He murmurs. “What is on your mind?” I ask him. An airy chuckle tumbles from his lips. “I am wondering what you looked like when you were pregnant.” He replies. I fluster, very suddenly. Oh… oh gods. Oscar talking about pregnancy is making this all sorts of complicated.

“I got some pictures on my laptop, I can show you tomorrow.” I mutter. “I would like that.” Oscar affirms. I can’t help but wonder if it will arouse him. I hope it does. “I am looking forward to it.” Oscar gives me a saucy smile. I feel more wetness gush from me. Oh to be in the presence of a celeb who actually has the same kink as I. Am I that fortunate?

I pull my shirt up over my head. Oscar’s pupils blow wide when he sees my bralette. My breasts are almost spilling out, but I just can’t stand to part with it. Oscar leans in and presses a lewd, open mouthed kiss between my breasts. “You smell nice here.” He murmurs. I can’t help a soft moan. Oscar smirks against my skin. “So warm and soft, too.” He purrs. He withdraws a few centimetres and his hot breath gusts over my skin. I moan and arch up at him.

Oscar swears, bending down to bite at my nipple through the bordeaux red lace of my bralette. I moan loudly, arching into his touch. He growls eagerly and bites again. “You turn me on so much.” He hisses. He moves to my other breast, nipping through the cloth of my bra, leaving slight marks on my flesh. “More, please.” I whimper. “Absolutely.” Oscar replies.

He draws my bralette over my breasts, but not further. There is no more patience in him.

He lavishes my flesh with kisses and licks, groaning while he does so. It is like the sheer feel and scent of me is driving him wild. I can’t help my own moans. “Oh Oscar.” I whimper. He takes my left nipple in his mouth and licks and suckles on it. My moans quickly get louder. It just feels so fucking good.”Yes .. fuck yes.” I rake my fingers through his dark curls. Oscar switches to my right nipple to suck and bite at it. I moan loudly and press him into my flesh. Oscar grunts and bucks his pelvis down against mine.

I can feel how hard he is through the cloth of his trousers. I want more of him. I want all of him!

I draw my bralette over my head and hook my leg around his hip. “Your shirt, too.” I whisper. “Of course.” Oscar murmurs. He sits upright and draws his shirt over his head. I put my hand on his torso right away. I bite my lip at how warm his skin is. Oscar groans when I swipe my thumb over his nipple. “Damn.” I whisper.

I let my hands slip down to his belt. “Go ahead.” Oscar smirks. I smile back up at him and pull open his belt. Then I undo his button and zipper, dipping my hand lower to caress just underneath the waistband of his boxers. "Shall I take them off?" Oscar asks. I nod, trying to send him my best doe eyes. "Yes please." I murmur. Oscar bites his lip in reaction. "Goddamn you are so fucking sexy." He hisses. He backs off and stands up from the bed to take off his socks, trousers and boxers, in that order.

And goddamn is he glorious when he is naked.

His cock stands hard and proud. And it is indeed very prominent. He wasn't lying when he said that. My mouth and core are watering with hunger. I want him so bad.

"Come here." I gesture. Oscar obliges, coming back to the edge of the bed. I reach out behind him, grabbing his ass and reeling him in. His knees hit the edge of the bed and I waste no time getting my mouth all over his cock. "Oh fuck, fuck." Oscar groans. I smirk, flicking my tongue at the veins of his length and at the slit in his glans. "Oh yeah, that's right, suck my cock." He growls. The tone of his voice makes me so wet. It is exactly what I am yearning for.

After a minute or so I move my mouth to his sack. I have never done that before, or felt remotely tempted to do it. But I simply want to drag more hot moans from Oscar's throat. He groans when I put my mouth around one of his balls. His fingers tangle in my hair and drag me off. "Don't, I don't want to cum yet." He pants.

"How about you make me cum instead?" I purr. "Fuck yeah." Oscar smirks.

He grabs me by the hips and drags me to the edge of the bed. He makes quick work of my socks, trousers and boxers. "Holy shit." He growls. "Wh- what?" I stammer. "You glisten so prettily." Oscar murmurs, as he climbs back onto the bed. He lays down on his belly, face between my thighs. I grow a little nervous. I am not good with this part. "Take it slow." I mutter. "I'll try." Oscar replies. "But you just look and smell way too good to hold back." He gusts his breath over my folds. I whimper and my body tries to squirm away, entirely beyond my control. He grabs me firmly by my thighs, pressing me into the sheets.

I do want him to manhandle me like this.

His tongue almost gingerly parts my folds. "Oh … oh!" I moan. Oscar growls lustfully. He laps carefully at my clit. I whimper, my body squirming as much as possible. Which is, argueably, very little. Oscar is very strong. With his thumbs he parts my folds wide. He tastes of my arousal and moans. "You taste so good, baby." He whispers, pressing his tongue into me. I whimper and my body tries to wriggle away on own accord again.

Oscar takes it slow like I asked. Each touch is sweet torture and I am slowly but surely pushed to two inevitiblities. A shattering orgasm and an overstimulation meltdown. Do I want to saddle Oscar with that? It is too late to stop him though, because the tension that has gradually drawn into my muscles, is about to all come unravelled, rapidly.

"Oh gods!" I cry out. Tears roll down my face and I sob as my orgasm utterly overwhelms me. Oscar, obviously startled, sits upright. "Baby… baby." He murmurs, pulling me into his arms, against his chest. My poor overwhelmed core is so close to his cock. I need it to anchor me. But I am still a bit of a sobbing mess.

"Please…" I snuffle.

"What can I do?" Oscar asks. "Fuck me." I mutter feebly. "I just … I need you." I nuzzle into his neck. "Are you sure?" Oscar asks softly. "Yeah." I affirm. He gently lays me down. Sobs are still wracking my body, but it's less gross crying. "I am going to fuck you so good baby." Oscar murmurs. "Please." I whimper.

Without any further ado, Oscar lines up and thrusts into me. "Oh fuck!" I moan loudly. It is exactly what I needed. It feels amazing to be filled up by his cock. He is larger than my ex, but it is like we slot together perfectly. I arch up, leaning my forehead against his. "It's so good." I whisper. "Yes .. yes it is." Oscar agrees breathlessly. He kisses me fiercely, bottoming out in the most delicious way. I am so full of him!

He fucks me so good. It's deep and steady. And the sounds of us are obscene. His groans mingle with my moans and the slapping of his sweaty flesh against mine. "God fuck, this is so good." Oscar grunts. I can only whimper, teetering on the edge of another orgasm. "Harder, please." I whisper. Oscar obliges. He absolutely ploughs me. And by the gods is it exactly what I need. What I have needed for a good long while.

I cum on his cock. And he is swift to follow me into climax.

"Oh god." He gasps, leaning his forehead against my shoulder. His chest is heaving with deep pants. "That was so good." He whispers.

Once his cock grows soft, he retracts. I whine at the loss and watch on as he slowly pulls out of me. The dime drops when I see his bare cock and feel a bit of his seed gush out of me. "Shit.." I hiss. "What?" Oscar, alarmed. "We forgot about a condom.." As I say it, my core gives a little twitch. "Oh fuck." Oscar mutters. He looks down on my gasping core. "You're turned on by it, aren't you?" He whispers. I flush bright red, but nod in confirmation. Oscar swears under his breath. "Look at you getting all horny again at the very fact that I came inside you unprotected. Your nipples are hard as bullets and your pussy is gasping for more." He growls. "You love to be bred, don't you?" He smirks.

I need more of him, now!

"Yes, please breed me." I whimper. I do my best to give him doe eyes. "Fucking hell, I will." Oscar growls. He pushes his cock back inside, already fully hard again. He too is very turned on by it. Even I can see that, clear as day.

He fucks me all over again. While he spews the exact sort of dirty talk I am weak for. It is everything I could have ever dreamt of. That I in fact did dream of. "You like it, huh, getting knocked up." He growls. "Get all round and full with my baby." There is a wicked shimmer in his eyes. "Yes, fuck yes. Oh Oscar, give it to me." I just can't help myself. Oscar swears in response and leans in for a sloppy, greedy kiss. I moan into his mouth and he groans back at me. Oh gods, he'll make me cum again. "More, please." I whimper against his mouth. Oscar obliges. He ploughs me so hard I can only gasp and whimper. Nothing could be better than this.

"Breed me Oscar!" I cry out, as I cum. "Fucking hell!" Oscar replies. "I will baby, I will. I will fucking knock you up." There is something desperate about his voice. "Cum for me Oscar, cum deep inside me, please." I breathe against the shell of his ear. "Fuck!" He growls. And he spends himself inside me again, his pelvis spasming against mine. I curl my fingers into his hair, pressing him down against me as firmly as I can. "Good, good boy." I whisper. Oscar chuckles hoarsely. "Do you like it when I am a good boy?" He asks teasingly. "Only sometimes." I tease back. Oscar chuckles, a warm rich sound. Hearing it makes me all fluttery.

Slowly, Oscar pulls out. I whine at the loss. "Hush hush, if I could stay inside you forever, I would." Oscar murmurs. The statement makes my core clench. Quite a lot of his seed leaks out. "I should help you get cleaned up." He purrs.

He gets up and heads to the bathroom. I pout and gaze after him. Every moment without him beside me is a little lacking. Lacking him. I feel empty, bereft almost. But he is back in a blink. He hands me a washcloth and falls down beside me. "That was phenomenal." He murmurs, kissing my cheek. I mop up the mess, his and mine and chuckle softly. "Yes it was." I agree. Oscar pulls me in his arms. I toss the washcloth out of bed. We're both quiet, still basking in bliss.

Eventually Oscar nods off and begins to snore softly. I lay still in his arms and listen to him. I feel like half a fool. And entirely in love.

#Oscar Isaac #Oscar Isaac x Self #smut under the cut #shameless self indulgence

[northliights]

@spynorth 

What do you get someone  for Christmas that's a little more hey, i like you and a little less I would cut out my heart this very second and lay it at your feet ... ? He's spent weeks agonizing over it, tossing aside decision after decision  - some for being too much, others for being too cheap. The thing he finally settles on leaves a weight in his middle and a lump of fear in the back of his throat and he'll never admit to how his hands shake wrapping it, but the torn paper on one edge and the sloppy knot of ribbon might give it away. When he places it in her hands, it's with a quick flash of a smile that’s belied by the shade of worry in stormy blue eyes.

No more lies, she had said. And he's done his best to follow that wish.

Under the wrapping paper (a simple forest green and gold thing) is an average sized sketch book, brown leather cover with a simple forest setting etched upon the cover. On the first page is a note of sorts, each letter crafted in a careful script as if the writer were hoping his message would stand the test of time. It reads:

Aurora,  I wanted to give you something that stood out from the rest, something as bright in a sea of gray as you are, but every bracelet and necklace seemed like something for any other woman in London. And you're not any other woman, at least not to me. I've spent the last few months trying to explain what you mean to me and I thought maybe this was a great way to try once more - a bit hard to stick my foot in my mouth with a pen isn't it? Though I'm sure I'll find a way. This book is my attempt at saying the things that always seem so impossible to get out without stumbling, the things that I've thought since the first time you've ever looked at me, the things that have nothing to do with how your lips feel against mine or the way I fall asleep at night thinking of you with my first thought in the morning being your name. This is my way of telling you that I see you, Aurora Phillips. I see your smile when you think no one's looking, that flash of vulnerability that you're afraid to show, the tenacity you put into your work... people make jokes about mi5 saving the world, but it's fighters like you that do the real work. The things in this book are what I love about you, what I've noticed from the very beginning, what I've come to learn about you and what I see in you every single day. They will stay true whether you put up with me for a thousand more years or kick me out of your life tomorrow. I hope you use this to remind yourself of the strength we all see when it feels like it’s all for nothing.                          Merry Christmas, pretty girl.                                                                        John  Lucas

The remaining pages are filled with various quotes from poems, literature, plays, famous movies and even some of her own headlines and bits of opinion pieces regarding her articles. Some have been cut and pasted, traced by colored pencil or thin markers to make them stand out while others are simply written in black ink or scrawled in a flourishing script of different colors to create a collage of quotes that still can't quite adequately describe what he thinks of her.

The package resting in her hands feels heavy, not just in physical weight but also with the weight of expectation, of the burden of some sort of deeper meaning that seems to linger upon Lucas’s expressive features as he waits silently for her to unwrap the gift. It makes her a little nervous, if she’s honest - their history has taught her to approach situations like this with caution, that danger can appear when you least expect it and strike like a viper at an exposed underbelly...but in this case the only danger is the potential breaking of a certain spy’s heart if her reaction to his gift is slightly less than what he’s hoping for, her praise not effusive enough to satisfy his need for reassurance. 

It’s a careful web she weaves, one built to protect his feelings from her own slightly less emotional self, knowing that her lack of outward display most certainly doesn’t indicate a lack of appreciation for the gift. 

Taking a deep breath, she begins to peel back the paper that conceals the gift from curious eyes, teeth biting at her bottom lip as the spine of a book is revealed. There are no words printed on it, no identifying marks, so she continues to pull at the wrapping paper until the beautifully crafted sketch book rests in her hands, a puzzling thing that has her raising her gaze to meet his with a question written there that she doesn’t voice aloud. His nod of encouragement is all it takes to get her to open the exquisitely designed cover, scanning the letter on the first page while her teeth sink with greater force into her lower lip, and after a moment she is forced to blink away the moisture that gathers in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over with each word that she reads.

The fight to keep her tears at bay is lost when she turns the pages, taking in what must have been hours - no, days of work, the search for clips and the careful transcription of the snippets of poetry and prose that he’s placed with the utmost care upon each page breaking through that wall she’d built long ago to protect her fragile heart, the obvious evidence of his love spelled out for her in a way that is both beautiful and undeniable. Trembling fingers trace over the pages as if they’re rare and precious things...and to her, they are. 

Finding her voice at last, Aurora looks up from the book, blinking away the blur of tears to focus on his features as he stands waiting for her judgment. “Lucas, I...” she gives a slow shake of her head, a smile breaking through the tears as she clutches the book to her chest. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before. I love it. I...” another pause, this time a thick swallow filling the empty space in her words before her soft voice rises once more. “I love you. Thank you.”

#spynorth #v. modern canon #me? answering Christmas things in the middle of January? #more likely than you think #i hope this is okay baby #and that you can work with it #if you so choose ;-) #i love you <33

[pascalpanic]

Picture Perfect (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Summary: You reflect on a perfect vacation with Marcus.

Warnings: language, talk of flying in planes, mentions of food, implied sexual content and sexual flirting

W/C: 3.6k

A/N: happy Easter loves!!! I really adore this fic and hope you guys do too! It’s part of the Beyond the Sea series I’m writing with the lovely @mandoalorian

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

You never thought you’d see the day when Agent Marcus Pike relaxed for more than a few hours at a time. Luckily, your hand holds three Polaroids, all of them proof of the wonderful week of rest and recharging the two of you just experienced. The plane is leaving now, the islands of Hawaii behind you and endless ocean outside of your plane window. Marcus is snoozing softly, head pressed to your shoulder, and you press a kiss to his beautiful temple. This is the man who holds all of your heart in his hands, and you’ve never been so sure that someone would protect it with their life.

He stirs at the sensation and you chuckle quietly. The roar of the airplane’s pressurized cabin makes everything quieter, and you smile as those brown eyes flutter open. “Just me. Love you. Go back to sleep, babe,” you murmur, and he complies, eyes slipping shut as he nuzzles closer. You look down at your hands again, at the three Polaroids.

The first photo makes you giggle. It was taken the first full day the two of you had in town. Marcus holds a tiny crab in his hands, a look of wonder on his sun-kissed face. He’s shirtless and crouched down, wet sand packed beneath him and patterned swim trunks bringing color to the photo.

The second photo melts your heart. Marcus lies in a hammock in the Polaroid, asleep in the shade. Stripes of light peek through palm fronds, illuminating bits of your boyfriend’s warm body. He wears board shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, his normally gelled hair forming soft waves. The sun you’ve spent your days in lightened it, leaving light brown and even blonde streaks in the top layer. A soft pink covers his nose and cheeks- a result of the sun as well. His ukulele is lying next to him in the hammock.

The third photo makes you tear up at the memory. Two dark silhouettes- one clearly yours and one clearly his- are just outlined against an orange, sunset-colored sky.

-

You and Marcus arrived at your condo late at night, tired after the long flights, both cross-country and then across the Pacific Ocean. You’d flown first-class, Marcus insisting he spoil you. It was comfortable, but the pressure of the cabin made your body ache and your joints swell. It was impossible to sleep, even with him to use as a pillow.

The first morning, Marcus rises late: it’s about 10 A.M. local time, and he sighs as he finds you still snoring next to him. You look so peaceful and sweet that he can’t bring himself to wake you.

For the next half hour, he sits on the condo’s porch, overlooking the water. He smiles softly as the occasional breeze passes through, noticing that the air slowly warms.

When you finally wake, you wander out to find Marcus on the balcony. You gasp in excitement as you see the rushing surf. “Oh my god,” you grin and wrap your arms around him from behind. “It’s so gorgeous.”

“Good morning to you too,” he teases as his hands rest on your arms. “Isn’t it though?” He leans back against you, watching the seagulls play in the splashing water. “How did you sleep?” He asks, still eyeing the sprawling ocean. There’s a small reef a few yards from the shore, shallow enough to walk in.

You notice it too. “Good. Can we make some coffee then go explore those little tidal pools?” You ask excitedly as you point at them, resting your chin atop Marcus’s chocolate-brown bed head.

“Of course,” he chuckles, turning to kiss the side of your face. “It’s the perfect time to get some sun, too. We’ll get our swim gear on.”

You press a soft kiss into the top of his head, smiling contentedly at the ocean and Marcus’s steady breathing beneath your arms.  “I love you,” you practically sing to him, overwhelmed by the happiness of the morning.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” he murmurs back and turns to kiss you softly.

Twenty minutes later, each of you finished with one cup of coffee and changed into your bathing suits, you head down to the water and wade in. You squeal as the cold water laps at your ankles, your pink Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. One hand clutches at the pink plastic, lifting it instinctually to keep it dry. Marcus laughs and takes your free hand, the two of you commenting on the water and the sun as you wander to the rocky shoals a few yards out.

The volcanic rock in front of you is filled with holes and crevices, and it’s teeming with life. Marcus’s eyes widen in excitement as he sees a tiny crab. “Oh my god,” he laughs. “Look at this little guy!”

Walking closer, the crab doesn’t scuttle away. “Oh, do you want to be friends?” Marcus coos, squatting down.

“Careful of the waves, babe,” you remind him, a hand on his spine, between those gorgeously thick shoulder blades. “Don’t wanna get a concussion.”

Marcus shakes his head, absolutely beaming as he scoops up the little crab. “Oh, aren’t you the sweetest thing,” he mumbles to it, admiring its brown shell and tiny claws. “You remind me of that guy from Moana.”

Of course your boyfriend would draw that connection. He mutters the lyrics to Shiny from the movie to the crab as he turns to face you, holding it up. “Look, this is our baby now.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Well, I suppose our child needs a name,” you chuckle, daring to stroke the back of the crab’s shell. It snaps its little claws in return, grabbing at nothing in the air.

“Well, how about the crab from Moana? The Tamatoa?” He asks. The little thing’s claws are clacking rhythmically to some inaudible beat.

“Hmm.” You think about it for a moment, lifting the camera and snapping a photo of Marcus holding the tiny crab. “It’s a snippy little thing. Maybe we should name it Teresa,” you snort, laughing to yourself at your own joke.

Marcus frowns. “No, I like it much more than her. You’re our little Tamatoa, aren’t you?” He coos, holding it up to give it a little kiss on the back of his shell.

