#(To my knowledge there is no scan of this poster. In fact this is the only image of this poster I've ever seen circulated online)

[spooky-month-archive]

A poster signed by Sr Pelo, given away at the La Rocket Convención

#spooky month #merch #character heavy #(To my knowledge there is no scan of this poster. In fact this is the only image of this poster I've ever seen circulated online) #(If anyone has a scan then please don't hesitate to let me know! - Grim) #lila #skid #pump #kevin #the eyes of the universe #cultists #jack #john #moloch #dexter erotoph #bob velseb #mr clown #jaune

[boxturret]

Slizers vs Throwbots: Regional differences

Its well known that the Slizer line was changed quite a bit for its release in North America. The line was renamed Throwbots, the individual set names were all changed (Honestly this seems to be an okay change, as apart from Judge I quite like the new names, and this doesn't seem to be an uncommon opinion), and the setting was changed.

One very subtle change that I've had a hard time tracking down was the actual art for the sets. I managed to acquire copies of the instruction booklets for every set, Slizer and Throwbots, and have scanned them all, and they can be found HERE.

What follows is comparison between the Slizer and Throwbots instruction booklets.

8500-Fire Slizer/Torch

The Slizer version features a humanoid fire being, but the Throwbots version removes the face entirely, though this being can still be found on the 6 pip disc art. In fact its the same illustration, just mirrored.

8501-Ice Slizer/Ski

The Slizer version features an ice outcropping with an evil looking face. The Throwbot version erases the face.

Though this creature doesn't appear in the discs, a similar concept of an avalanche with a face does, on the 6 pip disc.

8502-City Slizer/Turbo

This is the first one to not have any changes that I can see.

Every piece of Slizer art features the main set, and in the background one of the enemies the Slizer would face in its region. For City Slizer it seems to the be city itself, this large building featuring a monstrous face. For whatever reason this face was deemed not necessary to remove, perhaps because it was positioned mostly behind the logo.

The instructions use the cover background and the face can be seen more clearly there. Notably Flare Slizer uses the same background for its instruction book.

Turbo's 6 pip disc doesn't feature a malevolent building, but instead a truck intent on running them over.

8503-Sub Slizer/Scuba

Again, this one was not altered, perhaps it was found that removing the evil eyes off the giant jellyfish was counterproductive. A modified version of this art (or is the cover version the modified version? Hard to know what came first) can be found on the 6 pip disc.

This same creature also appears in the small comic on the poster I believe was included in some Slizer sets. Its delightful.

8504-Judge Slizer/Jet

Again, no change. Unlike the other's Judge doesn't feature this, or any creature on its 6 pip disc. This star monster is featured in the comic though, seeming to be the target for the disc launching game, of which Judge is the...judge of.

8505-Jungle Slizer/Amazon

Finally, there are more differences. The Slizer version features Jungle Slizer slicing this evil tree, complete with mouth, eyes, and hands, in half. The Throwbot version simply removes the eye light, the facial features are still there. The 6 pip disc features them fighting a different type of plant, something more modelled off a Venus Fly Trap. The 5 pip disc though does feature them chopping a seemingly not evil tree in half.

8506-Rock Slizer/Granite

This is one of the more subtle ones, way in the background there's a rock formation that resembles a skull. In the Slizer version it features slightly glowing eyes, the eye glow is removed in the Throwbots version. The 6 pip disc art features Rock Slizer facing off against a similar stone face with glowing eyes.

8507-Energy Slizer/Electro

Finally we come to Energy. This one I think is one of the more odd ones, as the Slizer version features this evil cloud zapping Energy with arms made of lightning. The Throwbot version removes the red eyes, but everything else remains the same, the mouth, the lightning arms, the zapped Electro. This exact art appears on the 6 pip disc.

To my knowledge there was only one set of discs, so despite the changes made to the packaging the Throwbots's discs featured all these creatures that the modified box art didn't want to show, its very odd.

And this is where the version differences end, for the instructions at least. After this, with the release of 8520, though they still changed the name, Millennium Slizer vs Millennia, they stayed with one instruction book for both, the back of the booklet even featuring both line's logos, and both names for each set (though you can see they are using the Slizer box arts).

Then by wave two proper there was no more name divergence, and the logos and names were left off the instructions entirely.

One has to wonder if the successor series, Roboriders, featuring the names of the characters printed right on their face pieces was an attempt to stop this whole naming issue coming up again.

I just wanted to have all this data in one place, I've spent a lot of time searching for the different versions and its quite hard to find good images, even leog's own site isn't consistent, featuring okay versions of all the Slizer's instructions, then this awful uncropped vertical scan of Electro.

So now everything is at least in one place and in consistent quality.

#Scans #Slizer #Throwbots #Version Differences #It happened again

[musings-of-a-lit-student]

The Sheik

Disclaimer: I don’t own Maus or any of Spiegelman’s work. I have attached the photos from the work itself, but do not claim to own the scanned version either. I highly recommend purchasing the book to support the original author. My thoughts do not represent the author's work and are merely my own interpretations.

Warning: MAUS is a graphic novel based on the author’s father’s experiences during the holocaust and includes anecdotes and scenes including violence, blood which may be considered triggering. 

Introduction: The work MAUS by Art Spiegelman is a novel that tells the story of Vladek Spiegelman and his experiences during the holocaust using an allegory and parallel storylines to depict the Vladek's past and Artie's present as he hears the story from his father. This work includes an autobiographical and biographical element due to the inclusion of two main characters - Vladek and Artie. Spiegelman makes the decision to introduce himself as a character in the work as a mouthpiece for himself.

Main Characters: Artie: The author Vladek: Artie's father Anja: Artie's mother Mala: Vladek's second wife Françoise: Artie's wife

Navigation -> The Sheik Masterlist -> Previous Part

MAUS by Art Spiegelman

Points of Interest:

Reference to the Movie

The Sheik is the name of a movie starring an Italian actor Rudolph Valentino and at a point in the chapter Vladek compares himself to him. Valentino was a sex symbol in the 1920s and the comparison to him is made clear through Vladek's depiction in the first chapter. Additionally the artwork and design of this panel is similar to a movie poster.

To learn more about The Sheik click here.

To learn more about Rudolph Valentino click here.

Vladek

Vladek's depiction in the first page makes him appear to be a businessman with the suit and the hat, however his furrowed eyebrows connote to his discomfort and anger at the woman at his feet. Vladek's tailored suit and sharp lines create a sense of attractiveness which the female mouse clings to highlighting how desired he was.

Lucia

The women is not Anja like in the previous title cards but rather Lucia a small character who appears in this part of the novel and her presence serves as a foil for Anja. By placing her in the very first chapter, Spiegelman introduces the concept of a past beyond the facts of the present and he does so artfully by using the place of Vladek's partners. While we know Spiegelman's mother is Anja, the present of Lucia by Vladek's side adds depth to the past beyond the present which remains a theme in his work. Despite the knowledge of the present, the complexity of the past serves to add value to the traits of the past. Additionally her open mouth resurfaces depicting her emotional pain at the thought of Vladek's departure and clinginess bolstering his image.

Power dynamics

The placement of their bodies is very important to depict Vladek in a position of power, as he is upright. Lucia is on the floor and thus is given less importance. Her leaning upon Vladek shows her dependence on him which reinforces his character as a main one. Spiegelman makes him the picture of masculinity and power using Vladek's own account of his life which adds different intentions to depiction of the story.