Classic, typical Marcus. Giving all of his love with no regard for his own safety. You almost see it in slow motion as the tiny crab snips the tip of Marcus’s nose. “Motherfucker,” he cries at the feeling, setting the crab back down immediately.

It makes you laugh much harder than you should. Leaning onto your boyfriend’s tanning skin, you wheeze out laugh after laugh. He joins you too.

When you both finally settle down and catch your breath, you giggle up at Marcus. “Okay, so that little shit was definitely a Teresa.”

Marcus laughs this time, giving you a brief kiss. “You are the absolute love of my fucking life, baby,” he chuckles and the two of you continue your walk.

-

Marcus has always been an early riser, and you forgot to close the shades last night before you passed out in the ridiculously plush bed. The early sunrise warms Marcus’s face until he wakes. He rolls over with a yawn and a stretch before kissing the side of your face. You grunt. “Hi.”

“Good morning, angel,” Marcus’s soft voice coos to you, an arm snaking around your middle. “The sunrise looks beautiful. Want to see?”

“No,” you frown. “Wanna sleep more.”

Marcus pouts, kissing your forehead. “Baby.”

“Fine,” you groan, the sleep starting to wear off anyway. “Only because I love you so much. And because I love your dick and don’t want it withheld from me this week,” you tease, sitting up and kissing him softly.

“Yeah yeah,” he laughs and stands, wandering over to the large window in the bedroom.

Your eyes widen at the beauty as you see the gorgeous colors of the sky. The sunrise is behind you, but the horizon is still shifting in hue, pinks and purples and oranges with the dark blue slowly fading away. Marcus wraps his arms around you as you stand next to him. “See. This wasn’t so bad to get out of bed for.”

Nodding, you rest your head against his chest. “I suppose it wasn’t. I’ll go make us coffee,” you murmur and press a kiss to his bare pec, giving his ass a light squeeze as you walk past him.

The two of you make your plans for the day over the coffee, discussing your options and ultimately choosing that today would be the perfect day to find a secluded little beach and just relax in the sun. They wouldn’t be hard to find around here: unlike other places you’d been, it seemed like the shore was endlessly beach.

Parking in a free lot, locking your ragtop Jeep behind you, you and Marcus wander down the beach for a while until you find the perfect spot. How did you know? Marcus spotted the perfect marker: a hammock.

Tied between two palm trees, under the shade of the fronds, was a woven hammock. It had no pillows, blankets, no one around and no belongings. Marcus decided it was yours now- or at least for the day.

The white sand is warm beneath your feet, flying out as Marcus chases you. You’d stolen his sunglasses just moments ago and now you’re running. “Get back here!”

“Only if you fuck me right here and right now!” You teasingly call over your shoulder.

Marcus stops, as if he’s considering it. You do too. Then he picks up into a faster run. “There’s too much sand for that, you little shit!”

Giggling, you stop and let Marcus crash into you, his warm body slick from the tanning oil he’d slathered on. You naturally wrap your arms around his neck. Marcus plucks the sunglasses from your head and puts them back on. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Pikey,” you tease and kiss him softly as his arms wrap around your waist. That was the name you’d called him when you first met, when you were young, up-and-coming interns for the FBI.

The two of you wander back, lying on your beach towels for hours and absorbing the warm rays. You and Marcus snack on some packed food, staring out into the ocean and chatting. It’s absolutely perfect.

Marcus is ever the early riser. You’re usually the one to end up taking a nap if the last night of sleep didn’t satisfy you or Marcus woke you up for some godforsaken reason. As he lies next to you, though, you hear a yawn slip from his lips. “Sorry, what was that?” You clarify teasingly.

Marcus scowls. “I get tired too.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh. “Do you want to go cuddle in the hammock?” You ask, and he nods as he sits up.

Marcus is wearing just his board shorts, but there’s a cool breeze in the shade. He tosses on his Hawaiian shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He looks so effortlessly cool, that brown hair starting to get slightly wavy from the salty air. His sunglasses sit just slightly lower on the bridge of his aquiline nose, and it makes you grin. You toss a t-shirt on as well, and you grin as you realize Marcus opens his ukulele case.

“I knew you’d use it,” you grin at him as he settles in the hammock. He’d debated bringing it along, contemplating the hassle, but you’d told him he practically had to- you’re in Hawaii, after all. You scoot in next to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Will you play me a song by Abba?” You ask him softly, the rush of the ocean and the wind filling your ears.

Marcus nods and kisses your forehead before giving the strings a strum to test some chords. He finally starts playing a soft version of Andante Andante, and your eyes slip shut. His voice is so beautiful and soothing, and you can’t help but quietly sing along.

“I’m your music… I’m your song…

Play me time and time again, make me strong…”

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, ever prayed to whatever being up there that you’d meet the right person for you someday. He’s soft and warm and strong. He’s protective but gentle and the most caring man to ever walk the face of the earth.

Marcus starts noodling around on the ukulele, playing some random chords and notes. “I love you so much,” you sigh and snuggle in tighter against him.

He puts down the ukulele and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple gently. “I love you too, baby. So much, endlessly.” He’s so perfectly cozy that you cuddle on top of him, and he welcomes the position. He wraps his arms around your body and kisses your neck.

The two of you stay cuddled up like that, tired from the long day in the sun, for quite a while. Before long, you recognize the different breathing pattern Marcus has slipped into- sleep. Smiling softly, you allow yourself to remain nuzzled into your boyfriend’s body for a while longer.

After some time, you sigh and realize you should probably wake him and return to the condo. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky: not enough to be sunset, but enough to know what’s approaching. Careful not to wake him, you clamber out of the hammock and grin at the image. It’s too perfect.

You grab your Polaroid and snap the photo: Marcus is asleep, sunglasses fallen down his nose, Hawaiian shirt open, ukulele next to him. The hammock sways in the breeze, peeks of light from between palm leaves shining down on him. You giggle when the photo develops and it’s the sound of your laughter that wakes him. “Huh?” He groans, sitting up and losing his balance as he realizes his resting spot is moving.

You walk over on your knees, the sand moving with you and allowing you to do so. You kiss him gently for a moment before breaking away. “You fell asleep, love. It’s just about time to head back to the condo.”

“How long?” He asks groggily, pushing up his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.

“You were only out for about half an hour,” you assure him and rub his arm.

His eyes are still closed but he smiles at that. “I heard you take that Polaroid,” he chuckles, and pulls you in for another kiss that muffles your noise of defeat.

-

Two days later, you can hear Marcus singing along to his music in the shower as you get ready for the evening. Sitting at the vanity in the suite’s luxurious bathroom, you apply your makeup, opting to keep things light. You wear a nice outfit and fidget with your appearance in the mirror, touching little things here and there.

A few minutes later, Marcus wanders out with a towel around his waist, his skin reddened from the hot shower. “Hey. You look… amazing,” he grins as he looks at you, taking in the sight. “I can’t compete.”

You grin and walk closer, putting a hand on his warm skin. “It’s a good thing it’s not a competition,” you tease, faces close together. “You’re going to look wonderful too.” You kiss him softly for a moment before he breaks away to get dressed.

The sun is above the horizon, just about to sink into sunset. Fuck, Marcus thinks to himself as he realizes he needs to move quickly. He puts on the nice outfit he’d picked earlier, messing with his hair in the mirror. Not more than few minutes later, he’s back at your side. “Ready?” He asks.

You nod with a smile. “You hurried.”

Marcus shrugs, pursing his lips and shaking his head. You know that look, you’ve known it since the very first time he did it. He’s terrible at bluffing. Something is hidden behind those eyes. “Just… don’t wanna miss sunset,” he murmurs and kisses you on the cheek, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You’d planned on dinner at a luxurious restaurant located within a fancy hotel, but Marcus insisted that you’d be at the beach for the sunset. When you finally reach the resort, you wander through the gorgeous surroundings until you find the white sand beach in front of you.

Marcus walks with one hand in yours, the other in his pocket. He’s quieter than normal, holding back his remarks about the wildlife and gorgeous architecture of the buildings.

There’s a small gazebo just off the sand, and Marcus walks you up. “Well… surprise,” he chuckles, showing you the little shelter. It’s strung with twinkling lights and white gauze, the ocean’s breeze rippling the fabric. There’s a table with a white cloth covering it, champagne glasses at the ready and flowers sat in the center.

“I thought you said we were eating at the restaurant,” you exclaim but laugh in surprise, setting your purse and Polaroid camera next to the chair.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. “Well, they offered this. How could I choose the restaurant when we could have dinner in our own little private gazebo?” He chuckles. “They won’t start the service for a little while. Want to go walk on the beach a little longer?”

“Marcus,” you coo and take his arm, wrapping both of your arms around it. “You’re the most romantic man on the face of the earth.”

He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. “Only for you. Come on, let’s walk.”

The two of you stroll along, the gorgeous sunset behind the dark and rolling ocean. The breeze rustles Marcus’s hair, and you grin as you see it happen. “This is… amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he mumbles and nudges you with his shoulder, making you stumble to the side and laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

Looking up at him, you breathe out a small laugh. “When have you ever asked first?” You tease him, but you stop when he stops walking.

His hand squeezes yours a little tighter and he moves so you’re no longer standing side-to-side but facing each other. He takes both of your hands. “You know how much I love you. I really can’t imagine you wouldn’t, because I know you love me just the same.”

Your brain flies a mile a minute as he starts talking. It sounds too planned, not at all the spontaneous man your Marcus is and has always been. Wait-

“You are, without a doubt, the best thing in my life. I’ve been burned by love before, but you’re everything I’ve ever needed. You’re the only one who has ever reassured me and calmed me and silenced that endless buzzing of fear in my head. I know you’d never leave me, and I hope you know I’d never leave you.”

“Marcus,” you whisper, and your eyes well with tears as he falls to one knee in the soft sand, his own eyes shimmering with tears.

“And, if it’s alright with you, I want to promise you I’ll never leave you. I want to make it so official that nothing can ever separate us, not time or distance or anything. And I figured the best way to do that is, well… fuck, I messed it up,” he winces.  “I had all the words, I swear-“

“Just ask me the question, baby,” you laugh, the tears falling down your face. You know what’s coming now, as he reaches into his pocket and presents you with a velvet box.

He opens it and inside is the most gorgeous ring you’ve ever seen. It suits you. Of course it does: Marcus knows you better than you know yourself. You can tell when you look into his eyes that no one else ever would or could know you like he does.

He stutters for a moment before you fall to your knees in the sand in front of him. “It’s okay, you know what I’m gonna say,” you say quietly, cupping his face with both hands. “Just… say it. Please.”

He bites his lip then looks into your eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him happily. “Yes, Marcus Pike. I will marry you. I love you so much,” you murmur in between kisses.

“I’m so pathetic,” he laughs as the happy tears trail down both of your faces, him sitting back on his heels and you following suit.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh and hold out your left hand. Marcus takes the ring from the small box and slides it onto your finger, grinning as he notices it fits just right.

Swallowing hard, you laugh at the fact that your makeup must be trailing down your face. Marcus wipes the tears with one large hand, his other cupping yours and admiring the way the ring looks against your skin. He kisses your knuckles and you giggle uncontrollably.

“I get to be Mrs. Pikey now,” you grin and he nods.

“Of course. I mean, if you want to take my name. You don’t have to,” he rushes, shaking his head and blowing a raspberry. “I didn’t even think about that really, just figured that you’d tell me what you wanted first.” His words are a blur of relief, the anxiety fading from his body.

“Marcus,” you laugh softly, your hands cupping his face once more. “It’s okay. Just… relax,” you laugh as one of his hands covers yours, his fingers slotting between yours.

He nods. “I think I finally can now,” he chuckles and kisses you one last time.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @sugarontherims

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike headcanons #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist

[greaterspawnislands]

lead me into the light | emerald duo platonic soulmates

For all the years he has lived, Phil has lived without a soulmate, and as a result, without color. And he's perfectly fine with that.

Then he touches down on a battlefield for fun, and meets the eyes of a total stranger.

And as the world goes from monochromatic to full of color and more beauty than he had ever imagined, Phil knows that everything is going to change.

(But a mortal's life is only so short, after all.)

|||

My twitter account voted a series of polls to decide what fic I was gonna write, and they decided on an emerald duo platonic soulmates au fic that was angst with a happy ending ! Link will be in the notes, but here’s a bit of the start to get you into it!

|||

There are a few constants that Phil holds in his life, has always held, and will always hold.

The first, the most glaring, is the centuries that stretch far back in his past and the ones that he approaches in the present. It is the fact that he cannot die from old age or from hunger or from thirst, that it is only by injury that he could possibly be taken down for good.

The second is his lifestyle. Always a traveler, never with a permanent home. For fear of being targeted, or not wanting to cause that kind of disturbance, and because Phil truly desires to wander the world on his own terms, he travels. Visits every city and explores every nook and cranny of it as it changes over the months and years and decades. He visits fields where he spilled blood and watches others spill blood in that very spot a few years later. He carves out temporary places, favored nooks to fish in and well-loved corners of libraries or especially nice inns, but he never lingers around others who might question his unaging face.

And the third is the grayscale in which he sees the world, shades of black and white and everything in between, the only hues he’ll ever lay eyes upon.

(Soulmates are rare. They are not a common thing, they are often considered blessings by the gods to live your life devoid of color, the trials and tribulations to find your other half.)

(Phil has met quite a few gods, in his time of wandering. That’s just straight bullshit.)

He’s lived decades upon decades without a soulmate, and is perfectly content to keep living without one. Where others find agony in not being able to separate the color of the leaves in autumn, Phil has long since made his peace in seeking out the beauty of the world in other ways. The speckled patterns of a newborn fawn in spring. Waves darkening the shade of the sand upon an ocean. The way his lover’s hair seemed to melt into the endless night sky.

(Gods are exempt from the concept of soulmates, and Death had no answers for Phil when he asked her why he had been cursed to live like this, nor could she bring his sight into full color, even with all her otherworldly abilities.)

(“Maybe there is someone out there,” she said to him one night as he rested against her shoulder, looking up at the star-studded sky from where they sat within the earth. “And you just haven’t found them yet.”)

(“I don’t think I need to find anyone else, honestly,” he replied, turning to look at her. She was a thousand times more dazzling than any sky could behold on its own. “You’re all I need, I’m not letting this kind of stuff stop me from living my life any longer.”)

Their visits were infrequent, but time means nothing to a god and a human whose chances of death are slim as long as he keeps himself out of trouble.

Phil’s wings flare out as he touches down on a battlefield stained with darker shades of gray, determined to find go and find some trouble, if only because this past year has been incredibly boring otherwise.

“My name is Philza,” he introduces himself to the general of the army, hand raising in a salute that had definitely been appropriate last time he was on a battlefield, and he doesn’t really care much whether it still holds up. He takes his hat off as well, holding the striped material against his chest. “And I’m here to help, if you’ll have me.”

His reputation, that of the Angel of Death, precedes him. For all his intentions to keep away from sticking around civilians as they aged, wars and skirmishes would always be an exception.

It was a secret sort of thrill, to throw himself into the fray of a conflict he would hardly remember by the next one. To release the fearlity that he kept tightly wound up inside him, to splatter blood on a blade and sink arrow after arrow through the eyes of assailants. Nevertheless, the legends of his help follow him wherever he goes, and the look of relief on the general’s face says enough on that matter.

A night’s rest later, he’s led across the loosely set up encampment to one of the larger tents. As he walks, Phil tips his head up to gaze at the sky. There was no smooth texture, instead fuzzy clouds crowd the sky, and Phil tilts his head, noting the approaching rain.

Once inside the tent, the general nods at him, speaking before Phil can even courteously extend a greeting.

“We’re going to have you take command of the Red Snakes force, over here.” The general indicates to the map spread out on the table between them, pointing to a marker that Phil notices has a small symbol carved into it. It’s a small squiggle, barely noticeable, but it stands out against the other symbols carved into the various markers that Phil gathers to represent the different sub-forces that this general is commanding.

It’s helpful primarily, though no one knows of his own color-absence, he does appreciate the carved symbols. As an afterthought, it’s interesting. He wonders who else is color-absent this high up in the commanding forces. A rare thing, to be sure, not that he’ll bother to interact with them for that reason. He’s here to help spill some blood, not hear some poor sap moan about how they feel they’ll die on the battlefield before meeting their soulmate.

Phil’s eyes snap from the squiggly symbol back to the general’s words, tuning in mid-sentence. He’s definitely missed some information that was probably crucial, but he’ll get somebody else to relay it to him later. For now—

“Your co-commander already knows this, of course, but I figured I would inform you separately so you were up to date on our intel before you began discussing the best course of action.”

“Sorry, my who?” Phil blurts, brow furrowing, heart sinking a little.

“You’ll be co-leading this group, at least for now.”

Phil lightly bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face schooled appropriately. He knows what this is. It’s a nicely phrased term to cover up the fact that he’s being babysat because they don’t trust him with their armies, so they’ve appointed another commander to watch over him.

On one hand, it’s fucking annoying to be watched like that. On the other hand, that does mean Phil can totally push all the actual commanding duties off to the other guy while he buggers off to do what he pleases. Maybe this won’t be too bad after all, honestly, it depends whether he gets some kind of suck up as a co-commander or not.

“Commander Technoblade has shown great leadership prowess in recent skirmishes, so it was determined that he could take up control of a new force until your support and guidance,” the general continues, and Phil’s heart sinks further.

Oh, gods, they think he’s some kind of trainer, some kind of mentor to a kid who’s been handed too much responsibility for his age and will die in a week. Not this shit again. “Sounds great,” he lies through his teeth. “When do I meet him?”

There’s a soft knocking against the flap of the tent, and the general lifts a hand. “That’ll be him. You can come in, Technoblade.”

“Yes sir,” a deep voice intones. There a shuffling of fabric just as Phil turns to greet whoever this guy is, and—

And his vision explodes with—

Everything is so bright, even brighter than the white gleam of the sun in his eyes. Phil blinks furiously as what he’s certain is color blooms across his vision, spreading outward until there’s nowhere he can look to escape from the blinding, unfamiliar hues. Gone is the subtle change of shade between the grass at his feet and the canvas walls of the tent. They’re two entirely different colors now, unrecognizable in this state.

#technoblade #philza #emerald duo #dream smp #technoblade fanfic #philza fanfiction #emerald duo fanfiction #antarctic empire #hhh.writing #my writing

[feminaexlux]

Branded

It’s the @lukanette-exchange fic! After a long while it’s here!! @kingsglaivian I hope you enjoy! Also thanks to LBSC and @quickspinner in particular for finding the cool soulmark prompt lol

I am super, super excited to share this with you!

Original prompts: “childhood friends AU, soulmate AU, and an AU of the exchangee's choice.”

∴

It’d been just a few minutes after they first met when she first wrote her name on him.

She had come closer and stared over his shoulder when she saw he’d been drawing something. Was it a drawing? It looked like he had been drawing circles on a bunch of lines. Oh, Maman had showed her how music was written, it was music! “Hi! Are you drawing music?” She had asked cheerfully.

The boy had startled, apparently not having seen Marinette earlier. His pencil had marked across the entire page. “Aah!”

“Oh no!” Marinette whined. “You messed up!”

“Y-you made me do that,” he frowned. “You scared me.”

“Are you drawing music?” Marinette continued asking.

“Oh, yeah, yeah I am,” he said, turning the pencil around and erasing the errant mark. “I think about music all the time.”

“So what does that mean?” she asked, poking at his paper.

“That’s uh… that's…” he thought a bit. “I think that’s D and the next one is F and another D but this one’s higher. It’s a song from a video game.”