Next Part

#maus #musings-of-a-lit-student #art spiegelman #literature #analysis #writing #long post #antisemitism #holocaust #graphic novel #comics #art #illustration #books and literature #book recommendations #novel #thoughts #reading #english literature #academia #dark academia #light academia #book bans #ban #banned books #education #trending #spilled thoughts #books

[rachelcapstone]

Week 8: October 25

This week for my creative research I visited the Cooper Hewitt Museum. Here are some of the highlights:

From Design and Healing: Creative Responses to Epidemics

Zero-waste Scrub Set, 2020 by Danielle Elsener

This zero-waste scrub resulted from when the logo from the NHS (National Health Service) was printed at the wrong size.

I love the unique pattern that is created from the fabric scraps sewn together - it makes it look more high fashion than a normal scrub, even though it was made from a fabric that would normally have been thrown away because of errors.

Next was an exhibit on AI

Expression Portrait by R. Luke DuBois

This piece scanned your face, and guess the emotion that you were showing. It then asked you to hold that emotion for a minute. However, right after, it reveals that it had collected data from you about your age, ethnicity, current emotion, etc., and that the fun activity was not so fun after all. One thing that we noted was that the results for my roommate were a bit more accurate than mine, maybe because AI tends to be better at detecting white faces...?

The next exhibit we went to was designing for peace. I just really liked the theme of this exhibit and it was definitely my favorite due to the variety of cultures, ideas, issues, and solutions that were involved with it.

I through the opening wall was really cool, and how there was a hidden message depending on which angle you were looking at it.

I loved the typography and symbolism in this Black Lives Matter street art, and the imagery that was in each. They still all look cohesive.

Conflict Kitchen is a takeout kitchen in Philadelphia that serves food from countries in conflict with the United States.

The facade of conflict kitchen. It reminds me of Rich’s piece from last year.

This idea is great because it highlights food from countries that many Americans may normally be hesitant to try, due to lack of accessibility, knowledge, or fear of cultural differences. Restaurants representing these countries also may be more likely to face discrimination due to the bad media that they recieve due to the fact that they are the US’s “enemy”. Serving food though gives people the opportunity to associate these countries with something more positive, and experiencing the culture can help to humanize it's people. Food also acts as a gateway to learn more about these countries’ people and cultures in a more positive light that the media does, telling the other side of the story. Cultural exchange is a great was to confront bias and fear that Americans may have.

Take out wrappers for Conflict Kitchen contain interviews with multiple perspectives of people but currently living in and those who moved away from the focus country.

Universal Declarations of Human Rights Posters

“This is My Home” Poster based on the Declarations’s Article 25: Everyone has a right to a standard of living adequate for health and well-being.

By Cindy Chen

“Your Thoughts are Illegal” Poster and Postcard based on the Declaration’s Article 18: Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion.

By Christopher Kosek

Everybody poster and postcard based on the Declaration’s Article 1: All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and right.

By Christopher Kosek

Sweat Shop Labor poster and postcard based on the Declaration’s Article 23: Everyone has the right to work... to equal pay...

I really like these posters because of the irony in the imagery, and how it gets the message across so clearly. Just the imagery alone implies what the topic of the poster is. The designs are really creative and clever.

I also talked to Jack as he also went to the Cooper Hewitt, and he said that the layout of the museum reminded him of my project, as the exhibits were really close to each other and juxtaposed each other.

I really enjoyed going to the museum this week, but I’m still not sure exactly the direction I want to go for my next project, I loved so many of the projects there, but I’m not exactly sure how some of them relate to my topic, as I feel like they maybe touch more on other interests I have that are not necessarily related. I did get some insirpation on how to present my work, and the various forms that it can take. Who knew medical devices could be placed in an “art” museum? 

For scholarly research this week, I found a book by Gail Dexter Lord and Ngaire Blankenber called Cities, Museum, and Soft Power. 

Citation: Lord, Gail Dexter, and Ngaire Blankenberg. 2015. Cities, Museums and Soft Power. Washington: American Association of Museums. https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspxdirect=true&scope=site&db=nlebk&db=nlabk&AN=1341266.

Link to article: http://ezproxy.stevens.edu/login?url=https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=e000xna&AN=1341266&site=ehost-live&ebv=EB&ppid=pp_9

Summary: Soft power emerged as a concept in the late twentieth century to describe international relations based not on military or economic strength, but on influence. While the resources of "hard power" are tangible-force and finance-soft power resources include ideas, knowledge, values, and culture, as well as the ability to persuade. This volume discusses soft power from the vantage point of museums and demonstrates how they are quietly changing the world. With contributions by thirteen experts from ten countries, Cities, Museums and Soft Power reveals the world's 80,000 museums to be sleeping giants. Two major characteristics of soft power-the rise of cities and the role of civil society-are pushing museums from the margins toward the center as these institutions serve as education hubs, employers, magnets for creative industries, and engines of economic development. Meanwhile, the growth of technological networks and connectivity has enabled this soft power to spread even farther and deeper across the Internet and groups of people. Whether cozy and local or internationally renowned, museums possess a cultural strength that extends far beyond their walls

It also recaps some information that I learned earlier from a different perspective. 

There was also some discussion about when soft powers collide, how cities and museums can use soft power to better the lives of the people that live there, and how soft power is not always employed positively. 

I am glad this week that I finally found another book talking about soft power in an artistic or more localized scale. I was honestly surprised that a whole book existed. It focuses a little more on cities and museums than I probably will in my paper, but still has some good insight. Particularly, how soft power is not always a power used for good. In a similar way, juxtaposition is a soft power, but it can be used to portray a negative message as well. 

Overall this week I got some really good inspiration from Cooper Hewitt. I particularly like the way that the Human Right posters played with meaning and were so easily able to grab my attention. The format and imagery with the text had great gestalt and already implied the topic at hand even with just the simple imagery. I also feel now after this week that I understand soft power enough in all sense (political, artistic, and the negative sides to it), so will find a different research topic for next week. 

[salazarslytherin]

belong (h.p x y/n)

requested : yes!!! my very first :D [So I don’t know if your up for request but if you are would you mind to do a dom Harry x fem reader and him using different toys on you. You can ignore this if you want ! Anyhow have a nice day !! :)] send in your own request here!

🃛 masterlist!

cw / tw : smut!!!!, name-calling, slight degradation, dom!harry, references like sir etc., bondage, slight exhibitionism, sex toys, anal play, edging, overstimulation, jealousy, possessiveness

word count: 2780 my goodness i just ran with this request huh..

a/n: slight au in this one, basically voldy doesn't exist, like he died or wtv idk . just normal hogwarts with high-school dynamics. hope you enjoy!

"Who do you belong to darling?"

The answer was muffled through the cries that escaped your lips, but Harry gently hit your bum, letting out a harsh 'speak' as he thrust into you, eliciting a soft mewl from your lips as you gasped.

"You, Harry, only you. No one else could make me feel as good as you do!"

⚔︎

It was the party of the year. The Slytherin common-room was in full swing as all four houses meshed together to simply wind down after exams and have a good time. You'd gone to the party with a few girl friends from your dorm, Harry promising to meet you there after he was done with quidditch practice.

"Hey y/l/n! Want a drink?"