“You play video games?! Papa and I play games too!”

They talked back and forth about a bunch of different little things and he completely forgot what he’d been doing. Then it got to the point where Marinette had pulled out one of her markers and started writing her name on his arm. “– and if stays tomorrow it means you found your true love!” Marinette smiled up at the boy she’d been talking to. He looked like he was a few years older. Maybe he was even 10? Maybe he was younger, he looked really kinda small to be 10.

She was at the playground next to her family’s bakery. She’d been running around and playing with a few other kids there, but she saw this one boy sitting by a tree in the shade. He looked like he was alone and Marinette wondered if he’d been bullied. She knew what that was like, even at the tender age of 5. But it was easy to talk to this boy, he was much less Crazy Mean Boy than Kim was. He was more like Nino! And Nino was nice.

“Is that your name?” the boy asked, staring at her neatly written letters. “Marinette?”

“Yeah!”

“So if it stays tomorrow you’re my true love?” He asked, confused. “Mom told me that writing names on other people is bad… But why?”

“Maman and Papa have their names on each other’s arms,” Marinette said. “It’s not bad! Oh but you have to draw over it ‘cause it’s important that you do it,” Marinette added.

“Why?”

“It’s important,” she clarified. It looked like he was going to keep asking why until his mom called out.

“Ay laddie, it’s time to go,” a lady with a long braid said in their general direction. She had a girl on her hip and was walking over to the boy. “Why hello there lass, are ye makin’ friends with me boy?”

“I’m Marinette,” she said up to the lady. She wasn’t Lass, she wanted to say.

Marinette saw the boy quickly pull down his sleeves from his hoodie to hide her name. “Itwasnicetomeetyoubye,” he said quickly, before Marinette could whine about him hiding her name. He ran away to hold onto his mom’s hand. “Let’s go mom,” he continued, pulling his mom away in a slightly embarrassed fashion.

“Don’t ye want to say farewell? We won’t be ashore fer a while son.” Well, she didn’t know at the time he had wanted to run away and hide so the nice new girl wouldn’t be weirded out by his mom like most people were.

“See you tomorrow!” Marinette yelled after him.

She didn’t.

∴

It’d been just a few days after they first met.

Luka scrubbed and scrubbed at the M on his wrist but it wasn’t coming out. He’d scrubbed himself raw at the sink, his flesh feeling tender and his skin close to bleeding. He’d written over the girl’s marker with a pen a few days ago, idly curious if the mark would stay. At least he’d written over just the M, thinking about the nice girl who’d been curious about him.

“Luka?” He heard his mom call out. No, no, no. It wasn’t coming out and his mom would see it and she’d freak out and he’d have to make an excuse or find some of her makeup or something. He’d been told to take off his hoodie by… that man and so he ran back to the bathroom to try to do something about the M on his wrist.

Anarka opened the door. “Luka, my boy what are ye–” Oh no oh no she saw the mark. He put his hands back in the sink and kept scrubbing, starting to cry. “Luka what…” His mom started, initially alarmed and then… and then she came over to hug him.

“Mom what do I do?” He cried. “It’s not coming out!”

“Who'd… no, it doesn’t matter. Luka stop doing that, it’s not going to come out. It doesn’t, lad.” His mom took his hands from the sink and started to dry them. “It stays no matter how hard ye try to get rid o’ it.” She spoke to him with the rare moment of solemnity. “Ye'e been Branded, and there’s nothin we can do about it.”

“I don’t wanna be Branded!” he wailed.

In a quiet, heated hiss Anarka whispered “This is why I told ye to never write names on yerself!” She looked at her son crying and sighed, shaking her head. Luka would realize later she’d been more disappointed in herself that she’d let him get Branded like he did. She thought she warned him, but how could she blame him for something no one ever thought would happen at 7 years old?

Who finds their soulmate at 7?

But it’d be a shackle for the rest of his life. Luka would grow up wondering if this M would ever be part of his life again, whether M would even want to be his partner. If he did find someone else to be his partner, they’d wonder if they’d ever be loved like whoever this M was. “Here,” Anarka sighed. “Ye can’t get rid of that Luka. But ye can cover it. Forget about it now, lad,” she said gently, taking off the wide leather cuff she had on that had covered her own Brand. “This 'ere’s yers now. I’ll get ye all freshened up. Granpa’s waitin for us,” Anarka said, pasting on a fake smile.

Luka hated that man. He was angry and hateful and mean, but Anarka had wanted to see her own Ma again, to have her Ma help guide Anarka in the raising of two children Anarka never originally planned to have. Granma was nice. But Granpa? No. Luka swore to himself he’d never be like Granpa.

His mom put the cuff around Luka’s Brand, looping twice to fit the small wrist better. “All covered up now. Is that fitting, Luka?” He nodded, staring at the “S” on his mom’s wrist.

“Was… that dad?” Luka asked, pointing at the Brand.

Anarka laughed. “It stands for Scotland,” she said lightly. “It stands for the Sea. It’s not yer da, no,” Anarka lied.

∴

It’d been a few weeks since Marinette met Adrien Agreste.

She’d been convinced Adrien was her True Love, and was continually disappointed every morning when his name disappeared off of her arm. “Tikki, it disappeared again,” Marinette sighed.

Tikki shrugged. “Maybe he’s not ready?” The Kwami had seen this before. The Brands were a form of magic that humans had that linked two souls together, signaling that they’d found their soul’s mate. A person would have to write another’s True Name on themselves somewhere, and it would disappear at sunrise if it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes, though, it depended on if the other person was even capable of loving back. A Brand that had disappeared earlier might “take” later, when the soulmate was ready.

Tikki wasn’t sure if it was a good thing for Marinette that Adrien wasn’t capable of loving Marinette back yet. Maybe Adrien had a different name? The kwami wasn’t going to put forth the suggestion that it might not be Adrien at all. Marinette seemed convinced, and Tikki knew better than to doubt her bearers.

Marinette’s parents proudly wore the names they had on their arms, a very simple “Tom” on Sabine’s wrist and a beautifully formed script of “Sabine” scrawled across Tom’s massive forearm. Of course it simply encouraged Marinette into writing several names on her own arms throughout the years, even if most people found writing names on themselves taboo.

Recently, though, it’d just been Adrien’s.

None of the attempts ever stuck.

“It’ll happen one day!” Tikki said cheerfully. “I believe that you’ll find your soulmate one day. But right now you should get ready for school!”

∴

It’d been a few months after Juleka showed him that the picture curse was broken that he met the girl that’d been able to break it.

“I’m Ma-ma-ma-Marinette!”

He’d laughed a little and it hurt her feelings. Good job, Luka, that was a great first impression. Luckily he was able to apologize and smooth it over.

It tickled him, just a little bit, that he’d met another “M” in his life that he actually ended up liking. He ended up liking her a whole lot, which… ultimately kinda sucked because she’d been interested in someone else. Well, that was alright. He’d been used to the idea that he’d never find “the one” since he technically already had and lost them so many years ago.

But this one? This “M”? She was pretty cool and he found himself more interested than he’d ever been in anyone before.

There’d been one other “M” in his life a couple of years ago before his mom decided to move them all back to France, and Paris in particular. Her name had been Meryl and she was a pretty awesome girl, but she’d been several years older and already in University. She’d still given Luka some attention though, apparently finding it cute that she had a boy doting on her like he did. She was nice and she said he’d look good with some blue in his hair, and it’d been the last thing she said to him before she found herself her own soulmate. It hadn’t been Luka, of course.

He’d gotten into a fight with Granpa over his hair after Luka had dyed it. Juleka joined him by dying her hair purple. Anarka had finally had enough of her and her kids being put down and said she was going to go back “home”. It’d been a hard conversation with Granpa, but after Granma had passed Anarka and her kids had little reason to stick around in their Scottish family house. Anarka’s little wildlings were less little, and Juleka and Luka were both in their tweens to teens, largely old enough to handle themselves now.

Anarka had found some nearly-derelict fishing barge and spent a few weeks with her kids fixing up the ship, making it their new house, and they left Scotland as soon as they could. She sailed the newly christened Liberty back into Parisian waters, claiming the Seine as her new home. She gave a little wink to Luka, a nod to the new “S” in Anarka’s life that her Brand now represented.

It’d been good to see his mom coming back into her old self, the wild, chaotic, free spirit that she’d always been. He was no longer embarrassed of her like he’d been so many years ago. And he had to be honest to himself, the boat wasn’t the first choice he’d make in having a place to come home to, but something about Paris just felt right.

Juleka had been feeling better too. The younger Couffaines had been under their Granpa’s oppressive shadow for too long. And now they were slowly discovering more of themselves over time.

Rose was one of the first friends Juleka had made after coming back to Paris a few years ago, and they were “best friends” since. Today, Juleka showed him a neatly written “Rose” in a flourishing script on the back of her right hand. Juleka apparently hadn’t minded getting the Brand at all. “Marinette did this too,” Juleka smiled. “She’s been drawing names for people who ask. It’s so cool,” Juleka mumbled.

“She’s amazing,” Luka said out loud. Jules gave him a look and even he couldn’t figure out what it meant. “What?”

“She’s got eyes on Adrien, you know.”

“I’ve heard your schemes, I know.”

“I’m on team Adrienette.”

“Alright.”

“She deserves to be happy.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’d be weird if you two dated, anyway.”

“But we’re not dating. She doesn’t seem to notice me.”

Jules frowned at that and grumbled something that sounded to Luka like “she notices and it’s weird.”

He thought to himself, Not where it matters.

∴

It’d been a year since Adrien lost his mother, and Marinette finally said the words “I love you” to him.

Yes, it was a video recording and yes, Felix had apparently gone through and deleted it before Adrien ever got to see it, but she’d done it! She’d done the thing! She could do it again! It had to be easier the second time, right? The second… time.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. It’d been nearly a full year of her attempting Adrien’s name on her arm, and nothing changed. She’d stayed up and watched it fade out when the sunlight hit it during a few fitful mornings. She wrote his name so often it stopped looking like a word and more like a familiar pattern. Just shapes and no meaning.

Marinette had tried out a few different names over the year as well, just so she’d be certain… in a slightly unsettling way. She kept it discreet, writing on her ankle or in another place easy to cover up in case it was… taking. She’d written “Nathaniel”, once. It disappeared. She’d written “Chat Noir” and nearly sighed in relief (and maybe deep down in slight surprise) when it disappeared. Not that it was his real name anyway.

She’d secretly tried “Nino” once, even though he and Alya had gotten together. It hadn’t stuck. Nino and Alya hadn’t asked for Marinette to write each other’s names down, and maybe… maybe that was actually healthy? Like they didn’t need any external validation in order to really enjoy time spent with each other.

There might have been a lesson in that.

She tried “Kim” and “Wayhem” and “Theo”, even though the last one kinda creeped her out a bit. She tried “Kagami.” Nothing stuck.

There was still one name she hadn’t tried but… but she’d been absolutely terrified of it. Luka had more or less admitted to the world at large that he loved her after he’d gotten akumatized. There’d been genuine affection that was unfiltered, unbiased, uninfluenced by whatever the magic was that made names stay on people. He didn’t seem to mind that she was so, so into Adrien. Even if she wasn’t his soulmate, he’d love her.

S-So she’d be able to do that for Adrien! Yes, that made sense. Yes, that soulmate stuff was all kid fantasy anyway. Even if it was demonstratively real.

But if Adrien found his soulmate and it wasn’t Marinette… what was she supposed to do? Just step out of the way?

∴

It’d been a decade since Marinette and Luka first met except neither remembered that first time when they were young children, even if they’d been in the same place: the park nearby the bakery.

He’d held onto her as she broke down crying about the heartbreak and how tired she was. Luka told her he’d listen and be there and hadn’t lied about any of it. It was why she chose to sit next to him after letting her infatuation go and stepping out of the way for Kagami, watching Adrien and Kagami have their Sweetheart’s ice cream together like it was always meant to be Adrien and Kagami instead of Adrien and Marinette.

Marinette chose to sit next to Luka instead of going home.

She went to bed that night deciding that the whole names and soulmates and True Love thing was just a big huge distraction from what she really needed to focus on, which was getting through school, defeating Hawkmoth, and getting her name out there as an up and coming Fashion Designer!

It lasted all of 3 days until she finally gave into her curiosity and wrote an L in the crook of her left arm before going to bed. She really had meant to write out the rest of his name, but then her phone buzzed and there’d been an akuma alert. She sighed and rolled into action.

Her Lucky Charm gave her a guitar pick. That was a little too on-the-nose, Tikki? Ladybug zipped over to the Liberty, somehow not surprised that Luka was still up and leaning against the Liberty to overlook the Seine, looking cool and thoughtful. Actually, scratch that. He looked a little haggard and worried, and he’d been expecting to see Ladybug. Well, at least it meant she didn’t have to go in and wake him up.

“… you must return the Miraculous after…” Ladybug trailed off, noticing as Luka reached out to take the bracelet that he hadn’t been wearing any of the normal… accessories he chose to wear most of the time, most notably the leather cuff he usually had on. Something bothered her and she caught his hand before he touched the bracelet. She turned his right hand over and looked at the pen mark on his wrist. “Is that an M or an E?”

Luka pulled back his hand immediately, embarrassed. “An… M,” he said reluctantly.

Then Ladybug remembered it’d been incredibly rude of her to ask. “Oh, I’m so sorry I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It's… been 10 years since I got that, I don’t even remember much about it,” he shrugged.

Ladybug smiled, biting back a sudden urge to scream, and offered Luka the snake Miraculous again. “If you agree… I’d like your help, Luka.”

Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Viperion were able to save the night and have everyone able to go to bed on time. She picked the Miraculous back up from Viperion, who seemed to be confused the akuma victim wasn’t who he’d expected it to be. “Anything wrong, Luka?”

“No… no, I’m glad I was able to help. I’m okay,” he said, clearly still a bit frazzled. Ladybug furrowed her eyebrows at him and he eventually sighed. “I guess I’m worried about a… friend. She’d been going through a lot so I’d been… I’d been waiting to see if she’d either call me or… or God, I don’t know,” he laughed, a little bit in disbelief. “I almost thought she’d been akumatized tonight. I’m so glad it wasn’t her. But it kinda makes me feel like crap for even thinking that.”

“It’s kind to be worried about your friend. W-Which friend by the way?” Ladybug asked. “I could pay her a visit if you’d like?”

“I don’t know if she’d appreciate that, actually,” he sighed. “She can kill me later if she wants, but yeah it’d be great if you’d check up on her. It’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Instead of being worried that Luka was worried over her, she asked “Is she your M?” Ladybug got blindsided by her own question, but she only felt the impact and implication after she asked it. “Oh no, no, I’m so sorry I’ve been so rude.”

He blew out a breath. “I wish,” he mumbled. “I don’t know,” he said, his tiredness making him slightly more obvious about being miserable. “I guess I could know for sure by writing out her name.” That was said like he had been convinced it’d disappear…

“I’m pretty good at writing out names. If you want I could write… the rest of her name out on your arm?” Ladybug offered impulsively.

“… Sure,” he agreed. He watched her as she grabbed a nearby marker and wrote out Marinette on his arm. “Wow, that… looks pretty dead on to her signature.”

“Pfft,” Ladybug laughed. “That’d be the worst identity reveal ever. Marinette’s signed a few things for me too, I’ll have you know.”

“You might have a future in crime with your forging skills if you ever decide to stop being a hero,” Luka chuckled.

“I’ll stick to saving Paris, don’t worry,” Ladybug giggled. “You do have to write over it yourself if you want it to stay. I mean… if she is… you know…”

Luka nodded. “I know. Probably a long shot. Thanks,” he said.

“I’ll check up on her. Thank you for caring, Luka,” Ladybug smiled. “And you know, I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” she said quietly, biting her lip while tapping his arm. “I’ll be off. Have a good night, 'Bug out!”

Ladybug landed in her bed and detransformed. Tikki floated back to her little nesting spot while the kwami watched Marinette pull out her phone.

hey luka just got a visit from LB! thanks for thinking of me

Marinette looked down into the crook of her arm, grabbing a marker and filling out the rest of Luka’s name. She’d recognized that M on his arm.

Had it really been 10 years when she first met him? It was kind of funny that she didn’t remember until now. He hadn’t given his name back then but she remembered the disappointment the next day when her new friend didn’t show.

Had it really been a whole year of writing… the wrong name on herself?

It’d been months since Luka told her she’d been the melody in his head. Months.

And she had spent a week in heartbreak over the wrong boy.

It’d just been a few days since she decided she was going to let Adrien go. And she found her soulmate after that? How lucky was she? Marinette looked up at the sleeping Tikki and squinted suspiciously. Maybe she was Lucky™, except that she had apparently met Luka when she was 5.

Marinette stared at her phone, watching the minutes go by. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

The sun rose after an agonizingly boring time of rolling back and forth in her bed, too excited to go to sleep but too tired to do anything productive. She kept checking the name on her arm and it’d still been there all throughout the night, but now at first light… she was… scared. She closed her eyes and covered her head with her pillow, half dreading what she’d see if she looked down at her left arm where she wrote his name.

“It’ll be there,” she said to herself, feeling more certain of that than anything. The warmth of sunlight hit her left arm. She lifted the pillow off of her face but kept her eyes closed. Slowly she opened one eye.

His name was still there. “It’s you,” she whispered, feeling the tears fall from her eyes.

She launched herself out of bed, turning into a little hurricane of activity. She threw her jacket on and ran downstairs, kissing her Maman and Papa on the cheek and telling them she’d be out for a while. They’d been too surprised to see her up at the crack of dawn to complain much, just insisting that she take her phone with her and that she wear proper shoes.

She ran down to the subway entrance and guessed the nearest station where Liberty would be moored, taking the subway train there. She emerged from an entrance about 10 minutes later, ignoring the confused looks the other commuters shot her since she’d been a mess of pigtails and pajamas. She ran toward the Liberty, climbed up and leapt over the railing onto the ship when she saw that the gangplank wasn’t extended.

“Marinette!” she heard Luka’s alarmed shout. She knew he’d be up. She knew it! He ran over to her. “What the heck–” He’d been wearing a different hoodie, a long sleeved one that covered up both his arms. She frowned at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“S-So are you! And you’re-you’re here? What’s wrong?” His voice had dropped from a high pitched panic to his deeper, concerned tone in the span of two words.

She took off her jacket and extended her left arm. She saw him flush but start pulling up his hoodie from the hem, taking it off and tossing it aside. He turned his right palm up to show her the name written across his forearm.

Their names had stayed. He breathed out. “Did Ladyb–” She cut him off, her hands on either side of his face to pull him down, planting a kiss on his lips. They pulled back a second after, looking at one another in surprise.

“It’s you,” she said, resting her forehead against his shoulder. To be honest she’d been embarrassed that she’d just kissed him in the disheveled state she was in, having left to see him as soon as she got out of bed, but she felt giddy and… right.

He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her to hug her tight. “And… it’s you.”

#marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #lukanette endgame #soulmarks #fxl fic #lukanette exchange 2020 #lukanette #endgame lukanette

[maandags]

What if Ben NEVER DIED and actually is crushing on the cute short chubby cashier from the store he visits almost every time and Klaus KNOWS. And tries to set them up?

“we need grapes,” Klaus declares. 

Ben sends him a strange look. “and why, pray tell, do we need grapes?”

“I just... I just feel it. I’m, like, craving grapes.”

“there’s a difference between you wanting grapes and us needing grapes.”