Zabini approached you sitting on the couch, two red solo cups in hand as he passed one to you, flopping down on the green satin couch and wrapping an arm around you. The two of you weren't exactly friends, but also weren't exactly strangers. You shared flirty comments in potions, but both of you knew nothing serious would come from it. He was just fun to be around, and you knew he felt the same about you.

Oh, and there was something else about him.

Seeing you talk to Blaise drove Harry absolutely insane.

It wasn't that Harry didn't trust you, he definitely did. He just was an incredibly possessive guy, and you found it really, really hot. But also, you found yourself enjoying Blaise's company, so you grew closer to the Slytherin. Playing with fire more and more as the days passed. ⚔︎ Harry stepped into the Slytherin Common Room laughing, the door closing behind him as he slapped Ron on the back. Scanning the room, the laughter dissipated and his jaw clenched, unconsciously gripping Ron's shirt which had the ginger wincing, looking to see what had pissed his best friend off. Ron's eyes landed on you, clad in a tight-fitting dress, sitting with Zabini's arm wrapped around your shoulders. The pair of you were laughing at something as you leaned in a little too close to the Slytherin. The seeker's eyes narrows behind his glasses, stalking over to the couch and stood in front of you. "Oh hey Haz! I didn't know you'd come already. D'you wanna top me off?" Shoving your cup into your boyfriend's hands, Harry took a whiff of the container which reeked of firewhiskey. He could tell you were tipsy, and pulled you up off the couch, whispering into your ear. "No, but I'd like to fill you up." You swallowed slightly, your throat suddenly feeling dry despite all that you'd been drinking that night. Harry threw Blaise a weak smile as he leaned away from your ear, a smile that definitely did not match the dark look in his eyes. "Zabini I'm going to take her back to my dorm for a bit. She's clearly out of it." The aforementioned Slytherin shrugged and got up off the sofa, not before turning back to throw you a wink. "Until next time, Y/N." ⚔︎ The door to Harry's dorm was thrown open with just a wave of his hand, an impressive feat of wandless magic that you were not in the proper headspace to admire. "Did you forget who you belonged to, y/n, hmm? Because it sure as hell seemed like it." The boy all but growled at you, making you shiver slightly, dampness pooling in your underwear. "W-what do you mean Harry?" The boy let out a humourless laugh, his eyes dark with lust and determination, before pushing you down onto the bed nearest to the door, pinning your arms above you. "It seems my little slut needs to be taught a lesson." A moan elicited from your throat as Harry leaned down to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth as your hands shot to your usual position – lost in his mess of curls. But he moved away as soon as you did so. "No can do baby doll, bad girls don't get to touch. In fact, I think that in itself deserves a punishment. Come, get up, strip, then lay yourself over my lap." You slipped off your dress and shoes, standing in front of Harry in just the green lace underwear that you'd worn for the night. The sight of the underwear made Harry's cock swell slightly, but a bitter taste formed in his mouth. "You little slut. Wore that for Zabini didn't you? Your pretty little tits covered in Slytherin colours. Now we can't have that, can we?" He grabbed you harshly, basically throwing you over his lap as he grabbed your left tit over the thin lace of your bra, his other calloused hand rubbing your ass. He took the bra off, letting your tits free, throwing the bra somewhere across the room, summoning a paddle from a secret trunk under his bed. "Now my little whore, I want you to count, and thank me with each one. Let's start with twenty, and we'll see how it goes." You whined in response, but did not object. Slap. "One, thank you sir." Slap. ⚔︎ Twenty-eight spanks later – Harry said you answered too late for some, and squealed a little too loud for the others, and you were on the verge of tears. Wiping the tears that had spilled away, Harry flipped you onto the bed, a dangerous smile on his face. "Very good baby. But don't think it's over yet. You still haven't answered for your actions. You know how I feel about Zabini. Now, I'll make you feel the same." Waving his hand yet again, ribbons, crimson ones of course, flew to bind your hands and legs to the posts of the 4-poster bed. A gag followed

a few moments later, covering your mouth. Leaving you for a second, Harry returned with an array of his favourite toys, making you whimper at the sight of them. He switched on his favourite one, a purple curved vibrator, and pressed it to your clothed clit, a moan ripping from your throat as he toyed with your nipple simultaneously. "Now, because you've been so bad, I don't think you deserve to cum until I've been inside you. Don't you agree darling?" Shaking your head vigorously, your body too sensitive for you to produce any noise, you pleaded with your eyes, but Harry only smirked. "Oh you do! Fantastic. Now, since my little slut is so enthusiastic, why don't we try something new?" Harry ripped the green thong right off of your body, making you groan slightly, narrowing your eyes at him as he smiled innocently back at you. His fingers traced your slit making you moan, gathering the moisture that you had produced on two of his fingers, before leaning forward to give your cunt a soft lick. His slickened hand slowly started to trace your asshole, pushing one finger in as he pushed his tongue into your hole, thrusting in and out of both holes with the same pace. "You like that? You good? Remember to click." The words caused vibrations to travel up your body, moaning into the gag, nodding. Harry's concern for you turning you on further, the knowledge that you could get out of the restraints at any second making you remember how much Harry cared for you. The aforementioned boy hastened the pace at your encouragement, adding a second finger into your asshole. Just as your moans started getting louder and your cunt began fluttering, Harry stopped, moving away from you and off the bed, making you shriek in protest of your lost orgasm. "I told you darling, not yet." With that, he picked up the vibrator he'd abandoned just now, as well as a set of anal beads that he'd newly acquired, and gently put them into you, leaning back and admiring his work. "Well, I'm going back to the party. See you in a bit!" Harry plucked his wand from his back pocket, casting disillusionment and muffliato charms over you, ignoring the screams of protest that came from behind the gag. "Oh by the way, the muffliato is only for the vibrator. Not for you. Don't be too loud! And don't forget. No cumming. Love you!" ⚔︎ Harry was back at the party, sipping his firewhiskey and not even slightly listening to what Dean was saying to him. All he could think about was Y/N. Naked. Tied up. Shaking. Moaning his name. The thought alone made him so hard he was certain you could see every vein of his dick through his pants. "Anyways, I'm going to go back to the dorm real quick. I promised Nott to get him a...Muggle treat. Be right back." Only after the slight slap on the bicep and the closing of the massive wood doors did Harry register what Dean had said. "Oh shit." ⚔︎ You couldn't help yourself as the vibrations kept thrumming through you, trying to keep yourself quiet had become almost useless as you knew that everyone in your grade was at the party, but the fear and adrenaline of being caught turned you on more and more. You and Harry had discussed doing something like this multiple times, but you'd never expected it to be tonight. Torn from your thoughts, you were forced to remember why this toy was Harry's favourite as the vibrations changed in intensity once in a while – Harry could control it with his wand, and Merlin was he doing it. It was like the boy had memorised the way you orgasmed, knew exactly how much it would take to get you to the edge, and then knew exactly how to get you off of it. Lost in your thoughts, you nearly missed the thundering of someone coming up the stairs, and you immediately shut your mouth. Struggling against the restraints you remembered the disillusionment charm, and bit on the gag, hoping whoever came in would go straight back out. "Now where's that bloody mag?" Dean had slipped into the room, tripping over his feet slightly, causing him to have to steady himself on the bed nearest to the door, the

bed you were currently tied to, which nearly made you squeal in fear and shock, suddenly thankful for the gag that had been making your jaw ache. "Merlin, who's–" "Ay mate." Harry walked into the room, a cup barely hanging from his hands as he nodded at Dean, casting a sly glance towards the bed he knew you were on. "Hey Harry. Why're you up here?" The small smile that appeared on Harry's face made you shudder as he subtly turned up the vibrations on his wand. That boy was going to be the death of you... "Nothing much. Kinda tired, and I came here to find something for y/n. I'll head back down in a bit." A hum came from Dean's shadow, who was stood at a bed that was far too close to yours for your liking, as a triumphant sound emerged from the boy. "Finally found the mag! Right, I'm headed back down, see you in a bit Potts." ⚔︎ As the disillusionment charm lifted, Harry was greeted by a very, very, red y/n, with every crevice of your body twitching. An intense moan ripped from your throat as you watched him approach you, caressing your body softly, feeling the callouses on his hands on your soft skin. "You've been so good for me baby. So good. Are you ready for your reward?" You nodded vigorously, tears spilling from your eyes as he switched off the vibrator, removing it from your hole. He began stripping, the slow pop of each button on his dress shirt revealing more and more of his quidditch toned body, making you cry out as the seeker pulled down his pants, allowing his cock out of the tight restraints of his jeans. He removed the gag, placing a soft kiss on your lips as whimpers and moans erupted. "Please. I need you inside me so bad. Want you so bad. Please sir." He attached his lips to your neck, smiling against it as he pumped himself softly, prepping himself to enter you. "Now I can't deny my pretty little slut what she wants, can I?" He sank into you, both of you moaning out simultaneously as he felt your wet warmth tighten around him, reaching behind you to pull the silver anal beads out. "Oh, Haz, please. I'm going – to cum already." Harry began thrusting in and out of you, loud moans rumbling against your collarbone as he kissed and sucked on it, leaving a dark hickey on the bone. "Fuck, yes, cum around my cock. Let me feel your tight little cunt cum baby." A scream ripped from your throat, your voice almost hoarse from the sound you'd just emitted, your entire body shuddering as you released the most intense orgasm of your life – having been kept on edge for almost two hours now. "Fuck, Harry!" As you came, Harry clicked his fingers as quickly as he thrusted into you, the binds falling away from your appendages. Basking in a post-orgasmic bliss for a brief moment, you were brought back into reality by Harry continuing his thrusts into you. "Oh, you're so tight. And this pretty little pussy is all mine." You wrapped your hands around his neck, pressing your lips close to Harry's, moaning against his lips as the thrusts hastened. His hand reached down to your clit, rubbing in vigorous circles, while yours gripped onto his shoulders, leaving nail marks – a reminder of tonight. "Tell me. Who do you belong to darling?" The answer was muffled through the cries that escaped your lips, but Harry gently hit your bum, letting out a harsh 'speak' as he thrust into you, eliciting a soft mewl from your lips as you gasped. "You, Harry, only you. No one else could make me feel as good as you do!" Content with the answer, Harry began kissing down your neck, before reaching your tits, sucking and kissing the two nipples, never stopping the furious attack on your clit. "Come on y/n. Cum for me again baby. Cum with me." His cock twitched inside of you, and the stimulus of everything came down upon you as you came for the second time, and Harry the first, releasing his seed into you, moaning into your breast as you scratched down Harry's back, no doubt leaving marks for everyone to see during tomorrow's practice. He pulled out of you slowly, watching as the aftermath of your time together spilled out of your hole, then placed tender kisses on your ankles and wrists. "You did so well for me darling. So, so well." You hummed, caught in a daze, uncertain of how to keep your head from spinning at the moment. "How are you baby? Give me a colour y/n." The colours were a measure of your well-being: green was good, orange was uncertain but alright, red, well red doubled as your safe word. But you'd never had to use it once with Harry. "Orange, because my head won't stop spinning and my body won't stop thrumming. But I'm fine Haz." He smiled worriedly down at you, his glasses fogged slightly from the sweat that dripped down his face. "I love you so much. Now let's get you cleaned up." ⚔︎ After Harry cleaned you up and about fifteen minutes lounging on, well, whoever's bed this was, you slipped on your dress, without any underwear on, because Harry had literally ripped your thong apart, and got ready to head back down to the party.

"You're so beautiful. I love you so much."

Harry pinched your ass through the dress, giving you a kiss as you two stood at the top of the stairs, meeting Ron who was on his way up.

"Hey mate. Going to bed?"

The ginger nodded, yawning slightly.

"Yeah, hard practice today. See you tomorrow mate. You too y/n. Looks like you had fun."

He wiggled his eyebrows at the hickeys that covered your neck and collarbones, causing you to blush as Harry pushed his friend towards the room.

"Alright alright. Get outta here. Good night!"

The ginger gave a reply, which then turned into a shriek.

"Harry! Why's there a bra on my bed! And a – AHHH. Wait, why's Seamus' bed a mess? He made it this morning! Harry! For fuck's sake! We made a promise not to EVER DO THIS!"

The sound of footsteps came towards the large oak doors, as Harry ushered you down the stairs, the two of you laughing.

"Run. Run. RUN!"

"HARRY JAMES POTTER! Just you wait!"

#mine #writing #smut #harry potter smut #hp smut #harry potter x you #hp imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter angst #harry potter fluff #harry potter #harry potter fic #hp angst #hp fluff #hp fic #harry james potter

[wnnbdarklord]

EDIT: so I started writing this like a week ago, but honestly the finale killed any desire in me to interact with this show in a fannish way. So have these half assed notes. I think it's obvious where I lost steam. These ideas are free for use for anyone who wants them in fic, have at you. As it is, I don't think I'll interact with this show as a fan any further than this.

How I would write a Loki show in bullet points (and a mishmash of short scenes and dialogue, let's be honest) for my sanity!

Presuming some disney exec came down from on high and forced the inclusion of EG!Loki and the TVA (because otherwise it'd be IW!Loki that survived and it'd be all about him finding his best life away from Earth, Asgard, Thor and the whole Thanos/EG situation. Or if I only had to include the TVA, it'd be IW!Loki dealing with the TVA, not EG!Loki):

Fair warning: this will likely be a mess since I'm not entirely motivated to not have it be so. 

[cut for length]

Ep1:

- Loki escapes to Nidavelir and uses the tools there to get rid of the chains and muzzle. A CONTROLLED use of the Tesseract, thankyouverymuch

- the TVA comes for him and Loki is wary and on the alert, exhausted from the whole Avengers thing so he immediately makes a clone to interact with the TVA and observes from afar

- the TVA fall for it when they try to bitchslap him like in the show, but immediately regroup when it goes through the illusion and start a search pattern. Their tech can scan for his temporal aura and they close in on Loki quickly (show the TVA as at least somewhat competent or they're shit antagonists for Loki)

- Loki, who still has hold of the Tesseract, portals out of there

- what follows is a quick chase scene across multiple planets and realms, but the TVA are always on his heels. The longest time they take to find him is during an ongoing apocalypse on a random planet that's enough for Loki to get a quick breather. but you know, disaster's on the horizon, so he has to leave eventually. but this is the first clue both we as an audience and Loki get about potential hiding places.