Klaus rolls his eyes, shoving Ben’s shoulder. He pokes out his tongue. “right, mom.”

shaking his head, Ben opens his mouth to tell his brother that if he wants grapes so bad, he should just go buy some, be my guest -- but then he realises where he is. and his eyes land on the sign a street away. “actually, you know what,” he says, “we can go get you some grapes.”

Klaus’ eyes immediately narrow. “that was fast. are you... are you sure?”

“better grapes than crack, mate.”

Klaus shrugs, and follows Ben as he bee-lines for the store entrance.

the tinkle as he swings the door open causes Ben’s stomach to flip. not uncomfortably, per sé. it’s more of a flip that says, oh god, here we go again. like the nerves that course through one’s system when just moments away from the very peak of a roller coaster; preparing for the excitement of the drop.

his eyes are immediately drawn to the registers, checking if you’re working (he knows you are -- or at least are supposed to be. he’s been to this store an embarrassing amount of times. he knows.) and only experiencing more stomach flips when this is in fact the case. Klaus, thankfully, is completely absorbed by the concept of grapes, and has already sailed towards the fruit stands.

he hasn’t even properly looked at you today yet. he just saw you were behind the register, and then walked off. it’s kind of weird, knowing you’re just a few steps away from him, and he’s known you for months -- and yet you don’t even know his name.

“green or purple?” 

“green,” he says mindlessly, craning his neck to get another glimpse of you over the line of people waiting to finalise their purchases.

“but I prefer purple.”

“then get purple ones, Klaus.”

“but you said green.”

Ben sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “what about both?”

Klaus grins. “excellent idea, brother dear.”

“anything else?”

he puckers his lips in thought. “I’ll get some tic tacs. at the register.”

“cool, then. let’s go.”

he looks awful, too. he’s wearing old jeans and an even older t-shirt. Ben looks down, plucking at the hem. it’s got holes in it, for Christ’s sake. not that he would dress up to go to the grocery store just because you happen to work there, but it would certainly not hurt if you saw him looking nicer than... whatever he has going on right now.

Klaus elbows him. “dude. that line is way shorter.” he points to the right, where there is in fact a way shorter line, counting maybe three people less than the one they’re currently standing in. 

Ben immediately goes red. “I mean -- does it matter?”

Klaus snorts. “no. I just thought it’d be quicker.” he narrows his eyes. “... does it matter to you?”

“no,” Ben lies, way too quickly. “no, I mean, it’s no big deal --” but then he makes the fatal mistake of nervously looking over at you. and, by some fucking miracle caused by some God above, you look at him, and his eyes meet yours for the briefest of seconds. recognition flashes in them, and you give him a polite smile before going back to the customer you’re currently helping along.

Klaus’ eyes narrow even further. “oh.” he looks over at you as well, standing on his tippy toes to get a good look. “oh. I see.”

Ben drops his face in his hands, groaning. “no, Klaus. please. do not. don’t.”

“Ben has a crush.”

“I said do not,” he hisses, glaring at his brother through his fingers, trying in vain to hide his red cheeks.

“oh, come on,” Klaus tuts. “have a little faith in me.”

“if you try anything. if you do anything. I will end you. you won’t even see me coming.”

“I love you too, Ben.” he snatches a box of tic tacs, and Ben shakes his head, shuffling a few steps forward in the line.

“good afternoon, sir,” you say, and Ben immediately loses all chill he might have had walking into the store. 

he nods. “hi.” that’s so lame. he should say something else, shouldn’t he? but you’ve already reached for the bag of grapes on the conveyor belt, and Ben internally curses – he should have grabbed some other stuff as well, just so he could have a little bit longer to try and figure out just what to say to you – 

“hm.” you frown. “that’s strange. it doesn’t seem to be picking up the – uh.” you glance down at the box of tic tacs in your hand. “I’ll just switch this out for you –” 

but as soon as you look up, sending a nervous (but fucking adorable) smile his way, Klaus jumps up, leaning around the belt and snatching the box from your hands. “no, no, none of that! here, I’ll read the number out for you.” 

Ben looks at his brother, jaw slack. “what are you –”

but Klaus, unstoppable force, starts rattling off the number, and you scramble to punch it in. after the first few numbers, though, Ben narrows his eyes, and then he looks at the box in Klaus’ hands – the box he isn’t even looking at, at this point, and snatches it from his hands. his face is probably the shade of a tomato.

“dude.” he whacks him on the back of the head. “what the fuck do you think you’re – why are you giving my number –” he smiles at you, though it feels forced and slightly manic, and confusion is rapidly mounting in your expression. “I’m so sorry for my idiot brother. I’ll just grab a new one of these.” you smile back at him, a little nervously.

“Klaus. Klaus. why,” he groans, running a hand down his face, trying in vain to hide the redness of his cheeks and ears. 

“I’m scoring you a date. let me handle this.” 

“absolutely not. you say another word and I’ll kill you in your sleep.” he glares, picking up another tic tac box at random and plopping it on the conveyor belt.

you’re looking at him, your own cheeks bearing a faint tinge of pink, nibbling on your bottom lip as you scan the box. then, to his surprise, scribble something on the surface of it. hands it back to him. “that’ll be four ninety-five.”

Ben pays, then goes to pick up the box – Klaus has already made off with the bag of grapes – and freezes. in black permanent marker, you’ve written what can only be a phone number – and a name.

you grin again, rubbing the side of your nose. “I’m – uh – off all weekend. so, you know. if you have time, or anything.”

“oh.” Ben’s eyes are still wide. every time he thinks he can’t possibly get any redder… “um, cool. yeah. I am also free all weekend. uh. I will. text you?”

you clasp your hands together. “I look forward to it.”

“okay. um, me too.”

“okay.”

“yeah.” 

he smiles, sticks the tic tac box in his pocket. “alright.”

as he starts to turn around, you call after him, “what’s your name?”

fucking moron. “it’s, uh, Ben.”

you chuckle. “okay. Ben. I’ll see you around.”

“yeah.” he gives an awkward wave, regretting the motion almost immediately. you grin, wave back. Ben closes his eyes and smacks himself in the face as soon as he knows he’s out of sight.

Klaus laughs. “there we go. fuckin’ Casanova.”

“I hope you choke on a grape.” 

Klaus’ giggles follow them all the way home.

#i simp........ for him #also this request is so old. so old. im so sorry #request #tua request #ben hargreeves x reader

[imagine-docx]

colour spectrum.

Summary: You can only see in black and white, but the moment you meet your soulmate you can see colour. What happens when you’ve been able to see colour all your life and can’t recall who’s your soulmate? [bestfriend!soulmate!au]

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: i’m back with yet another fic, hope everyone is doing well! I also hope everyone is doing their share by signing petitions and contributing to the black lives matters movement - Amanda 💛

»»————-　➴　————-««

The concept of soulmates has existed since the dawn of time. You only see black and white until you meet your soulmate. After your 16th birthday, you could see the entire colour spectrum once you met your soulmate, but if you didn’t keep in contact with your soulmate, you would lose your ability to see colour until you met again. 

Your problem was that you could see the entire colour spectrum, since the moment you turned 16. Your parents explained the colour spectrum the night before your 16th birthday, and when you woke up the next day, your life was filled with vivid colours. 

Anytime anyone would ask if you could see colours, you passed it off as you couldn’t and were waiting until you met the right person. But in reality, you were now 25, and you were trying to figure out who your soulmate could possibly be.

“Are you sure you can’t see colour?” Arthur poked at your side.

“I swear to god, the amount of times you’ve asked me this question is astronomical. The answer will remain the same, which is no,” you lied. Over the years you’ve perfected the acting and no one could tell you were lying.

Arthur laid down on the couch behind you, as you sat on the floor overlooking a file for work. “I came to spend time with my best friend, yet you’re paying more attention to that stupid file,” he whined.

Best friend. How you hated that word to describe your relationship with Arthur Curry. You two had been friends since you met in a playground when you were five, and here you were twenty years later, but with the fattest crush you could ever have on someone. Someone who has a soulmate, might you add. 

“Are you paying the bills?” You asked, adding notes to the margin.

“No-”

“Then you aren’t allowed to talk,” you said, underlining something in the document.

You pulled your hair up into a bun to get it out of your face, and got back to work. You suddenly felt a shiver down your spine as Arthur’s fingertips trace the back of your neck. “That’s a nice shade of red,” he murmured, tracing the petals of the rose that was tattooed on the back of your neck.

Your face was laced with confusion, until you finally understood what he said, “Wait,” you spun around, “You can see colour? Arthur since when?”

“God knows how long. Wait, did you not know this?” He asked.

“No, Art, what the fuck?” You looked him dead in the eye, “Why did you not tell me?”

“I thought it was common knowledge,” he rebuttal.

You turned back around, “How did you survive this long?”

“Alcohol. Do you know how pretty this rose is with all its colour? How did you pick it out?” He asked.

You bit your lip, I went to an artist who had met his soulmate and we worked out the colours together because we can both agree and disagree what would look good, is what you wanted to say, but ultimately a, “I went to an artist who met his soulmate and he worked with the colours and I trusted him,” slipped out of your mouth.

“You got a man to tattoo on you?” He asked.

“Yeah, not a big deal you know.” You responded.

“Anything could have happened, he could have-” 

You cut him off before he went even further, “Art, I was in a shop with like ten different people, I had a shirt and pants on. I was fine. Plus I asked someone to come, but they were busy.”

“But-”

“Nope, we’re done,” you stated, ending the conversation as you made notes on the file in front of you.

»»————-　➴　————-««

“He got mad that you got tattooed by a man?” Harley asked.

It was a usual Friday night you spent surrounded by your friends Harley, Dinah, Diana and Pamela. Usually these nights consisted of getting wasted on someone’s floor in their living room, these weeks happened to be in Dinah’s living room.

“Yeah, for fucking what? I asked him if he wanted to come, he was busy with Mera.” You spat, looking at the cup of Smirnoff that was in your hands. 

“And he still thinks you can’t see colour?” Dinah asked.

“Yeah,” you said, “It’s whatever.”

Pamela reached over and smacked your back, “You dumbass, what if he’s your soulmate?”

“He can’t be. He sees colour with Mera. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, I am not Mera.”

“She might have a point, if he sees colour with Mera, they can’t be soulmates,” Diana stated.

“Finally someone with a brain cell,” you joked.

“Din, I need paper and a ton of markers,” Harley said.

And that’s how you were dragged into a life chart of people you’ve met and possible soulmate suspects.

“If you could see it the moment you turned sixteen, that means you knew them before. Which means you would have had literally anyone from elementary school.” Harley started, “The moment you turned sixteen, you would have been around literally anyone in high school.” Harley crossed off high school, “Post high school, you kept in contact with Arthur, Hal, Thom, Kalel, and Bruce. Kalel has Diana, which means Kalel is off.” Harley crossed off Kalel, “Hal is not even in Gotham, meaning you can’t be able to see without constant contact from him,” Hal joined the crossed out group. “Bruce is with Talia, so off the list. “Thom is in San Fran doing god knows what, so you wouldn’t be able to see,” Thom joined the crossed off list. Only Arthur was left. Harley scratched her head looking at it. “He’s soulmates with Mera?”

“Yeah,” you said, you’ve come to the same conclusion several thousand times.

“Stranger?” Pamela proposed.

“The chances of seeing the same fucking person every once in a while just for you to see colours doesn’t make fuckin’ sense.” Harley stated.

You stretched out and laid back onto the floor. “It’s fine, I’ll die alone.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

Before you left work you swung Arthur a text asking him if he wanted to have a movie night once he got off work.

You were pulling down your sweater dress with one hand and phone in the other and were making your way to the doors until you heard your name. 

Spinning on your heel, you looked in the direction you heard your name called from. Lucas Trent. 

You two were close during history classes during your years in university, mostly because the two of you sat at the back of the lecture hall with snacks and were self educating because the prof was actual trash. 

“Lucas? Hi,” you said, engulfing him in a hug.

He wrapped his arms around you, “God it’s been so long.”

“How’d you know I’m here?” You asked, releasing him.

“I saw Dinah this morning, and she told me. I was hoping we can catch up?” He asked.

You checked your phone and saw that Arthur still didn’t message you back. “Yeah, I’m game.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

“No. Fucking. Way.” You said, in absolute shock.

“I. Fucking. Know.” Lucas responded.

The two of you were sitting at a coffee shop near your work place, and you were still anticipating Arthur’s text, but to no avail he didn’t answer.

“I never would have thought your soulmate was a dude,” you said.

Lucas found his soulmate while he was swimming at the beach. He showed you pictures of him and Apollo on vacation, and other cute Instagram worthy couple pictures.

“I fucking know man, it’s such a strange turn of events.” He took a sip of his coffee, “How’s Arthur by the way? You still attached by the hip?” 

“Same old pain in the ass,” you chuckled.

“Did you meet your soulmate yet?” Lucas asked.

“I’ve met them. I can see colour. They’re a constant force in my life, but I don’t know who the fuck it is,” you stated nonchalantly.

“I bet it’s Arthur,” he said, in a matter of fact tone.

“Yeah? Join the party. It’s not.” You said, leaning back into your chair.

“What do you mean he’s not your soulmate?” Lucas asked.

“Mera.”

“You mean the redhead girl that was all over him and Selina almost fought the both of them because she thought the two of you were dating and he was cheating?”

“Bingo,” you said, sipping your coffee.

»»————-　➴　————-««

You were unlocking your door and checking yet again if Arthur ever texted you back. You pulled the key out of the hole and paused. No response yet.

You were about to push your door in until you felt a familiar grasp push your door open and pull you in. 

Tossing the keys into your bowl, you pulled off the knee high heeled boots you were wearing and followed him into the living room. You leaned against the bar, watching Arthur pace in front of you.

“So when were you gonna tell me you found your soulmate?” He spat.

“What?”

“I saw you and pretty boy getting coffee earlier, when were you gonna tell me that you met your soulmate?” Anger evident in his voice.

“Why the fuck are you mad? You have Mera.” You retaliated.

“I have the right to be mad,” he said, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Why? Why the fuck could you possibly be mad? Just because I see colour you’re pissed?” You spat back at him.

“So you can see colour now,” he grumbled, pissed off to the max. 

You didn’t retaliate, you watched him pace around even more. He eventually sat down on the couch, looking at the ground, he ran his hands through his hair. 

“Mera wasn’t my soulmate.”

Your demeanor softened, “Art, what?”

“She lied. Her soulmate was Orm fucking Marius,” he said, on the brink of tears. Orm Marius, the man that Arthur hated since the dawn of time. The two of them had ongoing beef since elementary school, you really anticipated them to stop talking, but here they were, still at each other’s throat.

You walked over to him and kneeled in front of him stroking hairs out of his face. 

“Mera met Orm while we were together, and she suddenly saw colour. I thought we were soulmates, but apparently not. I’ve known her for so long, when I turned 16, I saw colours and she was constantly around. I thought she was it. Then I thought about you, but you could see colour after going out with what’s his face.”

You gently stroked his cheek, “Art, I could always see colour.”

“What?” He looked up at you.

“Since I was 16-” He cut you off by pulling you forward and into a kiss. You broke apart when you needed air, he rested his forehead against yours before peppering your face with kisses, which resulted in giggles erupting from you.

“So-”

“He found his soulmate,” you reassured him, “Plus he’s gay.”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. While getting up, he pulled your body to him. Once fully up he tossed you over his shoulder, “More for me then,” he said, before making his way to your bedroom.

#aquaman #aquaman x reader #aquaman x y/n #aquaman x oc #aquaman x you #arthur curry #arthur curry x reader #arthur curry x oc #arthur curry x y/n #dcmultiverse #dc universe #detective comics #dc #dc fanfic #dc x reader #aquaman fanfic #aquaman fanfiction #arthur curry fanfic #arthur curry fanfiction #dc fanfiction

[dorizardthewizard]

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 7

Okay, so there’s a mistake in the novellisation where the first page of chapter 7 is misprinted as the first page of chapter 5! It should only be a couple of sentences missing, but that’s why it starts a little abruptly.

-------------------------------------

Prologue / Chapter 6 / Chapter 8

7. THE LONELY ANGEL

Only the president of the Society, Master Brim Simbra - a Lightning - is permanently represented by an avatar: very old, he does not leave his home planet, because his body can no longer support space travel. Even the simple jump between Xzion and its crown of satellites represents an insurmountable challenge for him. Sitting in a meditative posture in a virtual bubble with purple shades, his avatar seems to float in the center of the large sphere, above the slowly spinning miniature Galaxy.

It is the Honorable Galahaas, Grand Master of the Shadow Council - the Shadow Government -, dressed all in white and wearing the Society badge as required by protocol, who speaks first:

- Our main concern is whether Aarch will manage to awaken the Breath of Akillian. We fear that the emergence of this flux will disturb the balance of the galaxy.

Dame Simbai, the human representative within the Society - a mature woman but still very beautiful, with long brown hair, a soft and calm voice - immediately contradicts him:

- Come now, Honorable Galahaas! Akillian's Breath is not strong enough for this. Contrary to what you might think, it is not responsible for the great glaciation that this planet has suffered...

- You seem better informed than all of us, Dame Simbai, - replied the delegate Shadow. - Can you shed some light on this issue?

But Brim Simbra - big white eyes without pupils, angular and even gaunt face - intervenes with his deep, artificial voice, which produces a slight echo:

- Our Society was created to prevent fluxes from being used outside of Galactik Football matches. In this sporting context, their use represents absolutely no danger.

- I know that, Master Simbra, - Galahaas replies with deference. - But who’s to say that Technoid isn't hiding behind Aarch? I am very wary of Technoid… rightly so, you will agree.

Everyone nods gravely: no one is unaware that Technoid was once the instrument of the Humans' war against the Lightnings and the Shadows, the terrible Shadow Wars. Created for this unique purpose, devoted entirely to military technology, Technoid sent its over-armed ships and soulless robots to sow death, ruin and desolation in this hitherto peaceful region of the galaxy...after the war, it set out to conquer the galaxy in a more peaceful way: by trading in its high technology, its robots and droids, its home automation and security systems - and through its holovision networks. Now, whether among the Shadows, the Lightnings, the Rykers, or even in the depths of the most rural village of the peaceful and spiritual Wambas, we inevitably come across a robot, a slider, an alarm system or an air conditioner wearing the Technoid logo. TTV channels are broadcast on every planet by Technoid satellites. Most of the spaceports and the ships that use them were designed and built by Technoid. And also, of course, all the stadiums of Galactik Football…

However, if Technoid officially displays peaceful commercial ambitions, everyone also knows - thanks to Dame Simbai - that it is more or less controlled or infiltrated by a squad of soldiers; that, among these, some still have not digested the defeat, and dream of a grandiose revenge, of absolute domination of Humans over the galaxy... for so is human nature. Even the Shadows, little known for their pacifism and kindness, learned this the hard way.

- Certainly, Honorable Galahaas. - agrees Dame Simbai. - But I know Aarch personally: he's clearly not the kind of man to sell his soul to Technoid.

- If you say so... there is still one point that particularly worries me: six of the children he selected to form his team suffered from a strange, unexplained fever a few years ago. And the seventh - originally from the moon Obia, however - seems to master the Breath to perfection. However, all these children were born just after the Catastrophe… this tilting of the Akillian orbital axis of which I admit we do not know the causes, but of which - you must admit, Dame Simbai - we do not yet understand all of the consequences.

- I recognize this, Honorable Galahaas. However, I notice that you seem very well informed about all this!

- I have contacts on Akillian. - the dignitary Shadow evades with a small smile.

- Either way, - says Master Simbra, - the use of the Breath of Akillian in Galactik Football is legal. It is not our job to thwart it. Our role is simply to watch that the Breath does not spread outside of this framework...