- when an exhausted Loki finally turns to fight, he manages to take several minutemen out  (justifying B-15's hate on for him) before one of them gets in a lucky shot and freezes him

- "Who are you people?" [short flash of Loki's eyes flashing green and the entire scene getting a strange cast, floating energy swirling around everything. It's beautiful, but the TVA people's energy is out of sync, out of touch and strangely jagged compared to their surroundings]

- they slap the collar on him and march him into the TVA

- Loki immediately tries to pull the same illusion trick but it doesn't work cause no magic in the TVA (maybe some visual indication of what he's trying to do, but it doesn't go past his skin. You know, like Sylvie managed in ep 3 -.-)

- he doesn't wildly panic, but we see his breathing speed up and he immediately looks at his left hand and relaxes when he sees it isn't turning blue. 

- okay so the TVA have caught him, he's on their shit list, no magic, exhausted, no idea what's going on, who these people are or how powerful they are - he chooses to play nice for now and bide his time

- the whole intake process is spent in quiet observation mode, only speaking when spoken to

- discomfort at being out of his clothes, but maybe only a wry joke about them wanting to strip him naked (making him a participant in all the thirst jokes)

- he doesn't ask if a lot of people don't know they're robots like a child wanting validation and he's not visibly afraid. Instead, we see him look at his hand again and try for wry humor when asking. But he steps into the device without much hesitation. It's death vs certainty and we already know he's chosen death once before.

- the propaganda cartoon is much shorter and plays in the background so we can see Loki's incredulous eyebrow raise at it. the ticket thing gets an eyeroll, but ready compliance since it's not worth it to argue

- when he sees the other guy get "pruned", he immediately reaches for the ticket to reassure himself it's there, but doesn't wave it around triumphantly, just sighs in relief

- trial can stay mostly unchanged, just no stupid magic attempt in the middle

"It's not your story, Mr. Laufeyson, it never was" (AND THIS SHALL BE PROVEN FALSE, you know, unlike in the show where it turned out to be their fucking mission statement) also, Loki gives her murder eyes for calling him that

- in fact, instead of trying magic, Loki holds up the controller he stole from  B-15 as she was escorting him to the trial and waves as he disappears through a door backwards

After that scene is the church scene with bodies, establishing Mobius as a hunter of dangerous variants. Someone is killing TVA officers

Mobius gets called back as in canon, but arrives too late to stop our Loki from leaving

Sidenote: Loki still has the tesseract since it was in his pocket dimension during the fight the TVA nabbed him in

Ep 2:

- it's now a few days/weeks later. Loki is back in his own clothes, a simpler outfit not geared for war. He's in the biggest library in the universe, the depository of almost all knowledge, looking for information about the TVA. there is Nothing, suspiciously so

- once again, the TVA shows up and he has to run yet again. maybe he kills this team too, to buy himself more time. he steals a melt stick and more time pads and reset charges

- he needs more information and the only place he'll get it is at the TVA it seems, so he shapeshifts into his female form, dressed as one of the many paperpushers at the TVA and we see her being relieved that the spelled clothing is holding once she passes through the time door

(another aside, but ideally the female form is more like Eva Green or Katie McGrath. AND NOT BLONDE)

- acting like she belongs, Loki effortlessly manages to snoop around the TVA for a few hours

- there's only one close call with C-20, but Loki manages to deflect suspicion by parroting the motto at her, which Loki reads from a nearby propaganda poster (cause Loki is good at lying, manipulation and flying by the seat of their pants)

- eventually, she ends up at the archive area and begins researching. We see that Loki is competent at this and is quick to pick up the filing system. the variant number from the papers she signed the episode before becomes relevant to finding the appropriate files

- before she can dig too deep into her own life story as laid out by these people, just as she finds the Ragnarok Report, Mobius finds her (maybe there was a silent alarm triggered by unauthorized access or something. Slightly more competent TVA)

- there is a scene where Mobius and Loki play a game of chicken and manipulation, wordplay and lying until it becomes clear Mobius knows who Loki is (actually establishing some camaraderie)

- Loki gets a little hoisted by their own petard since they're enjoying the banter so much, the backup Mobius called for catches them a little off guard, collared again

- since info gathering is still the name of the game, Loki doesn't try to get away just yet

(during this entire scene, Mobius is the same offhandedly condescending prick he is in canon, but it's very obviously framed that way)

(also featuring confirmation of the genderfluidity thing because fuck you disney)

M: "Nice disguise. Really had me fooled for a second there."

L: "It's hardly a disguise. I am always myself."

[Loki shifts back to male, though the clothes remain the same (shifting =/= magic)]

M: "Yeah, well, next time you want to go undercover at the TVA, maybe don't choose a face we already have from several other of your variants."

[Loki twitches a little, since that wasn't a form he openly wore a lot (even when he wanted to) cause Asgard is a dick about shifting genders] 

L: "And how does that work exactly?"

M: "Got your entire life on file, buddy. But you know, sometimes Asgard isn't a complete stick in the mud the day you gather enough courage to show up to dinner in a dress. We usually have to prune those timelines quickly."

[Loki's grin is more like a snarl, frozen on his face, since he picks up the implications loud and clear (the implication being that him being too happy is not allowed in the Sacred Timeline)]

M: [picks up the files Loki was looking at] "Come on, I've got something to show you."

-cue time theater scene

-that little scene of looking out at the TVA does not feature Loki being impressed or awed at the TVA's tech. It features him being scared/uneasy because the TVA is completely dead to his senses. Loki's eyes do the same flash as before, but everything is completely dull, no energy anywhere. He can barely see some swirls on his own arms]

-Loki asks why this charade, Mobius tells him the TVA is willing to come to an agreement with Loki for his help

"You're not the only one running around messing up the Sacred Timeline. Come on, job interview time."

(it's really really not)

- Mobius tries the same schtick as before, but it's both less and more effective. Less cause Loki has had a bit more time to collect himself since the invasion, more cause he's more aware of the TVA's power and has been chased by them for a while now

- we see Loki being affected by the Frigga thing BUT he also picks up how edited the reel is

- still, he lets Mobius do the "only thing you're good for" bit until we see him look up with murder in his eyes, even through the tears

- "I am going to burn this place to the ground and I am going to start with you. That is my bargain."

"Yeah, cause your "bargains" [Mobius full on air quotes here] work out so well for you," he says, offering Loki a hand up

-cue alarm and Mobius rushing out

-Loki grabs the files Mobius left behind, and also the tape in the hologram projector and escapes

- no infinity stones scene, cause Loki still has the Tesseract and doesn't go to look for more

- cut to the TVA running around in a panic, multiple branches forming on the displays. It's the same bombing plot as in the show, but now serving as a distraction for Loki to get away

- when they figure this out, Ravonna: "You should have just pruned him when you found him. There's a reason we don't reset Loki variants. Our luck always runs out eventually with them. Fix this, Mobius. Or you'll have to answer to the TimeKeepers."

- back to Loki, he steps out into chaos as something explodes behind him. He's in another apocalypse. During his running from the TVA, he noticed it takes them longer to find him whenever there's a lot of chaos around him, death and destruction. He finds a still intact building, seems high tech. Everyone else has already evacuated

- he takes the Tesseract out and blue and green energy surges around him and engulfs the building. It's suddenly quiet and we see outside the windows are pitch black 

- Loki quickly looks away

"Finally, some peace and quiet."