- It came to my ear, - intervenes in a creaking voice Soror Gomorrah, the vice-president of the Board of Directors of Unadar (the Ryker government), - that Aarch has for a collaborator a certain Professor Clamp, who formerly worked a lot for Technoid...

- Precisely. - confirms Galahaas. – This is why I insist that these two be watched very closely.

***

Aarch's team are training hard in the holo-trainer, which has been moved and set up in the basements of the Arena Stadium, which have remained largely untouched and free from snow and ice. Shots, passes, saves, rebounds, dribbles, ball control, everything goes. Micro-Ice does tons of it to impress Mei, who barely deigns to give him a look. Sinedd tries to be stronger and faster than D’jok, and sometimes succeeds. Ahito is pretty much asleep as long as there are no balls coming his way, but comes to attention in front of the net surprisingly quick. Thran would love to find a way to connect his new high-tech ball to the holo-trainer, but Clamp lets him know that “You don't have to, boy, the ones generated by my machine are fine”. Last but not least, Tia, silent and distant from the group, amazes everyone when the Breath manifests itself in her; when she flies to the ceiling, carried by a column of light, turns into a kind of white demon and swings a twist shot that shakes the holo-trainer itself… then falls gently to the ground, not even out of breath, just a little surprised at this feat.

- Seriously, I can't believe it! - cries Thran in awe. - How does she do that?

- We should take a closer look, she may have wings on her back! - D’jok quips, a little jealous that this girl is stronger than him - than all of them put together in fact - and that she doesn't even take pride in it.

- You got it all wrong, guys! - Micro-Ice intervenes. – She’s not the angel. The angel’s over there, I'm telling you!

He points to Mei at the other end of the field, simmering near Sinedd, who does not notice her, determined to look away from the object of her annoyance.

- Huh? Uh… what? Where are we, guys?

- We're going to switch to ball control – announces Aarch.

Drumming on his console, Clamp enters this new program into the holo-trainer. They are now set up in what was once a circular, clean and well-lit holographic projection room. The “Scrap” - multifunction robots manufactured and programmed by Clamp - did their job well: cleaning the premises, removing the seats, repairing the lighting and electrical circuits. In this nickel-colored room, it is hard to believe that above it lies frozen rubble seventy-five meters thick...

- Speed? - Clamp asks.

- Maximum!

In the holo-trainer, all players meet in a line, each with a ball. Aarch briefly explains to them what he expects of them: to run with the ball as fast and as long as possible.

- But we'll be at the other end of the pitch right away, - says Thran.

- No, because you will stay where you are. Above all, be careful to keep your balance.

- Let's go! - calls Clamp.

- What did they invent as an instrument of torture this time? - Micro-Ice worries.

No sooner has he asked this question when a treadmill appears beneath his feet and starts turning.

Micro-Ice and his teammates are forced to run as fast as the treadmill rolls, pushing the ball in front of them, if they want to stay standing and score points. Soon the exercise gets complicated, as markers appear that they must avoid by dribbling tight, without losing their pace at the risk of being ejected.

- D’jok… just for the record… - pants Micro-Ice. - Football is… a game, right?

- That's true! - Ahito adds, struggling to keep up. - Why do we never play matches?

- You are not here to have fun! - Aarch warns from outside. - If I recruited you, it was not to make up the numbers, but to create a real team, which is able to beat the best. You will play matches when you are ready!

- And when will that be exactly…? Heeeeey…!

Because of his chatting, Micro-Ice loses his rhythm and concentration, and his feet are carried away on the moving surface. He tilts forward and collapses on the conveyor belt, which immediately carries him away.

- Not today, obviously. - smirks Aarch, who saw his fall on the console monitor. Then, speaking to Clamp: - O.K., that's it for now.

The team emerge from the trainer exhausted, breathless, their muscles paralyzed by hours of hard work. Sinedd still finds the energy to laugh at his punching bag’s face:

- Really, Micro-loser, you're nothing but a buffoon!

- I wonder what keeps me from hitting this guy! - Micro-Ice growls.

- Fear, probably. - suggests D’jok. – You have to admit, you are no match for him...

- Ah, that's what real friends are for: they always know how to make you feel better! No, really, how nice of you!

Silent as always, Tia passes the group and climbs the steps that lead to the gallery leading to the exits of the room. Her passage throws a chill over the rest of the group.

- Has she spoken to any of you? - asks Thran. - She never said a word to me!

- By the way, - Clamp informs, - for those interested, I finished setting up the massage room this morning.

- That’s great news! - rejoices Micro-Ice, who feels stiff all over - and his latest fall didn't help.

The massage room is a room furnished with hard and cold tables, above which are suspended “Scrap” robots from the ceiling, with arms fitted with feelers. These, perhaps not very well adjusted, hit and hit the bruised bodies of the players. They feel as though they are receiving a hail of punches on their backs, stomachs and thighs, barely softened by pads of compressed foam, hard as wood.

- Guys, it's not me… who said… this was good news, was it? – Micro-Ice manages to say, wincing at this new torture.

- Oh! Ouch! Oh no, I think… that I'm going to throw up… - hisses D’jok through clenched teeth.

- Why are we here? Can you tell me that? Ouch...

- To play football all day. It could be worse, right? Gn… do you prefer to work deep in the ice mines?

- Ouch! I won’t lie... that it did cross my mind. Argh...

- Do like my brother, guys! - suggests Thran, who seems to be coping better. - Relax and everything will be fine!

Ahito is certainly relaxed: kneaded as hard as the others, he still sleeps like a dormouse...

***

Tia cautiously walks through the restoration site of the Arena Stadium, where all kinds of “Scrap” are busy welding, gluing, bolting and erecting frames and infrastructure, in a well-ordered din of knocks, crackles, clicking, buzzing and crackling. One of them spins around her, a welding laser and water pump pliers at the end of its artificial arms. It pats down her clothes, scans her head to toe, concludes that she is not listed material, and returns to its task. Tia sighs with relief: the “Scrap” could just as well have taken her for a beam and tried to integrate her into the construction... Clamp's robots are not always one hundred percent efficient: this one, for example, persists in searching a container of waste that it believes to be its toolbox and obstinately tries to graft pieces of plastic, scrap metal or sections of electric cables onto the end of his arms.

Tia walks up to Aarch's office and rings the doorbell, and the door slides past her. This is the only room that has been fitted out above the ground, thus benefiting from the daylight which floods in through a large bay window. On the parquet floor, a large panel of glass offers a view of the glacier which fills a street below. Tia stands at the edge of this surface, as if afraid of falling into the void.

- You asked to see me, sir?

Aarch rests the game strategy he was studying on the desk, stands up and greets her with a smile.

- Yes. Come closer, I don’t bite!

She walks hesitantly, eyes lowered. In fact, it's not fear, but shyness, Aarch notes.

- Tia… since when have you had the Breath of Akillian?

- Pardon?

She puts her hand to her mouth, as if she had done something stupid. Aarch clarifies his question:

- Since when have you been able to do what you do with the ball?

- Uh... for a long time, sir. I don't remember very well...

Aarch leans against his desk, crossing his arms, trying to adopt a relaxed demeanour - he doesn't want to look too inquisitive in front of this visibly intimidated young girl.

- And your parents… how did they react when they found out about your gift?

- They don't know. My parents are important diplomats, they are always on the go. I was brought up by my housekeeper...

- They at least know you're here, I hope?

- You haven't received their message, sir?

- Yes, I received it...

Aarch picks up a holo-card reader from his desk, activating it. In the bluish field above the device, an elegant, rather young man and woman stand out, barely resembling Tia. But the Obians are pretty strange people...

“We have given our daughter Tia permission to play on your team.” the man says stiffly. The woman hugs him, all smiles, and adds, “We're very proud of her, you know, Mr. Aarch!”

- Well, there are my parents… - confirms Tia, lowering her eyes timidly.

Aarch cuts the reader off and puts it back on the desk.

- I don't doubt it, Tia. Well... if you don't want to tell me more, go get ready for the interview.

She nods and leaves without a word.

***

Mei has spread out five or six outfits on her bed; she doesn't know which one to choose and it's starting to annoy her. Faced with this dilemma, she calls her mother.

- Oh, mom… mom! I don't know what to wear and we’re gonna be on in an hour, do you realize? We are going to be on Arcadia News, a channel broadcast throughout the entire galaxy!

She paces in front of the screen, exasperated.

- Pull yourself together, Mei! Choose one that suits you perfectly ...

- But mum, they all suit me perfectly!

- Well, in your place, I would wear the blue one! It will look great with your eyes.

Mei jumps and looks up above the screen: it's Micro-Ice, at the bedroom door, checking out her pink boots and her undershirt.

- In case you haven't noticed, this is the girls' room here!

- Yes, I noticed (Micro-Ice leans against the doorpost). But you can trust me, I assure you...

- Sorry to disappoint you, but... (Mei pushes him outside bluntly) No, I don't trust you!

The door slams in front of his nose. Micro-Ice sighs.

- Well, I guess that didn’t go well…

As he walks off with his head down into the hallway, he passes an equally withdrawn Tia, who doesn't even give him a look. She walks into the girls' room and goes to collapse on her bed.

Still struggling with her outfits which all suit her perfectly, Mei notices Tia's rather banal and functional sneakers on her feet, wide gray pants, tight T-shirt and sleeveless orange bomber jacket.

- Tia, let me remind you that the live stream is in less than an hour! You aren’t going out there like that, are you?

- I'm not going to go at all.

- Is that so? - Mei is surprised. - Don't you want to be on TV?

- No, I don't care.

Mei raises her eyebrows, surprised: for her, she has been dreaming about going on TV for years!

- Why?

- I don't want to be seen, that's all! - Tia answers dryly.

She starts rummaging in the bedside table, cutting off the conversation. Mei shrugs her shoulders and goes back to her dresses: yes, maybe the blue one would be fine after all, with her pink boots...

Tia takes a 2D photo from the drawer that she sadly begins to gaze at, where she is with a couple. If the woman has the same hair color as on the holo-card Aarch received, her cut is different and her face is rounder. The man is not at all alike: as much as the other looked like a thin bureaucrat with a pale complexion and glasses, he is burly, broad-shouldered, with a square face - and he has silver hair.

Her parents. Her real parents.

Who don't know she's here.

How will they react when they find out? That's why she especially doesn't want to be on TV...

However, she does not regret that she has run away and does not intend to return. Lying on her somewhat hard bed, amongst the minimalist decor and the comfort of this room which still smells too much of rough building works, she does miss the luxury of her residence on Obia... and especially the maternal love of her housekeeper - the one who really raised her, the only one who knew her talent and understood her… to the point of having helped her escape.

#galactik football #the revival of akillian #we get a little history on technoid; its role in the flux wars and why people like bleylock were allowed to keep doing what they did #also find it hilarious that micro-ice is trying to impress mei and the next sentence says sinedd is trying to one-up d'jok

[123goth]

The syndicated man

“Oh, I swear to God, if you don’t start spinning this goddamn instant, I’m gonna smash your glass in and make the toaster watch.” Gripping the edges of my microwave, tightly enough to feel its corners digging into my palms, I growled and gave it a hearty shake. This animalistic roar echoed off my kitchen’s green floors, and another mighty peal of thunder sounded outside.

A flash of lightning painted the room a strange shade of white-olive, the tile catching the glint, and all at once, I felt as though I were the god of storms, speaking my almighty willpower into the microwave that night.

The appliance whirred. It bent to me. And dully, the light came on. The timer blinked. And the leftover pizza began to twirl. And that was that. I sighed, deeply, slumping back against the countertop as the sky finally opened.

The patter of rain filled the building.

This routine could not have come from a sane man, I realized. Sane men did not anthropomorphize their microwaves. They did not threaten to kill their microwaves. They did not inflict psychological torture on their toasters.

Crash!

I jolted. It was that special time of night when the dude in the apartment above seemed to trip and knock everything over. Clank. Bang. Thud! Kaboom! I winced. Was he okay?

“Shut up!” My voice was hoarse. With a long-practiced motion, I pulled the broom from the nearby wall and gave the ceiling four good thumps. And then silence.

I caught my reflection in the oven door. There I stood, armed with a broom, with my shoulders hunched like the world’s worst action figure. I came with a super-hydraulic striped bathrobe, patchy facial hair, and a crooked lip, which healed badly after some guy clocked me in high school.

The microwave beeped. And leaning the broom against the wall, I tugged it open with a grunt to pull out the bubbling grease sponge I was going to eat that night.

I grimaced, knocking the microwave closed with my hip, flicking off the light, and dragging myself into the living room, where I dropped down on the sofa in front of the TV.

The sofa was old, covered in faded brown flowers, and in truth, the television was not much newer. I got them both at the same thrift store—although the attendant would not give me a deal. I wrote them a pretty nasty review that night.

But placing the plate on the cushion to my left, I scooped up the slice in one hand and shoved it into my mouth. My nostrils flared at the sour sensation on my tongue, my taste buds screaming: “No, no, not like this. Anything but this. Just drink actual poison or something.”

I dropped the pizza back onto the plate with a grunt. So much for dinner. I would starve to death.

Michael had been the cook. That night, two years ago, when I sunk into a chair at our kitchen table, my tie already undone, something was boiling on the stove. He had even arranged the alphabet magnets on the fridge to say cutesy shit like, ‘bake the world a better place.’

He did that a lot. I thought it was stupid and told him so, but he was good with words. And I wasn’t.

The little television on the counter was playing a Password rerun.

I should have said something that night. I should have said that whatever was boiling smelled great, or looked good, or that he had worked hard on it. But I didn’t.

“The prick finally did it, Mikey,” I mumbled instead. “He fired me.”

“Oh…oh, it’s okay! We’ll figure it out. You’re good at so many things. You’ll land on your feet.” And he draped two arms over my shoulders, squeezing them tight. But we did not figure it out, and I was not good at anything. And I realize now those were the only two times Michael had ever lied to me.

But screw him. And screw that job. And screw that fridge. And screw the fancy cheeses he kept in it. And screw how much rent that place was asking. And screw me for taking it out on him.

I sighed again. All I did these days was starve and sigh and fight with the microwave. And it was my damn fault. So, I would sit here and feel sorry for myself and mourn for the rest of my life.

Leaning forward, my bones creaking, I manually clicked on the television. Another flash of lightning sparked outside, and the screen came to life in a flurry of static and snow.

Click.

I moved through the channels, one hand on the dial and one on the antenna, twisting it left and right.

Click.

“Romance. The new fragrance….”

Click.

“Italia right in your microwave! New pizza from….”

Click.

“Welcome back to our 24-hour Buzzwords! marathon!”

I could barely see the picture through the fuzz, but the program was some game show from the 70s, complete with a mustached host in a plaid suit.

He dragged around a narrow, wired microphone and made his way through a bright studio, shimmering orange, utterly, sickeningly orange, while a young woman with a sparkling smile, the fabulous Carla, showed off a deluxe dinette set.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms as I slumped back into the cushion.

And all at once came another mighty crash of thunder, a rumbling noise punctuated by dude upstairs, who dropped another pot, perhaps as startled as I had been by the sound.

The rain reached a climax as if it might break the windows. Something bright darted across the darkened sky, an airplane maybe. I wonder if it had been struck by lightning. And I cried out as, with a mighty surge, the television screen flashed and sputtered out, fried. 

“Oh, Christ!” I growled, throwing back my head. The microwave did this, I decided. It had gotten all its little technology buddies to act out.

I slammed the thing with my palm, once, twice, three times, each responding with only a hollow thud. And when this scientific effort failed, I climbed to my feet and dropped to all-fours to crawl around the television’s rear. The frayed carpet dug into my knees as I tugged the extension cord from the wall.

Well, at least it wasn’t smoking, I mused, something of a crude smirk finding its way to my face. Because this was funny. In a sad tragicomic kind of way, this was funny.

Even now, I could find humor in how utterly pathetic I looked, crawling around on my knees with my boxers hanging out, all because I wanted to watch lesser-known game show reruns.

“Work or I’m gonna go back in that kitchen and throw your commander out the window, you hear me?” Leaning backward and sitting on my legs, I waved the cord deliberately before the television screen. And with that, I ducked back down and plugged it into the wall.

I blinked. And all I saw was light, a strange, fluorescent glow that consumed every inch of my vision.

Oh my God, I thought. I’m dead.

I electrocuted myself, and I’m dead.

My feet were planted on the ground. I was standing. I had crawled around to plug the television into the wall, but somehow, I was now standing. And I could not remember getting up.

“Welcome back to Buzzwords!”

I blinked again, and at that moment. I realized the blinding light was not white at all, but utterly, sickeningly orange. And there I was, like a moron, standing at a podium with a smile plastered across my face.

In truth, I wanted to scowl or grimace or something, but I couldn’t. My muscles ignored me. And on their own, my hands came up to applaud.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m your host, Buddy Guy. And we have a great show for you tonight.”

The hell?

“Let’s meet our contestants and get the game underway.” Buddy smiled broadly and walked in my direction.

I found my mouth opening of its own accord.

“Hi, Buddy! My name is John Smith. I’m from Columbus, Ohio, and I want to say hello to my wife, Betty.” These words spilled from me as if rehearsed, without my input, as though I were a passenger in my head (or, as it turned out, someone else’s).

And the absolute worst was that I could not cringe. I could not roll my eyes. I could not grunt or groan at just how saccharine I sounded, nor at the fact that my name was John Smith.

“Welcome, John. Good to have you.” Buddy Guy moved past me like an automaton, introducing a waitress from New York and a wannabe actor, who lived with his beloved roommate William of five years in Los Angeles.

And if I had to choose someone to be from this panel, it probably would have been him, because then at least I would not have a wife named Betty.

But this could not be happening; it certainly was not happening. I was not miming the motions of John Smith from Ohio. It was not 1970-whatever. And so, I truly must have been dead.

This whole illusion was that thing, that thing where synapses fire because your brain is pissed about non-existence. And if I could turn my head, which I could not, I would have peered into the audience to look for departed relatives.

But John stared forward, and so did I.

“Tonight, our contestants are competing for a stunning new kitchen set. Tell them all about it, Jack.”

An announcer from offstage began singing the praises of the sparkling refrigerator, oven range, and microwave that appeared from behind a velvet curtain. The audience lightning-sparkedooo’d and ahh’d.

And by now, Carla had emerged to point at everything, but I barely saw her. Even from this vantage point, unable to move on my own, I could catch my reflection in the oven door.

John Smith was, well, a man, yes, but in a strange, overly generic way. He, and by extension, I, had an average build, brown hair, brown eyes, and a decidedly uncrooked lip, one nobody had ever socked in.

He was the sort of person you might see in a department store catalog, I thought, or in a stock photograph of an office: unassuming and smiley.

But I could not look long.

My head was turning as the unflappable Buddy Guy made his way once again in my direction.

“Let’s reveal our first puzzle,” the host smiled, and taking this cue, Carla pulled out a marker, as if from nowhere, and drew a crude approximation of a gallows on the refrigerator door.

Spinning in a little circle, red gown flashing, she then tugged open the microwave to allow a multicolored pile of alphabet magnets to spill forth from within.

It was just goddamn Hangman, I realized. And I didn’t even get to spin a wheel or anything.

“How about a letter, John?”

“V!” I cried against my will.

Oh great. John sucked at this game.

“Sorry. No ‘V’s.’”

And so, it went.

The waitress guessed a “Y,” and scored a few points. Fishing the letters from the microwave pile, Carla stuck the magnets to the fridge. The actor guessed a number in the form of a question.

I unironically said the phrase “Oh, gee!” when there were no “X’s.”