He slumps down to the floor, files scattered around him, tesseract nearby and curls up, dejected and exhausted 

Side note: Loki doesn't need to worry about recharging tempads since he has the tesseract, which was established in Avengers as able to provide infinite energy

Ep 3:

- he finds out about the variants in this episode, maybe goes looking for other variants before the TVA finds them

-how Loki finds out the TVA are all variants: he'd knocked out B-15 for a bit to interrogate her

-they're found by another team of minutemen, led by B-16, who is wearing B-15's face. Several of the other minutemen we've seen Loki kill in earlier episodes as well. They attack *both* of them cause they assume B-15 is compromised. Loki and B-15 work together and kill the whole lot, staring at each other incredulously

"You're Variants! You're all Variants!"

[B-15 collapses to her knees in shock] 

End episode

EDIT: My basic idea for episodes 4 & 5 were Loki and B-15 working together and travelling through various timelines trying to get to the TimeKeepers, but realizing something was wrong the further they went. Time begins breaking down, paradoxes are all over the place and the TVA keeps pruning some specific place so much that sometimes two teams are on top of each other. Stuff like that. 

I also had a few scenes where Loki meets other variants (that aren't him), but who actually like and even love him. Men, women, variations thereupon, and one or two who would mistake Loki for their Loki. So we get bi confirmation without actually including romance in the show itself, because 6 episodes isn't enough to develop that along with everything else that's going on.

Vaguely outlined here: 

My "how to include the bi thing without the main story being a romance and also indicating that Loki is able to be liked and loved by people who aren't just variants of himself, please and thank you":

(note to self, rewrite this so it makes sense lol EDIT: lol, don't feel like it so this is all you get, folks!) 

a variant significant other, male: kisses Loki

Loki: You are clearly my type, but I'm sorry. I'm not him.

[heartbroken expression on the variant]

from another timeline Loki visits:

woman holding a sword to his head after looking at him suspiciously: Change back!

Loki: Into who?!

woman: Her!

[Loki shapeshifts into his female self]

woman lets go of the sword

"You escaped! When Odin took you away, I thought he would kill you. Why did you never come back to me, my love?"

EDIT: My "twist" ending was that the Time Keepers were dead, not that they never existed. Some sort of mcguffin exists to just break the whole TVA and free the timelines. Idk, maybe the TVA was just a test to see if it'd work, but the system just kept perpetuating itself after the power hungry losers kept it going beyond the bounds of the experiment. Either way: 

villain plot twist: the time keepers are long dead. the TVA is a terrible system that perpetuated itself on its own, only a few judges were aware that the timekeepers had ever died. The entire System Has To Go (lol like disney would ever go there)

The system is literally Killing the Universe, since the universe's natural state of being is a multiverse. But the system don't care, system don't give a shit. System only exists to perpetuate itself, system's survival is the most important, catastrophic universal failure need not apply

(this is way too on the nose for disney, but since this rewrite's motto is Fuck Disney, it shall stay)

EDIT: this was how I imagined the climax of the series.

Mobius or Ravonna (i never decided): "All the chaos, all the possibilities? How can you stand the uncertainty? How can you believe the world will be any better than it is now?"

Loki: "Because it has to be!" [smashy smashy TVA]

series ends with the timeline breaking free

we see various scenes of the variants in their former lives, happy

and AU scenes of the previous movies:

Loki gets pulled up on the bridge

Loki accepts Thor's offer during the Avengers

Loki gets up on Svartalfheim, bleeding heavily, but doesn't go to Asgard but to Thor

Loki tricks Thanos during IW

Loki as an Avenger

Loki as a kid

Loki as a girl

Loki on jotunheim, fully jotun

Loki on Asgard, jotun

faster and faster, all sorts of different AU scenes until the screen goes dark and we see our Loki, smirking

"But...well, those are stories for another time."

and he steps back into the shadows.

#loki series spoilers #loki series negativity #loki series #fanfic #sort of #loki #half assed rewrite #half assed meta #my stuff

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Communicate (Haiba Lev x kuudere!Reader)

note: first entry for haikyuu! i'm open for requests, just hmu! i apologize for any mistakes. some of my stories were intentionally made to be f!reader, but i figured gn!reader would be more appropriate. so i apologize if you see any she/her/names that are in the text. ^^

(i'm adding w/c now as well!)

word count: 3.8k

"He's not coming back tonight, no?"

For a few moments, there was silence. A gust of wind blew past the apartment complex, rustling the leaves of the trees planted down below. You sat on the chair set up on your balcony. Looking over the metal railings, you admired how the yellow and red taillights of cars stuck in traffic bobbed up and down the street. Somehow, they looked like Christmas lights tossed in a messy line; Like they were discarded the morning right after Christmas because the tree had to be taken down again.

You hugged the jacket closer to your arms, hoping to gain more warmth. Inhaling the fresh scent of laundry detergent, you smiled. Eyes crestfallen and tears just barely swimming in your ducts. The cold breeze of December brushed past your hair, tickling the back of your neck. It's the first Christmas I'm spending without you.

Your cat, Maika, jumped on your lap. She purred and mewled, rubbing her head against your warm hand. You managed to choke out a small chuckle, petting the white fur of the cat. You let your eyes wander to the glass doors connecting the living room and balcony. Your couch was there, a duvet carelessly thrown on top of it. You shouldn't help but let a few drops of salty tears fall down your cheeks.

You weren't really the type of person to cry over silly things. In fact, you rarely cried at all. As far as you remember, the last time you cried over something petty was back in second grade. You were teased for cutting your own hair; Your bangs looked choppy, and one classmate even mentioned how you managed to cut a giant chunk out from the back of your head. Admittedly, you were pretty stupid for messing around with the scissors you found on the table, but you didn't really know any better. Anyway, who knew that hair took so long to grow back?

Other than that, you don't recall crying anymore. Throughout your middle and high school years, tears weren't really present to disrupt your life. Not even when Kuroo accidentally spiked a ball into the back of your head, and not even when Yaku accidentally kicked your shin because you were standing too close to his original target, Lev.

Lev.

Although you didn't find any reason for letting yourself cry during those years, you couldn't help but tear up when you remembered Lev. You were incredibly proud of yourself for counting up to five days without crying every since Lev left your shared apartment. However, today was Christmas eve. There were approximately three hours before Christmas, and here you were, spending it with Maika, on the balcony, crying your eyes out.

To be completely honest, you knew that it was your fault that Lev left. You were a rather independent person. You had a bold personality; Never afraid of being blunt to people, never afraid of telling others if they needed to be scolded. However, you were an absolute novice when it came to showing affection to Lev.

It was a surprise, to say the least, to the entire volleyball team that the cold-hearted manager, _____-san, was dating the eccentric and hyperactive first year, Haiba Lev. Yaku, Kuroo, and Kai were in shock upon hearing the news from Lev. At first, they thought he was just kidding, but when they heard it from you, their minds were beyond boggled.

-

"Eh?!"

"Seriously?"

"Kuroo-san, why do you look so surprised? You too, Yaku-san. And Kai-senpai, I didn't think you'd be interested in my love life as well." You calmly said, clipboard firm against your chest, as your eyes scanned the volleyball posters displayed in the volleyball club room.

"W-Well, I didn't think it was actually true because Lev was the one saying it. I thought he was just bullshitting us." Yaku admitted, scratching the back of his head before sending you a sheepish smile.

"You're growing up too fast, _____-san!" Kuroo quipped, wrapping his arms around you like a doting aunt, "You have a boyfriend now, I'm getting old!"