And at this rate, it took us two whole commercial breaks to get to the unimpressive:

Y_ _  M_D_  Y_ _ R  B _ D.  N_W  LI_  IN  I_

By now, the hanging man was missing only his feet.

This was hell, I thought. I had died, and I had gone to hell.

And I would be terrible at this word game forever, and that was my punishment for being mean to the dude in the apartment upstairs.

And writing that bad review of the thrift store.

And for Michael, who had only ever lied to me twice.

“I’d like to solve it, Buddy!” I grinned.

“Go ahead, John.”

“You made your bed. Now lie in it!”

There were buzzers and bells, and the audience cheered.

“That’s right, John. You made your bed. Now you’re lying in it.”

Buddy smiled at me, and for a moment, a crack appeared, something sharp and sinister behind his cheery expression. His lip twitched, and a flicking tongue, snakelike, nipped the lower part of his mustache.

“I deserve to lie in it, Buddy!”

And somehow, this was pretty goddamn funny. If I could, I would have laughed.

“Onto our next puzzle,” Buddy cut in as Carla knocked down all the letters, leaving them on the floor. She used her bare hand to smudge off the marker.

“Can I have a ‘Y,’ Buddy?”

Jesus Christ, John. How about an actual letter or something? Whatever happened to “A?”

I sighed internally. But to my surprise, Carla reached into the microwave and retrieved the red letter, placing it on the refrigerator door.  John did it. He got one. I felt excited for him.

I squeezed the podium. My hands were working, I realized, and so, overcome, I squeezed, just as tightly as I had the microwave that night, finding again the sensation of willpower.

But by now, Buddy was busy with the waitress and the actor, the former somehow earning a double penalty, which made Carla draw both a head and a body on the gallows.

But when play returned to me, I was able to speak up.

“What the hell is going on?”

The host narrowed his eyes, sniffing the air.

“Guess a letter, John.”

“I don’t know. An ‘A!’”

Sifting through the alphabet pile, Carla placed two magnet letters on the fridge, but she too was giving up her pretense. There was no pointing and smiling. She stared at me with a dour, annoyed expression, as if she could not believe my gall.

“It’s ‘Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here,’” I said.

Which was a cliché, but I was realizing now that if kitsch was going to be my hell, I could at the very least lean into it.

“Well, all right. Thank you for tuning in, ladies and gentlemen. After this important message, John will be moving to the bonus round,”

Buddy said to the camera. “Are we at commercial?”

No one responded. He marched over to me, twirling the microphone cord around his hand. I looked at it and realized it may very well have been the noose with which the poor loser might be strung up.

“You’re not playing by the rules, John,” he said nonchalantly, beginning to use the wire to bind my hands together, tighter and tighter, around my wrists, his grip surprisingly firm.

“Hey! Hey!” I retorted, trying to pull away.

“Don’t be a jerk. You’ll make this harder if you resist.”

“But that’s my problem. I’m here because I’m a jerk. You can’t damn people and expect them not to be jerks.”

“Do you think you deserve to be damned, John?” the host asked me. He cocked his head to one side.

“I think your show is stupid. But I’m finding that making fun of it and John’s wife Betty probably won’t help me win it.”

“You can’t win it, John. The outcome’s already set. This marathon’s just reruns. Your life is just rerun. The same thing over and over forever. Wake up. Eat. Sleep. And you lose every time. So why should this be different, hm?” Buddy dropped his voice low, but all at once, the studio lights flared, and he spun around to face the audience. “And we’re back!”

The soundstage went dark. The cheers stopped, and it was just me and Buddy, caught in a silent spotlight. Another lamp, mounted on a ceiling somewhere in the expanse of shadows above us, shined straight down, casting the refrigerator, the microwave, and the letters, in its fluorescent glow.

“It’s just us now, John. This is the bonus round. You get four letters. You have one chance to go up and complete the puzzle. And that’s it.”

_  F _ R _ _ _ _  M _  S _ _ _

I cast my gaze at Buddy, wavering a moment, before stepping uncertainly forward into the expanse. Although I could not see the floor beneath my feet, just deep darkness, I felt its steady weight as I moved to stare at the blanks.

An eternity passed as I stared. And maybe it had. At this moment, in this place, seconds and minutes and moments, they seemed to mean so little.

I forfeit my soul.

That was it. That was the joke.

I had already done it, I knew. I had become so wrapped in the misery of my own making that I had forfeited my very self to it. And willingly.

Choice. That was it, wasn’t it? I, willpower personified, exerting it in every wrong direction. And so, moving for the pile of letters, hands still bound, I pulled them out the microwave one at a time.

I stuck the magnets in place, whispering the words aloud as they appeared on the refrigerator. And only then, with a definitive nod, did I step back to see my handiwork.

I FORGIVE MYSELF

I awoke on the floor beneath the TV with a sudden, painful gasp.

The dude upstairs dropped something. I stared a good few seconds at the ceiling. And with that, I pressed back onto the carpet and laughed, a full hearty noise, the television set’s extension cord wrapped around my fingers.

Wrestling them free, I checked my reflection on Paula sparked the screen to be safe.

And taking a few more steadying breaths, I moved for my apartment door. I tugged it open to poke my head into the hallway, craning it up the stairwell to the sole unit above mine.

“Hey, pal? Do you need help up there?” 

#science fiction

[stillebesat]

Stille’s Sanders Sides Master Post (Updated September 9th, 2022)

Here’s my official Master Post of my Sanders Sides Fics! 

All of them can also be found on my Ao3 account NikaylaSarae. ^^;;

For Tumblr, the links to all my stories are below the cut. <3

Enjoy!

The Brilliant 3 A.M. Idea  -Roman gets an Idea at 3am and must tell Thomas. -Inspired from Image posted by: organisoitukaaosteoria, Fic request: darude-sanderstorm

The Nest -Patton misplaces his cardigan and finds it in an unexpected spot. Inspired from series of text posts by: the-zebra-dragon and arc852, Fic request: sidewritings

That’s How You Know -Roman is feeling low after not getting a part he auditioned for and desperately wanted. The others step in to cheer him up. Song!Fic -That’s How You Know from Enchanted

Out There: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 -Logan finds himself alone in the apartment. So he does something he usually doesn’t do. Sing. Song!Fic -Out There from Hunchback of Notre Dame

Deep Heart: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -When Logan leaves the others in Patton’s room, Virgil takes matters into his own hands and ends up revealing a secret Patton wanted to keep hidden. (takes place at the end of Moving On ½) Inspiration from This Post Courage, Braveheart: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -Virgil had known since he was young that his chances for living long were slim. Still, he had hoped to have lived a little bit longer.

A Sweet Discovery -It’s 2 a.m. and Tiny!Logan is on the prowl for sweets. Tiny!Sides

It Takes Two -When Logan can’t convince Thomas to not give into peer pressure in a potentially dangerous situation, he turns to the Side he thought he’d never go to for help. Virgil.

Found in the Glitter -Working backstage is not always the easiest, especially when Virgil manages to get on the new guy’s nerves. Theatre AU

A Rainbow Connection -Roman’s on the run, desperate to escape the man who’s been able to control his entire life just by looking into his eyes. Hopping from airport to airport, Roman unexpectedly runs into the person who gave him the key to slipping from the Cobra’s mental control; Thomas Sanders.   Song!Fic

Shades of Truth: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - -Everyone has secrets, Roman knows this. But after dealing with Deceit in the most recent video and discovering that Virgil doesn’t like liars…he decides to come clean with a secret he’s been hiding from the other Sides.

Meeting Einstein -It’d been a horrible no good very bad and awful day, and all Patton wanted was to play with the puppies in the local pet store to cheer himself up. Instead he finds something completely different.

True Colors  -There’s a place in the mindscape that Roman only goes to as a last resort when the criticism from the others becomes too much. Unfortunately, it’s becoming an all too frequent occurrence.

A Work of Art -After a rough night of public humiliation at the hands of his old rival, Roman just wants to take a shower and get some sleep. His roommate has something else in mind though.

Contained-Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -You know what they say about Creativity. It’s best if it’s locked away.

FreeFalling- Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 -Sometimes you just need to take a leap of faith. Winged!AU

The Butterfly Effect- Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26  -Roman has three chances to change his life for the better. Three chances to fix past mistakes. Three chances to totally screw it all up. But who said life is worth living unless one takes a little risk?

The Training Program-It’s five a.m.. Virgil hasn’t yet slept and Thomas is summoning him. That couldn’t be good.

A Hero’s Rescue Part 1  Part 2 -After being defeated in battle, the last thing Roman expects is to have a soaking wet hero show up at his doorstep.

The Beginning -Creativity has an idea. A wonderful, awesome idea. Now…if only Creativity could focus enough to make the idea a reality.

Little Lies - Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  -All he’d been looking for when he’d revealed himself to Thomas was a little less work. One less secret to hide. One less thing to keep Thomas from knowing because his host didn’t want to know. To say it had backfired for Deceit was a bit of an understatement.

White Lies - Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -Sequel to Little Lies -Deceit has been stuck in his ‘role’ as Dilyn for almost a year now. It’s about time he changed that.

CatScratch - Virgil’s learned to expect a lot of things helping the police solve murders, but he never thought that they’d actually find something that could crack his own unsolved case.

The Finish Line - After years of training, Logan Star is finally going to accomplish the one goal he’s had since his first High School track meet. Beat Roman Prince.

Growing Pains -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 -For the past year Logan has been fighting to keep a part of himself hidden. Only now, thanks to Roman, he’s been compromised.

The Grade -Patton: I’m sorry I graded your tests in magic marker, but I just felt like it.

Seeking Warmth -If he’d known he’d be spending the rest of eternity freezing to death on Earth, Deceit would never have left Hell in the first place.

Spilled Milk -Logan never expected to get in the middle of a fight while at the self-checkout of a grocery store.

Egg-stenuating Circumstances -Why is it that the simplest of quests for Roman always end up more complicated than they should be?

The Rise of Deceit -With the Dragonwitch destroying the kingdom, the Crown Prince has a difficult choice to make.

Tattered -Part 1  Part 2 -Left to fend for himself, Roman can’t trust anyone…right?

Raindrops and Cookies -Most people would only be focused on getting themselves out of the rain. Patton isn’t most people.

A Special Delivery -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  - “The stork brings the baby to deserving parents.” He whispered, quoting the words from memory. “All the lost, forgotten, and alone.”

In These Tangled Webs: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11 -It should be easy admitting to your roommates that you’re not entirely human. Only in Logan’s case it’s not. Not when he discovers that Patton is afraid of Spiders.

The Old Hoodie - 2 sentence prompt –Thomas glared at Virgil, eyes filled with hate, and held out Virgil’s old hoodie, obviously expecting him to take it and go back to who he used to be. “I don’t trust Dark Sides.“

I Miss The King: Part 1  Part 2 -2 sentence prompt -“I miss you… I miss the King” a sigh “Apparently, it’s the same for me.”

Infinitesimal -Logan isn’t quite sure why Roman thinks he needs his help at three in the morning.

To Break A Curse: 2 sentence prompt -Logan looked at Roman, eyes dark. “I need you to really think about what you’re saying, because you’re going to hurt Virgil even more if you do not.“  

Shutting Down -Having your phone die shouldn’t be that big of a deal…right?

Anxious to Touch - Virgil ca’t be around the others without hurting them, so he has to stay away. Only Deceit won’t let him do that.

The Path: A Tale of Trick or Treating - Remus(1) Patton(2) Emile(3) Remy(4) ???(5) Logan(6) Roman(7) Virgil(8) Diva(9) Duke(10) Prince(11) Picani(12) Logic(13)  Deceit(14) ???(15)  -2nd person pov. -You’ve been trick or treating at the Sanders Side’s homes for as long as you can remember, but this year things get a bit more…complicated.

The Interview: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5 -A normal day at StoryTime! Inc. takes an unexpected turn when Logan goes to investigate why his coworkers have made a bet using Crofters as the prize.

Virgil’s Interview: -It’d been his dream to work for StoryTime! since he was a kid, and now finally, Virgil may be able to make it come true. Note: Virgil’s pov of Chapter 3 in The Interview.

The Olive Branch -They used to celebrate Christmas Eve without Anxiety there to ruin things. But this year Roman plans to change that.

These Black Wings -An hour ago Patton had been loved, wanted, celebrated. Now? He’s on the run for his life thanks to the large black wings that sprouted from his back.

Chimney Sweep -Sure. It’s great to be able to see visions of missing children…but being able to find them still alive is another thing entirely.

Meeting Romeo -A Prequel to A Work of Art. -It was unfortunate really, but someone had to tell the Romeo standing on the street that his Juliet he’d come to listen to day after day no longer lived in the apartment complex. It might as well be Virgil.

Dance with Me -Patton’s never had a father figure to bring to his ballet class for Valentine’s Day like all the other kids before. But this year…he might.

A Midnight Conversation -All Virgil expected when he stepped out onto the balcony was to have a quiet moment to himself. Note: Virgil’s pov of ch 2 of White Lies.

Warm Fuzzies -Two Sentence Prompt: Remy thought that he didn’t deserve love, not after everything he’s done. But, when Emile walked through the door to room 127, Remy’s heart skipped an unexpected beat.

A Shadowling’s Happiness  -Two Sentence Prompt: “Where the hell are you going!?” “To the subconscious,  and you can’t stop me.”

Scales- Prologue  Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Epilogue -Deceit hadn’t expected his absence from the Mindscape to be noticed by the others…until Logic knocked on his door.

Mother’s Day -Janus has never liked Mother’s Day.

Wanted -Remus knew one thing for sure. No one would ever want to Want him.

To The Moon - A Vague AU Prompt. -This wasn’t at all how Patton expected their wedding night to go.

The New Hire- Roman has never known his brother, Logan, to break a promise. Until now. Note: Roman’s pov of Chapter 4 in The Interview. 

Be My Dad- A Vague AU Prompt -Janus has no interest in being a parental figure to a kid, but trying to convince the universe of that is another thing entirely.

Moonshot-  Was it too much for Logan to ask to have just one date not revolve around sports talk?

The Sweater- Emile had said he was making a sweater for a friend. Only he neglected to tell Remy that this friend wasn’t exactly…well…human.

October ThirST -After seventy years of searching for his Soulblood, Virgil is highly doubtful he’ll find them tonight.

Lemon Drops -Patton just wanted to go somewhere where he wouldn’t be judged, wouldn’t disappoint…wouldn’t…screw up another relationship. (Takes place after SvS Redux)

The Path: A Promise Kept -sequel to The Path: A Tale of Trick or Treating -Trick or Treating may be cancelled this year, but that won’t stop you from keeping a Promise.

The Chaos Twins -prequel moment to The Sweater -Everyone has their hobbies, though Emile wishes his roommates’ hobbies were a little less…explosive.

On the Run -prequel moment to the Sweater -When life gives you an escape attempt, you run as fast and as far as you can to get away.

Nitemear -It’s not considered running away if you’re merely trying to find a more defensible position.

The Key is Confidence -Confidence. That was the key, his father had told him, to getting away with anything.

Among the Branches -Getting woken up at the crack of dawn by your landlord can’t be a good thing. Fractured Trust- Trust is a tender thing, easily made…and just as easily broken. Written for the Two sentence prompt -"Why don't you trust me Roman?" Patton asked tightening his grip on Roman's shirt. "P-Patton I-" Roman stuttered out fearfully.

A Mini’s Pep Talk -It shouldn’t surprise Roman, at this point, that on top of an already no good really really bad day he ends up getting attacked by another Side’s Mini-Me while looking for his own. (Takes place after SVS Redux)

The (K)nightmare -They say that the brain uses Dreams to help understand and solve problems one faces in the waking world.

Demon Comfort -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 -Lurking under a Human’s bed should be downright dull for a Demon of Logan’s rank. And yet…he can’t help but be intrigued by his human charge.

First Contact - Things would be so much easier if only their human, Virgil, would talk to them.

Meeting Virgil (5x1) - Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 -Five times Remy tried to give Virgil a child and the one time he succeeded. A Special Delivery Prequel. 

Catch Me (If You Can) - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 -Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick.

Beneath the Moon - Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 -After all the research he’d done, after all the signs he’d been experiencing. Logan needed someone to tell him he wasn’t crazy. And Roman…Roman had always been the one most likely to believe in the fantastical, the impossible, the…supernatural.

Hello Darkness (My Old ... Friend?) - Part 1  -Is it possible to search for something…for someone…when you don’t even remember that they’re missing?

Dance Break! -Roman suddenly jumped up, a sparkle in his eyes, as he turned, seeking out the first person he can find and holding out his hand. “Dance with me!” (Written with @kieraelieson)​

Christmas Eve -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 -Of all the barriers that Janus expected to have to overcome in order to get his son a pet for Christmas, encountering his Ex, Roman, working in the pet store had never once crossed his mind.

Code: Blanket -Part 1  Part 2 -A friendship doesn’t stop just because one person decides to act like a dick. Especially when said dick is obviously in trouble.

An Unconventional Defeat -Patton knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young?

Into the Fray -It wasn’t like he shouldn’t have expected this. It seemed like any plan involving him and Virgil had a tendency to well…go astray.

No Longer Alone -Growing up in isolation away from people has been all that Virgil’s ever known. That changes today.

A Restless Christmas Eve -Even if it had been five years since he’d appeared in the real world, this still felt like it should have been a Virgil problem and not a Deceit one. He’d never had issues staying asleep before. Let alone ending up wide awake, feeling like he needed to–to–just move. Get out. Because of a stupid storm.

Out Camping - Part 1  Part 2 -A Father and Son Camping Trip.

Sanders Sides Art Portals AU-  Deceit  Roman  Patton Logan  Virgil

#stillemasterpost #stille stories #master post #Sanders Sides #Virgil #Roman #Logan #Patton #Janus #Remus #Remy #Emile

[lambourngb]

Aaaaaany chance of a little tiny sneak peek at your Lost Decade prequel to Last Year’s Wishes?

For you, anything!

I’ve shared the first bit before, but here’s more of Michael’s first day as a rider, other than a laborer.

**

This was his third season at Fosters Homestead Ranch and Michael’s first off of the punishing duty of the “fence and feed” crew. 

Repairing breaks in over 100,000 acres of fence line or hauling endless fifty pound bags of feed for ranch’s dairy operation, had lent Michael strong wiry-bound muscle and burned his skin to a golden brown. Mindless, back-breaking labor had banked the anger that burned inside him, leaving him numb and able to drift through spring, summer and fall without taking much notice of how his siblings were passing him by. Isobel was dating a newly hired lawyer at her father’s firm, Max was finishing off his AA in criminal justice, and Michael? 

His aspirations were more a little more earthbound for once and closer on the Maslow order of needs.

He had an eye on an Airstream at the Chaves County impound lot, sitting under bank-repossession. His greatest hope was that he could spend a winter in the safe confines of his own home, instead of squatting in empty houses that were under foreclosure. The silver lining of the housing market crash was that he had multiple choices for his lock-picking brain. It certainly beat camping at the Wash, the makeshift homeless encampment nestled on the banks of the Berrendo Riverbed.

If Michael could have a place to call home, maybe he could convince Alex to spend his holiday leave in Roswell. Maybe the idea of being together wouldn’t seem so impossible to them both. Maybe they could part with a wistful ‘see you next time’ instead of a stone-cold ‘this can’t happen again’. There was news at least that President Obama was working to change and remove the DADT policy. Maybe he could finally be what Alex wanted. 

I want to be with you.

The admission of a worried seventeen year old’s desire for him kept Michael going. He just needed to meet a few markers of progress, even if he was mired in Roswell to keep an eye on Isobel. Alex would be done with his service in another two years, and he could decide to come home to Roswell, despite his father being a homophobe. If Alex had somewhere to go home to, he might stay. Michael needed to be ready.