"Kuroo-san, please stop patronizing me. I have feelings too. Why does this come as a surprise to you all? Inuoka-kun and Futakuchi-kun also asked me if Haiba-kun and I were actually dating. It's not like I'm a robot or anything, I can... contract love too." Your disheveled form pried Kuroo's arms away from you, and you dusted your shoulders off as if Kuroo left dirt atop of them.

"You don't contract love, _____. It's not a disease." Yaku laughed at your poor choice of words.

"You, see _____-san, we just didn't think that you were interested in romance for the time being, and for you to be dating someone like Lev, it's surprising. In a good way, though, don't get me wrong. Lev's a good kid." Kai was the calmest of the bunch, but he was simply masking his happiness. He was the one who invited you to be their manager, after all. He saw how you grew out of your shell gradually. It's nice to see you enjoying the years of your youth, as Kuroo would put it.

"Ah, I see. To be honest, I didn't think I would also participate in a romantic relationship with anyone this early on. However, Haiba-kun successfully caught my attention. I think it would be a fun experience. Whatever happens, I get to grasp a further understanding of our Russian first year, and I also gain knowledge on the department of... love." You mentioned nonchalantly.

Kuroo, Yaku, and Kai all exchanged knowing looks; Something that screamed: "Are you sure you're not a robot?"

"_____-chan!" Lev's excited voice was heard from outside of the gym. The first years finally arrived, signifying that practice would begin soon.

"Pardon me. Thank you for your time." You bowed politely to the three seniors and walked over to where the first years were leaving their things.

"_____-chan I missed you a lot today! I only got to see you in free period earlier, and that was barely 10 minutes, but you're here now!" Lev was like a puppy. He was bouncing around, showering you with genuine compliments and adorations, his smile reaching the heavens above. Perhaps, if you pat his head, an invisible tail would wag? You considered the idea.

You managed to hold back a smile of your own, only replying with, "Get prepared for practice, Haiba-kun."

"_____-chan, you can call me Lev, you know? Since we are dating and all." The Russian said softly, wanting to get his point across, but not wanting to scare you.

"Maybe next time, Haiba-kun."

-

When you slipped inside your living room, you couldn't help but let out a few more sobs. There was a Christmas tree left half decorated just beside your television. Cans of tea and red bull were laying just on the feet of the couch. Half-empty and empty packets of chips were on the coffee table. God, you left the living room in such a messy state.

You pulled Lev's enormous (Well, it was enormous on you. But on Lev, it was the perfect size) jacket closer to your body, wishing you could smell his scent instead of the laundry detergent.

Maika wandered into the living room and onto her cat bed, stretching her paws and making herself comfortable before she went to take a nap.

You couldn't help but acknowledge the absolute dumpster fire when you saw yourself in the full body mirror near the entrance of your hallway. You were wearing a pair of fuzzy pajamas, an oversized shirt covered in stains and crumbs, and Lev's Nekoma jacket. Your hair was messy and ruffled, and you looked... pale. Eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, but your lips were white. You had never looked so awful before.

-

"_____-chan, you look amazing as always!" Lev came bounding to you.

"Congratulations on graduating! I'm so proud of you!" He took you in a tight embrace, lifting you up and spinning you around.

"H-Haiba-kun, please put me down!" You squealed, wriggling around in Lev's grip, trying to get away. For a split second, you could've sworn that Lev's face darkened, but you decided to brush it off.

Once your feet touched the ground, you managed to say a short and quiet "Thank you."

"Ah, this is really happening, isn't it?" Lev shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up at the cherry blossom trees in full bloom.

"Y-Yeah. It will even eventually happen to you too, Haiba-kun. It's the way that life progresses," You knew that you were pathetic at mustering a good enough reply, so you chose to fumble with the hem of your collar.

"Hey, _____-chan, do you love me?" Lev asked, suddenly serious. His gaze was still fixated on the trees above, their branches freely swaying in the wind, a few cherry blossoms fluttering down as the breeze carried them away.

A blush creeped up on your cheeks. Of course you loved him! More than... anything, if you were being honest. More than volleyball, more than red bull, more than anime, but why couldn't you say it?

"Speak up, damn it!" You thought to yourself.

After a few minutes passed, you were still tongue-tied. You hated yourself for not being able to express your feelings. There were already tears in your eyes, but you didn't want to cry in front of Lev; You vowed that you never would.

Lev looked down to see his senior in a low mood. "Don't worry, _____-chan! It's okay if you can't say it yet, I understand." Lev caught a single cherry blossom as it was falling down and tucked it behind your ear, " I'll wait for the day that you can say it back, so for now, I'll say it for the both of us, okay?"

You were embarrassed. You were such an asshole for doing this to Lev. To make up for your lacking skills in communication, you tapped his hand. Curiously, he opened his palm, and you placed a small object on top of it.

Lev's smile contained nothing but pure, concentrated glee.

"Thank you for the button, _____-chan, I will always cherish this. Happy anniversary. I love you so much!"

-

You found yourself standing at the doorway of your shared bedroom. You longingly stared at the queen-sized bed. The sheets were crisp and the pillows were fluffed. You haven't been sleeping in that bed since Lev left the apartment. It just didn't feel right. There was something about a heavier loneliness whenever you tried to sleep alone in that bed when you were so damn used to having Lev sleep beside you. That's why you've been sleeping on the couch ever since; It's uncomfortable as all hell, yeah, but at least you don't feel a large empty space beside you when you sleep. Maybe a few crumbs here and there, but that was bearable.

You pattered your way back into the living room, where your laptop lay buried under the empty chip packets. You grabbed it from underneath the rubbish and brushed off other residue before plopping down on the couch. You slipped your arms into the sleeves of Lev's jacket and opened up your laptop. You've been neglecting your uni works for the past days because your sadness just didn't allow you to function properly.

Upon entering your passcode, the black background of the loading screen faded into a photo of you and Lev. He was wearing a minnie mouse headband, and you wore the matching mickey mouse one. You were standing in front of sleeping beauty's castle at Tokyo disneyland. You were wearing Lev's gray hoodie, which made it look like you were wearing a really short dress because of how long it was. You were both smiling like idiots, and you recalled that that trip was one of the best of your life. You never usually smiled like that, but because Lev carried you bridal style and kept touching your sides, you couldn't help but squirm and smile in the photo.

Once again, tears were brimming in the corners of your eyes. The stinging pain of heartbreak and regret stabbing you over and over again.

-

"It's Christmas in five days, _____." Lev popped up from behind you while you were decorating the tree.

"Jeez! Don't scare me like that, I nearly dropped the lights." You replied, calming your racing heart. Was it because of how he scared you, or because of how close he was? Honestly. you couldn't tell.

Lev could only chuckle at this, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He gave you a kiss on the cheek. "You know, my first year at uni has been great so far. Thanks to you and a few of my friends."

"That's great then." You said, tone of voice returning to a monotone one.

"I love you, _____."

You couldn't even recall all the times that you froze up whenever Lev admitted his feelings for you, but add one to whatever number it's at right now.

You could only swallow your saliva and grip the lights tighter. Say it, ______, say it! You kept yelling in your head. Why can't you fucking say it?!

"I knew it." A low laugh was heard from Lev's mouth. His fists were turning white because of how hard he balled them up. His nails were digging into his palm. "Sometimes, I wonder if you even actually love me. But I guess you never did."

You turned your head abruptly. "Haiba, that's-"

Lev let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. "We've been dating for over three years now and you still call me by my last name. Are you that uncomfortable with me, _____-san?"