The ache that hope brought sliced straight through his carefully cultivated dulled feelings, dropping away apathy and leaving him raw for a moment. 

It was just a fresh thin layer of skin barely stretching over his heart as protection. This was how seeing Alex always left him, a newborn toddling through life without the calloused layers. Dice and sliced up by hope. Not seeing Alex was objectively worse. He was just a painted up corpse then, lying in repose while the world moved on. ‘Here lies a promising student, made of lost opportunities’.

Not lost though, actively forsaken. To protect Isobel. He was the architect of that choice, but at least she could live safely in the cover his lie built.

“Hey Curly Sue, you paying attention?” A loud, annoyed voice cracked across Michael’s attention, dispelling the thoughts of the past. 

Michael looked up at the foreman Paul Foster, the young grandson of the ranch owner and shaded his eyes with his left hand, “yes sir, sorry sir.”

The crowd of this year's labor force twittered softly around him. Most of the group were somewhat familiar to Michael, the typical migration of men who were only suited for outdoor work. Following work with the ever-changing seasons, instead of the toil of monotonous cubicles and repetitive memos. The young ones, new to ranching, worked their way through the shit jobs, sometimes literal shit jobs of mucking, to earn a path up the rungs of responsibility to the trusted, returning crop of herdsmen and horsemen. 

“Joe, here,” the foreman nodded to the head of the outriders, “thinks you’ve done enough time digging irrigation lines for the hay fields, and doing feed and fence work, that it’s time we put you on a horse.”

“Mr. Joe is dreamin’,” a voice called out, “look at that hand of his, how the hell is he gonna ride a horse with two fingers?”

Michael dropped his left hand abruptly, shoving the evidence into his pocket uselessly. It wasn’t new knowledge at the Fosters Ranch, his first months out of high school meant he had hauled fifty-pound grain bags on his shoulders while the crooked breaks healed enough for him to hold a pitchfork for stall cleaning. Some of the workers had protested that he had skipped the worst of the chore duty as a green ranch hand. 

Stubbornness kept Michael frozen in place, even as he wanted to slink away. He could do another year repairing fences in the sun, it wouldn’t make as much money as the riders did but it was a job he knew. He’d even grown accustomed to the soft foggy place his brain took him once the hammers started swinging to secure wire and boards. His sense of spatial awareness, sharp and alien in nature, had kept him from hurting himself as he had drifted away in the meditative sounds of thunk, thunk, thunk.

Still making less money was disappointing. His goal of buying the Airstream would need amendment, or a trip to a casino further out than the Mescalero Res. Perhaps north to Isleta Pueblo casino, he wasn’t known there.

“Michael will be a better rider than you assholes. That hand means he can’t ruin a horse's mouth.” 

The unexpected shock of hearing someone advocate for him jerked his wandering attention back again. The head outrider, Joe, was watching him in turn. Dark, kind eyes, familiar but in the face of a stranger, met his from under a black cowboy hat. The head rider ran his gaze up and down Michael’s shabby jeans and Max’s cast-off hiking boots, before his lined mouth smiled, “besides, you’re supposed to ride off with your legs and ass, not off your damn hands.”

There was a moment where Michael thought Joe was looking at him in a different expectation than just riding a horse. That spark of interest. Curiosity about a man and what he could with his hands and generous mouth. He wasn’t wholly unfamiliar with that type of appraisal, but the look disappeared too quickly for Michael to really categorize it. He was probably just lonely or used to seeing that in a set of dark eyes set on similarly molded features.

With that, Joe swept off his black cowboy hat to mop off the sweat from his tan skin marked with sun damage, before resetting it on his head. His words were clear and invited no argument, secure in the knowledge that Mr. Foster himself waited every spring in hope that he was returning to New Mexico after working the winter cattle season in Argentina. No one could ride a horse, handle a herd, or command the type of respect in men better than Joe did and everyone knew it.

“Well?” The foreman Paul prodded pointedly, “why are all of you just standin’ there? Go get yourself a horse so Joe here can teach you something before dinner time.”

The lucky ones, Michael included, that were selected to work the beef cattle this year, headed for the upper field that held the horses. The rest of the new greenhorns and returning laborers headed to the equipment sheds to outfit themselves for fence repairs, or worse, start the task of mucking out the dairy barns. 

Without realizing it, Michael found himself falling in step with Joe as they headed for the fenceline. It was uncharted ground for him, but gratitude was circling his throat and he felt like he needed to say something. “Mr. Garcia, ah-”

“It’s just Joe, although my id says Joseph. But no Mr. And don’t thank me, kid.” He slanted his eyes over to Michael, another swift once over, lingering longer on Michael’s shoes then over to where Michael’s hand was still hiding his jeans pocket. “I meant what I said, you’ll be fine to ride.”

“I know I will be, I just appreciate the chance and I won’t let you down.”

“We all deserve a chance, and I’ve seen you work here for the last few seasons, uncomplaining and quick to pick up a skill. I mean you looked like a sullen raincloud most of the time, but you worked hard. And no one has ever complained about your attitude other than your penchant to flirt in town on payday. And man, I was a young man once too, so more power to you,” Joe commented dryly. 

Once again, Michael felt a little warm hearing that he had been noticed, but he didn’t comment as Joe slowed to a stop as they reached the horse pasture. The fenceline was decorated with worn nylon halters and mis-matched colored lead ropes hanging off of every fence post. Michael squinted in the bright sunlight at the herd of grazing horses spotting shades of brown, black, grey and even dull gold in the green grass of the ten acre field. It was a familiar sight from past years, he used to take his lunch and sit under the trees just to watch the ranch horses enjoy the fresh shoots of grass.

He had been told that in past years, the Fosters had needed to drop large bales of hay in the fields to keep their hard working four-legged staff fed through the long summer months, but every year Michael had worked there, the grass had grown thick and plentiful.

“Take out that hand of yours, I want to see what I’m working with here.”

Well damn. It was one thing to know his hand and disability was something of an open secret at the ranch, and even to old man Sanders at the salvage lot, it was another to let someone examine it closely. Brief bed partners, mainly the female tourists that were drunk enough to find his advances charming but not so drunk they weren’t aware of what was on offer in regards to casual sex, were mainly too engrossed with his efforts at bringing them to orgasm to notice his left hand. Max and Isobel had noticed, but both had agreed that a doctor would bring too many questions.

Alex, of course, knew. Alex, who had spent two weeks chasing his own demons in Michael’s body over Christmas, had made an effort to hold and touch his hand but still his gaze had skittered away from the scars and evidence of Jesse Manes’s rage.

Swallowing hard, Michael pulled his hand from his pocket and offered it meekly. Joe in turn pulled off his work gloves with his teeth and cradled Michael’s hand between his bare, rough palms. 

“Make a fist for me?”

Michael’s thumb and forefinger easily tucked into his palm, while his middle, ring and pinky finger slowly, crookedly bent into an awkward fan pointing to his wrist unable to curl fully in a ball. 

Joe made a soft humming sound in his throat, before reaching for the lead rope from the fence post. “Okay, open up for me.”

A squirming feeling snaked down his spine at the command, but Michael obeyed again as Joe draped the shot of line across his palm. Slowly he wrapped the line in a firm loop, squeezing Michael’s fingers over it, his eyes intent on the flexibility of Michael’s grip. The tug of line around his hand and then wrist sent another shock of almost arousal. Michael inhaled sharply, as Joe looked up in question. 

“Feel that tension? You’ll never need more than that when you’re riding, unless something has gone horribly wrong, okay? Less is more. I can teach technique, but I can’t teach you feel. That’s something you have to find on your own?” 

Michael wet his lips, struggling to focus again on the instruction and nodded.

After a moment, Joe made another off-hand humming sound, and unwound the rope from Michael’s hand and wrist. The strange atmosphere broke as he slapped the halter and rope into Michael’s right hand, and pointed out to the field, “see that horse over there? The one with the white butt but brown body? That’s Rocky. He’ll be a good one for you to learn on. So go get him and we’ll get started.”

It was strange, Michael felt both hot and cold as he fumbled his grip on the halter. It was like surfacing from a deep dive in the lake, his ears almost wanted to pop and his lungs felt tight. He tucked those feelings away and ducked through the slats of the fenceline.

#prettier and younger but not any better off #prequel to Last Years Wishes #the making of Cowboy Michael #wip whine #aewriting

[theartofdreaming1]

Partners - Part 9: Meeting Mary

Rating: T

Pairing: DickBabs

Summary:  After investigating some more, Dick and Barbara have finally found out where Mary and her son are hiding. Now, all that's left to do is figuring out a way for Mary to trust them... My DickBabs police officers AU.

You can also read this chapter at AO3 or start from the beginning on my blog

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On their next free weekend, after some more sleuthing, Dick and Barbara made a trip to Snug Cay’s Most Beautiful Hiking Trails. Close by the adjoined parking lot, a couple of rental cabins were scattered along the edge of the woods, not too far from the summer camp at which Mary Wallmer used to work as a counselor in her highschool years.

“It’s actually quite pretty here,” Dick commented when he got out of the car, eyes roaming over the nearly empty parking lot with its big map sign detailing its various hiking trails. Well-marked entries into the woods lining the three sides of the parking lot invited visitors to go for a walk.

“Mhm,” Barbara murmured absent-mindedly, rummaging the backseat of the car for their jackets and backpacks, filled with snacks, bottles of water and a map of the area - props to give them the inconspicuous looks of a couple out for a hike.

She handed Dick his stuff, then put on her own gear.

“Maybe we should consider actually coming here for a hike at another time,” Dick suggested conversationally, while Barbara re-checked the most recent location of Redhorn’s son - product of her latest digital scavenger hunt - with the positions of the cabins on her map.

“You mean when we’re not tracking down a potential witness that could help us topple the entire system of corruption of a city?” Barbara replied drily, packing the map away.

She pointed east, towards the side of the woods that was closer to the bay, “Cabin 7 is over there.”

Hands in his pockets, Dick started to walk leisurely in the direction Barbara had pointed, a cheeky grin on his lips: “I guess that would be more convenient, sure."

Barbara rolled her eyes, then slipped her arm into his: “Let’s sort this thing out first, shall we?”

Dick’s expression lost it’s cheerful air and smoothed into a more serious one.

“Right, let’s go over our approach again:” he agreed, now focussing on the task at hand, while they were heading towards their destination, “We’re a couple that went out for a hike and when we wanted to head home, realized that our car wouldn’t start. Unfortunately, both of our phones don’t have any reception out here so we’re now stuck wandering around, trying to find someone who would let us use their phone.”

He looked at Barbara for confirmation.

The redhead nodded: “Exactly.”

“And you really think that all this deception is necessary? It’s not exactly inspiring trust once we tell her the actual reason why we’re here.”

Barbara let out a sigh.

“I know, I know,” she admitted, deflated, “but I think we won’t be able to get a foot in the door otherwise - everything she thought she knew turned out to be a lie; the person she had trusted the most turned out to be in the thick of the scheming and corruption that’s been ailing Blüdhaven for the longest time… Would you trust a pair of strange cops who claim to have come to help you and contend that they have a plan for bringing down said corrupted system that has permeated seemingly every nook and cranny of the ‘Haven’s society, including the sphere of your own home??”

She let the picture she’d painted hang in the air, then shook her head sadly.

“No,” she said grimly, answering her own question, “I don’t think she’d hear us out if we presented our case to her, straightforward. She’d only grow more terrified and slam the door in our faces…”

“Leaving her more afraid for her life and her son’s without listening to our offer to help them out, most likely causing Mary to try even harder to go into hiding,” Dick supplied, finishing Barbara’s thought.

“Mhm.”

Dick let out a sigh, unable to argue with his girlfriend’s logic: “Fine, initial deception it is… Oh, look,” he exclaimed, pointing to a wooden cabin which was hidden away off-trail, almost entirely concealed by the grouping of fir trees lining the path, “that’s got to be it!”

Barbara consulted the geolocation marker on her phone she had created based on the online activity of Redhorn Jr. (even though the teenager had refrained from posting anything on his social media accounts, he still had been watching YouTube videos via his phone, which Barbara had used to backtrack his and his mother’s whereabouts): “I think you’re right.”

They left the larger path along which the cabins were scattered and followed the narrow trail covered in crushed rocks and fir needles. They discovered the wooden sign marking the wooden cabin at the end of the trail to be number 7; it had been completely obscured by the low, thick branches of the fir trees.

“So this is it?”

“Gotta be - the GPS coordinates match the location at which Redhorn’s son liked a video about three hours ago.”

In the shade of the cabin, Dick noticed a red toyota with a familiar looking license plate: “Hey, that’s Mary’s car, isn’t it?”

Apparently, all their prep hadn’t been for naught: “Yes it is.”

“Alright, so this is it… You ready?”

Barbara took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the task at hand.

“I’m ready. You?”

She caught Dick’s eye and saw the determined look on his face.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Together, they climbed up the three stairs to the cabin’s porch and knocked softly at the door.

***

They heard the sound of shuffling of feet behind the door, but no one answered it.

“Hello, is anyone there?” Barbara asked in a tentative voice.

Then, the door opened slightly and revealed a frightened blue eye which nervously examined the two young adults lingering on the porch.

Having discussed during their car ride that it would probably best if she took the lead early on (assuming that Mary would probably perceive a woman as less threatening), it was Barbara who addressed their supposed stranger in a friendly, if slightly embarrassed manner:

“Oh, hi! We’re so sorry to disturb you, but my boyfriend and I just returned from our hike around these parts - only to discover that our car won’t start and neither of us have any reception on our cellphones; may we use your phone to call roadside assistance? That would be incredibly helpful.”

The wary expression on what had been visible of Mary’s face had dissipated by the time Barbara had reached the end of her prepared speech and the door was opened fully now, revealing an unassuming woman of 5’2’’ and stocky build. Her blonde (probably dyed) hair was wavy, about shoulder-length, and framed a round, open face. Faint lines around eyes and mouth indicated her age to be around forty.

“Oh you poor things!” the middle-aged woman exclaimed emphatically, any hint of her previous mistrust completely vanished, “Of course you can use the phone here! Come in!”

And with that, Mary stepped aside, motioning for the two strangers to enter the cabin.

It wasn’t difficult to see how Redhorn had managed to conceal his wrongdoings from his wife for so long - she was downright guileless.

To be honest, Barbara couldn’t help but be surprised that Redhorn’s thugs hadn’t found Mary yet - once they had, it would have been all too easy for them to take a hold of her; it was probably for the best that Mary had sold the house of her deceased parents before she had stumbled upon the evidence of her husband’s criminal activities - this way, she couldn’t seek refuge in her childhood home even if feeling tempted to do so… and Barbara wasn’t all that convinced that Mary was cunning enough to have recognized that as a bad move on her part.

While Barbara was reflecting on the naivety of their potential informant, Dick engaged with Mary in idle small talk, making introductions, thanking her for her kindness and answering the many questions of the talkative and curious woman, such as where they were from and what had led them here?

“We are from Gotham City,” Dick explained, elaborating on the narrative he and Barbara had prepared beforehand (which wasn’t based completely on lies), “We’ve been meaning to take a break from the city for some time and decided to check out the hiking trails of Snug Cay - which definitely deserve their positive reviews online! Too bad our trip had to end with car trouble,” he concluded with a grimace so believable and sympathetic, Barbara would have been convinced of his story if she didn’t know any better. A born performer, indeed.

“Such bad luck!” Mary exclaimed empathetically. “But don’t you worry, we will get this fixed in no time! Let me show you to the phone; I think there should also be some brochures of nearby businesses and a phone book…”

She led Dick and Barbara to a small end table in a semi-secluded corner in the hallway next to the entrance door. Three doors lined the hallway wall; muffled yells of excitement sounded from behind the one closest to them.

“Don’t mind that,” Mary said nervously, giving a strained smile, “my son is not a nature lover such as you two - he prefers to play on his phone or gameboy or whatever it is called.”

“Ah, I’m familiar with the kind,” Dick nodded knowingly, ”I’ve got a teen brother who is very much into gaming.”

He gave Mary one of his disarming smiles:“How old is your son?”

“Thirteen.”

Dick grinned: “Yeah, the wonders of nature don’t particularly score with that demographic.”

Mary let out a laugh, then opened the drawer of the end table that contained the phone book and brochures.

“You should be able to find some number of a road assistance service in here.”

Thinking that it might be for the best to give Dick a little more time to build a rapport with Mary, which hopefully were to improve their chances of being heard out later, Barbara took the stack of papers out of Mary’s hands.

“Thank you so much,” she said warmly to the older woman. Then, after exchanging a meaningful glance with Dick, she motioned at the phone: “I’ll take care of it.”

“Sure thing,” he replied, his expression letting Barbara know he understood her silent message.

“We’ll leave you to make your call,” Mary responded kindly before addressing Dick: “Would you like something to drink, Richard?”

He smiled: “That would be great, thank you.”

***

While she was looking up the name of a local car mechanic (just in case) and pretended to make a call, Barbara could hear the other two engage in a friendly chat with one another.

By the time Barbara made her way back into the main room, she found Dick and Mary sitting in the living room, with Mary comfortably seated on the couch and Dick occupying one of the arm chairs. The blonde woman was grilling Dick about his private life.

“You two make such a gorgeous couple! How did you two meet?”

“Um, we first met each other at work, actually. We got assigned partners.”

“How fortuitous! If you don’t mind me asking, Richard, what do you do for a living?”

“Um,..-”

Barbara could tell that Dick was starting to sweat a little, so she made her move to intervene.

“Ah, there you are!” Mary exclaimed happily when she noticed Barbara return from her ‘phone call’, “Did you get everything sorted out?”

“Oh yes, someone will come over soon.”

“Wonderful!” Mary responded smilingly, “Is there anything else I can do to help, my dear?”

Barbara directed a meaningful at Dick and carefully sat down in the other empty armchair: “Actually, yes, there is one more thing…”

The helpful older woman nodded attentively, ready to help. Barbara felt a little bad for what she was about to do; still, this was in Mary’s best interest as well as theirs.

“You see,” Barbara began, her voice dropping into a hushed tone,”we know about your husband and the social calendars you’ve kept all these years - We think that they could help us with our cause.”

At that, Mary blanched and a panicked look appeared on her face, her eyes nervously flickering over to the door of the room her son was currently occupying.

“We’re not here to hurt you!” Dick was quick to add, ”We can help you, offer you protection - get you and your son far away from the ‘Haven and your husband’s influence, so you guys are safe.”

The poor blindsided woman twitched anxiously, as if she wanted to get up and run, but froze when Barbara moved to get something from the inside of her jacket.

It took Barbara a few seconds to realize what Mary must have suspected.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not-” she began hastily, before breaking off. She then slowly, carefully, produced her badge and ID from the inside pocket of her jacket, putting them down on the couch table, right in front of Mary. Dick followed her example with equally cautious and measured movements.

“Here,” Barbara gestured at the evidence laid out in front of Mary,”the two of us are officers at the BPD; but we are from Gotham, originally. We have nothing to do with Blüdhaven’s corrupt elite,” she explained calmly, while the older woman’s gaze fluttered nervously between the ID cards on the table and the two officers seated next to her.

“Barbara’s father helped clean up the corrupt police force in Gotham,” Dick further supplied, ”and we want to do the same in the ‘Haven.”

Mary didn’t say anything; the poor woman only looked frightened.

“We have found a few officers who have the same goal,” Dick continued to explain in a composed voice, “and we are now building up a case against all the corrupt politicians and police officials - including your husband.”

Mary winced, her eyes now fixed firmly on her knees.

“It would be very helpful for our case if you could give us those notebooks you’ve kept all these years,” Barbara went on, “regardless of whether you’d be willing to testify against your husband or not.”

“You don’t have to do either of those things, of course,” Dick hastened to reassure Mary, who at last dared to cast a tentative look in his direction, “for now, it is much more important to keep you and your son safe.”

“Exactly,” Barbara nodded fervently. She noticed that Mary seemed marginally calmer than before, appearing to be listening intently.

“We know that your husband has involved some of his people to look for you two,” Dick said gently, ”and frankly, a lot of his cronies have some very worrisome reputations.”

“And this is where we come in,” Barbara jumped in, “I know some people at the FBI who can help you get out of the reach of the criminals that have been running Blüdhaven as of yet.”

She handed Mary two business cards. Clammy hands gripped the cards tightly.

“Here are the contacts of the two agents that can help you. I have worked with them before on a case of corruption in Blüdhaven; they passed the background checks I conducted on them to ensure that they are not connected to any Blüdhaven elite with flying colors - they are trustworthy.”

Mary looked at Barbara with big eyes; the business cards still in a vice grip.

“I… I don’t know-”

Dick gave Mary a reassuring smile: “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“No, but you shouldn’t wait too long,” Barbara warned emphatically, “If we can find you here, it’s only a matter of time until your husband or his cronies will figure out a way to find you, too.”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” the poor woman stammered, distressed. She looked pleadingly from Dick to Barbara, as if waiting for them to tell her what to do.

Of course, that was not what they had come for.

“Ultimately, you will have to decide on your own what is best for you and your son - I know that all of this must be overwhelming and that we’re just two random strangers that appeared out of nowhere,” Dick said sympathetically, “You didn’t ask to get dragged into this, you just want for you and your son to be safe-”

Mary nodded energetically, “Yes!”

“We can’t tell you what to do - You have to be the judge on which course of action you want to take,” Barbara stressed.

Averting her eyes again, Mary only nodded meekly.

“Personally,” Dick mused aloud, causing Mary to look up again “I’d say your safest bet is to call these numbers,” he tapped the business cards Mary was still clutching tightly, “These FBI agents will get the two of you out of here, someplace safe.”

Mary’s lips parted as if wanting to say something - but in the end, she only pressed them together and fiddled nervously with the cards in her hands.

Dick exchanged a telling look with Barbara, who pulled out a burner phone and put it on the table.

“Here, take this,” Barbara said, “there is one number saved in there - it’s to a safe line which only Dick and I can access; it can’t be traced. This way, you will always be able to reach us - if there’s anything you think we can help you with - call that number.”

This gesture seemed to finally have broken the dam. With a trembling hand, Mary reached for the phone, staring at Dick and Barbara with teary eyes.

“Is this real?” Mary asked in a quiet, shaky voice.

“This is real.”

“And… And it’s not a trick?”

Dick gave an encouraging smile: “It’s not a trick. I promise.”

A brief pause followed, then: “Okay.”

***

They went over the particulars again, making sure that Mary would know what to expect when reaching out to Barbara’s contacts at the FBI. Once they had settled everything, Mary brought up the one thing that still remained unresolved:

“And… And the notebooks?”

Barbara cocked her head to the side, a friendly smile on her face: “What do you want to do with them?”

Mary fiddled nervously with the phone in her hands.

“I don’t know, I just- I just want to be rid of them, I suppose,” she said, sounding tired. She sighed deeply.

“You want them, I assume?”

“It would be useful for the case we’re building,” Barbara admitted honestly, “but if you don’t want us to use them in our case, you don’t have to hand them over.”

There was a long pause while Mary was mulling over it.

“No, you should have them,” she mused,”I think that’s why I took them with me in the first place - I knew that they were valuable evidence, I just didn’t know what to do with it… Or maybe I wasn’t ready to admit to myself that - that my husband is a criminal.”

Gently, Dick put a reassuring hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“We’re sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Mary said shakily, making a dismissive gesture before getting up from the couch, “I’ll go get them.”

The blonde woman hurried away into the hallway and disappeared behind the door furthest away. Dick and Barbara could hear the clunking of a floor board being moved and scraping noises. Soon after, Mary returned, three small black pocket calendars in hand: “Take them.”

Barbara took the unassuming, but invaluable notebooks and stowed them safely away in her backpack.

She smiled warmly at Mary: “Thank you.”

Suddenly, the other door in the hallway opened and a skinny boy of thirteen shuffled out. “Hey Mom, when’s dinner- who are you guys?”

The teenager stopped short, eyeing the two strangers suspiciously.

“Alex!” Mary exclaimed, jumping up from her seat on the couch. She quickly regained her composure, though: “These are Richard and Barbara, they went hiking in the woods but then had car trouble and no reception - they asked to use the phone to call for some help.”

The teen regarded Dick and Barbara with narrowed eyes. Barbara had the slightest inkling that Alex was by far not as unaware of their precarious situation as his mother might assume.

“I thought I heard some knocking about, like, an hour ago.”

The boy cast a challenging look at the two ‘visitors’, but Dick just countered smoothly: “We had to wait until they could send a mechanic, chatted for a bit and lost track of time.”

As she gathered up their backpacks and jackets, Barbara added: “I’m sure someone from Larry’s should arrive at any minute.”

“Oh yes! You should get going, it would be awful if you missed the mechanic!”

“Yeah… Plus, we wouldn’t want to delay your family dinner any more,” Dick remarked brightly, winking at Alex as the three adults made their way to the front door. The boy seemed to loosen up a little, although his eyes remained alert.

At the door, Barbara seized the opportunity to express her gratitude: “Thank you so much , Mary, you saved our day.”

The older woman blushed.

“Don’t mention it,” she responded humbly, “I’m just glad I could be of service. And… And I'm really glad I got to talk with you two.”

Dick gave an affectionate nod.

“Take care.”

Mary smiled brightly.

“You, too! I hope everything works out well… with your car.”

“Thanks!”

Dick and Barbara said their good-byes and followed the path back to the car, leaving cabin 7 behind. They didn’t exchange a single word on the way back.

Once they had entered the car, Barbara finally looked at Dick, a big smile on her face. She felt dazed and utterly exhilarated at the same time.

“I think… I think we’ve done it?”

She was met with a wide smile that matched her own:

“We’ve done it!”

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To be continued... here.

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Notes:

Nightwing #71-74: This is entire chapter is very loosely based on this story arc. Basically, Dick learns that some of Blockbuster's goons are trying to get to Mary because of the meticulously kept social calendars she has in her possession and wants to protect her - which leads to a chase to some of Europe's most famous cities (Rome, Paris, and London). For this story I decided that Mary's hiding spot would be less extravagant and instead some place familiar to her, somewhere she had felt safe before. In the comics Dick also tries talking to her in full Nightwing gear, but Mary is too frightened to hear him out; Babs is the one to point out that Dick Grayson might stand a better chance to get to chat with Mary than a masked vigilante - here, Babs gets to intervene a lot sooner (she is more practical and efficient than Dick in that way, I think). While Babs deals with their task at hand in a more pragmatic way, I decided to have Dick be the one who is better at quickly building rapport with Mary - this way, they make the perfect team to get the job done (technical skills/logistics + people skills)

Oh, and I decided to name Mary's son Alex because comicvine states Chief Redhorn' name to be "Francis Alexander", although I can't recall for the life of me where that name ever appeared (the only times I remember Redhorn's first name being mentioned, it was always "Delmore" ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#dickbabs #dickbabs fanfiction #dick grayson #barbara gordon #I write sometimes #dickbabs fanfic #my fics: partners

[orange-waterfalls]

Hello, Nurse

Yancy x mute!gender neutral!reader

@glitchbitch69 ty for the prompt!

A/N: I heard that mute was an offensive word... but I didn't know what else to use... reader is a person who cannot talk. That's the best way I can put it. @glitchbitch69 I am 99% sure this is not what you asked for but here??? I did my best. Rated T for a couple "fuck"s and like... 2 "shit"s.

Word Count: 2.5k

--

Yancy enjoyed prison life. He loved his family, the food was good, the cells were comfortable, Shithole Hank's hooch wine was fucking wonderful, it was almost perfect.

Almost.

Apart from the fact that he wanted a companion

A spouse.

A life partner.

Whatever you want to call it.

One day, he notices someone new. Someone he hadn't seen before. Which was very weird because he knew everybody. They all practiced their musical number every Thursday.

He decides to introduce himself, so he follows you to wherever you're headed. You end up in the infirmary.

"Hello, there." He greets. You turn to him, slightly surprised. He's smiling at you, and not in a malicious way like you'd probably expect from a man who killed both of his parents. It's a sweet smile. A "I want you to feel as comfortable as possible" smile. You return it and wave.

"I haven't seen youse around here before. Youse new?" He asks. You nod. He raises an eyebrow

"Alright… what's youse's name?" You gently tap the name card on your chest.

"Hm. What's youse's favorite color?"

You point to your shoes.

"What's youse's favorite animal?"

You point to the animal poster on your wall.

"What's youse's favorite season?"

You point to the background of your computer. He huffs.

"What, can't youse talk?" He jokes. You shake your head.

"Oh…" he clears his throat, suddenly feeling very awkward. You make a gesture with your hands. He furrows his eyebrows. You huff and grab a Post-It note, writing something down and handing it to him. He looks at it and sees that you wrote "it's okay". He chuckles.

"Must be hard being a nurse and not being able to communicate with your patients," he comments. You roll your eyes, and wave it off. You write something else on a Post-It and hand it to him. "I can handle it" He smiles.

"Yeah, I bet." He glances back up at you. "So, uh… do--" he was cut off by two guards bursting into the infirmary with a man of a gurney. You rush past Yancy to see what's happening. Yancy follows you to see who it is. You make another gesture at the guards.

"He collapsed while in his cell. He won't wake up," one explains. You grab Yancy by the arm and lead him out, closing the door. He stands there for a moment before deciding it'd be best to head to his cell. He runs into Sparkles McGee on the way there.

"Hey, Yance!" He greets. Yancy smiles at him.

"Hey," He responds and they start to walk together

"Where ya headed?" Sparkles asks.

"Y'know… to my cell…"

"Already? It's only 7:00…"

"Well, I'm tired…"

"Hm… alright…"

"Hey…" Yancy stops walking. Sparkles, who was in front, turns to him, tilting his head. "Do you… know about any nurse?"

"You mean Y/N? Oh, yeah, they've been here for a couple of days," Sparkles responds.

"Really? How come I didn't know?"

"Well, you didn't really have a reason to. You don't get into a lot of fights and you don't get hurt so…"

"So… if I wanted to see the nurse… I'd have to get hurt…"

"Well, I wouldn't say you have to. You could just… talk to them?" Sparkles looks at Yancy weirdly. Yancy apparently did not hear that last sentence because the dumbass immediately went off to find a way to get hurt. He could get Jimmy the Pickle to punch him… that seemed like a solid plan. Yeah. He'll do that. He sits on his bed and thinks about what he's gonna say when he sees you again.

"Hey there!" No, too excited… "Howdy!" No, too awkward… "Sup" Nah, too "I want to be cool so you don't leave me". Just a simple "Hey" that's it. He sighs and lies down. He closes his eyes, letting sleep overtake him.

--

The next day, during breakfast, he sees you. He waves to you, but you don't see him. He figures that's a good time to start his plan.

"Hey, uh… I gotta do somethin'... See you guys later," he slides the rest of his breakfast over to Tiny, who promptly devours it. He meets Jimmy in a hallway.

"You got the stuff?" Jimmy asks. Yancy nods. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lavender candle. Jimmy takes it, putting it into his pocket.

"Now it's your turn. Don't do it too-" Jimmy just straight decks him. He does miss his nose, but he nearly dislocates the smaller man's jaw.

--

Yancy wakes up and opens his eyes, but quickly closes them again due to the bright light in front of his face. He slowly opens them again, allowing himself to adjust to the light. He turned his head slightly, eyes widening when he sees you scribbling on a clipboard. He begins to smile, but stops because it hurts. He reaches up to feel his cheek. Jimmy really did a number on him…

You glance at him, noticing he's awake. You set down your clipboard and pencil and walk over to him, smiling gently. He gives you a half-grin in return.

"Hey there, hot stuff," he says, voice slightly cracking. Damn, I fucked it up, he thinks. You snort and pick up a sheet of paper, along with the clipboard. You write something down and hand it to him. It seems to be a little quiz.

"On a scale from 1-10, how much does it hurt?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10"

He gently touches his cheek, wincing at the coldness of his fingers. He circles the number "4" and hands the paper back to you. You look at his answer and nod. You go get some supplies to give him a checkup and make sure everything else is ok.

As you perform the tests, you can clearly see his cheeks turning a light shade of pink whenever you touch him. A couple minutes pass, and you finish your check-up. Apart from a few slow reactions, he seems fine. They're probably because he was punched unconscious. You walk over to put your items away. He exhales deeply.

"So… uh…" he starts. You turn to him. "...do anything fun recently?" You roll your eyes and turn away. He pouts and crosses his arms. "Oh, come on! I'm doin' my best here!" You smack your lips and turn to him fully, making sure to obviously shake your head. He scoffs and mumbles something under his breath. You continue putting away supplies. When you turn back to him, he looks a bit upset. You frown, suddenly feeling guilty. You grab the same sheet of paper as before and jot down a couple of questions. You fold the paper, slipping it into his hand as you escort him out of the infirmary.

Yancy heads back to his cell and sits down, feeling gloomy. He takes the paper you gave him and opens it. It's seems like a little quiz. And the bottom, you wrote "I'd like to know you better, so here" and a small heart next to it. Yancy smiles widely and starts filling in answers.

You two write letters to each other back and forth, since you were usually busy in the infirmary. You learned a lot about him. He killed his parents and that's why he was in jail. That should have thrown you off waaaaay more than it did. You learned that him and all the other prisoners wrote a song and performed for new inmates. The practice was on Thursdays. You occasionally go and watch if you're not busy. The first time you went, he saw you out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself while trying to get the newest inmate to stop fucking up the dance routine.

You two start to fall for each other.

For you, it was almost instant. You saw him singing and dancing and your heart just sped up.

For him, it took a bit. He was hesitant to trust you since you worked at the prison. He thought maybe you were only being nice so he wouldn't kill you. Which he would never, but you didn't know that. It bummed him out, until you covered for him when he got into a fight. You let Mr. Murder-Slaughter know that he had fallen , not gotten into a fight. For some reason, he took your word for it. Said you "looked trustworthy". That was about the time Yancy actually fell for you. Not a crush, no. This soft prison boy loves you with all his heart. That was a couple nights ago. You two had sent more letters since then.

He's reading the newest one in bed while he's supposed to be sleeping, giggling like a schoolgirl. He clutches the paper to his chest and sighs contently. He wipes his forehead, feeling a bit warm, but he ignores it. He would write you a new letter in the morning.

--

He wakes up in the morning, feeling like absolute shit. He tries to sit up, but his brain spins and screams at him to lie the hell back down. He obliges, only to suddenly go into a coughing fit. His body racks with the force, and he feels like his lungs are filled with something other than air. A guard enters his cell.

"Hey, you ok?" He asks. Yancy tries to answer, but goes into another fit and falls off of the bed. The guard rushes over to him.

"Whoa, ok… we gotta get you to the infirmary… c'mon," the guard tries to help Yancy to his feet, but his legs won't let him put any weight onto them. He groans as his head pounds, begging to lay back down. The guard manages to drag him to the infirmary, where he's plopped onto a bed. You turn, wondering what the commotion is. You gasp at the sight of Yancy. You make hand gestures at the guard. Yancy had been studying up on sign language, so he understood that you were saying "what's wrong?". The guard begins explaining what happened as Yancy begins to close his eyes. He lets himself slip out of consciousness.

--

He wakes back up to the smell of food. Chicken noodle soup? He hadn't eaten that since he was 11. He slowly turns to the side and sees a steaming bowl next to him, along with a small bottle of Gatorade. He looks around the room, searching for you. He sees you behind you computer. He tries to say "hi", but his body decides to say "fuck you" and make him hack his lungs out. You perk up at the sound, quickly walking over to him holding a whiteboard. You take a marker and write down "how do you feel?"

"Like… shit…" he croaks out. You smile sympathetically and write something else, showing to him.

It says "I convinced Mr. Murder-Slaughter to let me make you chicken noodle soup. I hope you like it. You might want to wait until it's cooled. I also bribed a guard into sneaking me Gatorade." He nods as you grab some objects and sit next to him.

You open your mouth, hoping he gets the memo. It takes him a moment, but he understands. You push his tongue with a stick and search his throat. What for, he has no clue. You eventually take it out and pick up a thermometer. He takes it in his mouth. You both sit quietly for a moment, waiting for it to go off. Yancy takes this opportunity to try and memorize every detail of your face. Were your eyes always so sparkly? He began to think he was hallucinating. The thermometer beeps, and you remove it from his mouth. You frown.

"What? Bad?" He asks. You turn the thermometer towards him so he can see the temperature. 108. "Oh… bad…" you shake your head and get an ice pack from a freezer, laying it on his head as you perform more tests. Once your done, he starts eating the soup, joyfully. It's all gone in the span of 30 seconds, along with the Gatorade. You blink at him before he crosses his arms and turns away.

"'s not my fault youse made it so good…" he grumbles. You smile, sitting next to him.

He turns back to you, a small grin appearing on his face. You two stare at each other for a moment before he reaches out, putting his hand on your neck. You glance at his hand, wondering what he's doing. He leans in. You lean in as well out of instinct. He closes his eyes because you're right there! You begin to close your eyes before you scramble to your feet, stepping away from him. He holds his hand in the air, a bit startled with your sudden disappearance. You stand and look at him, breathing harshly. Yancy groans and covers his face with his hands.

"Oh, I'm so stupid. Of course you don't like me," he says. "Why would you? I'm a scumbag…" you shake your head, immediately feeling regret for how you acted. You frantically look for your whiteboard. When you find it, you write something down and tap Yancy on the shoulder. He looks at you, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. You hold the whiteboard in front of him. It says "108". He looks at the board, then at you, wondering what it means. You stare at him, expecting him to catch on at some point. He doesn't. You roll your eyes. You point at the board, then at him. He knits his eyebrows together in thought, before raising them and gasping.

"OOOOH, IT'S BECAUSE I'M SICK!" He yells. You nod forcefully. "Wait… so, you do like me?" He asks. You smile and nod. His face darkens. "O-Oh… well, uh… I like you too?" You erase the whiteboard and write "I know". He chuckles as you continue to smile.

--

A little while later, you deem Yancy ready to go back in his cell. He gets slightly upset because he liked spending so much time with you, but he was so glad he wasn't sick anymore. It's a bit late when you lead him back, so he decides to go to bed. He crawls in, covering himself in the blanket and you start to leave.

"Goodnight!" He calls. You smile and wave at him. He snuggles in and closes his eyes. He suddenly feels his shoulder being shaken as he tries to sleep. He turns to whoever's bothering him and almost decks you in the face. "Wha-" he starts. He's cut off by you leaning forward and gently kissing him on the forehead. He plops back down and gazes at you loving. You softly pat his chest as you start to leave again. You pause and turn back towards him, making a gesture with your hands. He doesn't know much sign language, but he does know what this means.

"I love you".

He smiles and makes the gesture back to you, making you smile. You turn and head back to the infirmary. Yancy sighs happily as he falls asleep.

--

The next morning, he meets you near the infirmary. He's about to say hi, but you frown, holding your arm up to your face. He stops, not knowing what's going on.

You sneeze.

You slowly turn to him, glaring. He nervously chuckles.

"Uh… sorry?"

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