You cringed at how he emphasized the honorific following your name, probably trying to prove a point.

"You know that's not true."

"Of course it is!" He snapped. " For god's sake, _____, three years! Three years, and not once have you told me that you love me!"

You were on the brink of crying. No. No, not in front of him. You weren't weak, you weren't going to cry.

"In all those years that we've been together, I have never seen you cry. Not even when we're upset with one another. Are you... that cold-hearted that you don't care or you don't even feel anything? Not even for your own boyfriend?"

Silence.

The words he spat were like venom.

You couldn't speak. Your mouth felt dry and your throat felt like it closed in an instant, like some sort of invisible throat cover just squeezed itself right there, preventing you from speaking.

"I see how it is."

With that, Lev spun on his heel and went to their room. He grabbed a backpack and stuffed it with a couple of shirts, his wallet, his phone, charger, and other necessities. He slipped on the thickest jacket he owned and went straight to the front door.

"Le-"

"Goodbye."

He slammed the door shut.

-

That was probably the first time that you broke down in years. Who knew that it would be a guy behind your facade fading?

Who knew that Haiba Lev would be the one to make you realize that being strong-willed didn't mean being cold-hearted and nonchalant?

"Stupid Lev." You muttered to yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. Admittedly, his name seemed to roll off your tongue nicely.

You desperately tried to wipe your tears away, but they just kept coming.

"Why do I love you so much?"

-

"Lev, are you sure you're okay with what you're doing?" Yaku asked the taller male, taking a sip from his beer mug.

"Yaku-san, we've been together for a little over three years. They've never told me that they loves me. Never even cried. I think they're just that stone-hearted," Lev replied, taking a shot of vodka. "Either that or they're a fucking robot."

He fiddled with the necklace around his neck, contemplating whether he was going to pull it off and stomp on it until it broke. The charm attached to his necklace was the button that _____ gave him on back during her graduation day.

"Lev, you better listen to me, and you better listen real fucking good." Yaku's tone of voice was sharp, and it was something that Lev hasn't heard since his years at Nekoma. "You do know that _____ can't express their emotions well, right? They're blunt with everybody, and they're honest. But when it comes to love or romance or feelings that make them happy, you know that they can't show it as easily as you do."

"Yeah, I know." Lev answered quietly.

"But you do know that they love you, right?"

"I don't."

"You're telling me that you've never even felt that they love you?"

Suddenly, Lev's eyes shot open.

-

"Christ, you're going to catch a cold! Why the hell did you run out in this rain?!"

"Sorry, sorry! I just had to rush here to see you! I missed you soooo much!"

"Get inside and hop in the shower. I'll prepare some warm food for you while you're in there. There's a spare towel in the cupboard above the sink."

"Thank you, _____-chan!"

-

"Stupid beanpole. I told you to change clothes after practice yesterday, didn't I?"

"Sorry, _____-chan. I totally forgot." He coughed.

"Here, drink this medicine. I'll reheat your porridge and grab you a cold towel for your head. I'll also bring in the assignments that Inuoka gave me."

"You'd be a good wife, _____-chan. My wife, that is." Another cough.

"Shut up and rest before I hit you with this notebook."

"Yes, yes, darling."

-

"Where were you?! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

"S-Sorry, _____-chan. I saw this cat stuck in a tree and I just had to rescue it!"

"Don't go running off like that! Do you know how worried the team was? How worried I was?! I thought you were gone! Look at how many scratches you have on your arm. You need to go to the infirmary, now."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Just... Don't do it again, please. Always be in my line of sight."

"Yes, _____-sama!"

-

"Haiba, here's your water bottle."

-

"Haiba, the forecast said that there might be a downpour in the afternoon. Don't forget to bring an umbrella."

-

"Haiba, you left your books at the gym. Here. Jeez, don't be so forgetful next time."

-

"Haiba, here, I bought your favorite meal. Furihata said that you forgot your lunch at home. You can't go hungry."

-

"Haiba, you're doing well. Your progress report shows continuous growth. I'm proud of you."

-

"I'm a fucking idiot." Lev said. His emerald green eyes were filled with tears. "Excuse me, I have to go."

With that, he dashed out of the bar, leaving a confused Yaku with a drunk Kuroo passed out behind him.

The former libero could only sight and take a giant gulp of beer.

"Damn right you are."

-

You were full on crying right now. Approximately 10 minutes before Christmas, and here you were, crying on the couch. Maika had given up on comforting you, but remained by your side as you bawled you eyes out, offering some sort of moral support or assurance that someone was there for you.

However, a few moments passed, and Maika's ears perked up. She jumped down from the couch and made her way to the front door of the apartment. She lightly scratched the door.

"M-Maika, I'm sorry. I know I'm being too loud, I'll pipe down soon." The girl blubbered, blowing into a tissue.

As if on cue, there were multiple knocks on the door.

Fuck's sake.

You didn't even care that you'd be facing whoever is on the other side of the door while looking like this. Your eyes were puffier, the bags under them more prominent. Your nose was a rosy red color, cheeks flushed and tear stains were obvious on them.

"Who the fuck-?"

As soon as you opened the door, a sudden warmth engulfed your body. The familiar fragrance you loved so much flooded your blocked nostrils.

"Le-"

"I'm sorry."

There was silence.

"I'm so sorry for everything that I said, _____. I take all of it back. I know that you love me. Your love language isn't vocal and I should have been more accepting and understanding of that. I may not know your reasons for being the way you are, but I promise you that I accept you wholly. I'm so, so fucking sorry that I left so suddenly. I love you so much. I'm never leaving you again."

Sobs racked through your body. Your form was shaking in Lev's arms. He was surprised. It's the first time he's seen you cry, and it breaks his heart knowing that he's the reason behind it.

"I'm sorry, kitten. Please don't cry anymore."

"Lev," You started, attempting to calm down, and Lev swore his heart stopped beating for a second, "I love you."

For a moment, everything stopped. They could hear the neighbors yelling "Merry Christmas!" in their own units.

"P-Pardon?"

You giggled. "I love you, Lev. I'm really sorry that it took me this long to tell you. I guess I was just scared of telling you how I really felt because... I didn't want you to think that I was cheesy or..."

Lev cut you off with a kiss. It was short and sweet. He could taste red bull and barbecue chips on your lips, and you could taste vodka on his. It was imperfect, but it was yours, and you loved it.

"I love you so much, _____. This is the best Christmas gift I've ever received."

"I love you too, Lev."

"Come on, let's get inside. I bought some takeout for us to eat." He easily lifted you up with one arm and grabbed the plastic bag of takeout with his free hand.

"Yeah, about that," You buried your face in his neck, "I'm sorry."

"We'll... Clean up tomorrow." He chuckled, looking at the messy state your living room was in. "We'll eat in our room, okay? Why don't you get cleaned up first, and I'll prepare the things we need." He placed a kiss on your cheek.

"Alright, Lev." You replied, "Sorry for causing a lot of trouble."

"Don't be sorry, malishka. We're fine now, okay? We have each other and we understand each other better now." He set you in front of the bathroom. "Now, go ahead and shower! I'll get a fresh set of clothes for you and leave them out here."

"Thank you, Lyovochka." You grinned, using Alisa's nickname for him.

"Anytime, babe." Lev turned around to go to the bedroom until,

"Hey, Lev?" You showed your head out of the bathroom door.

"Yes, _____?"

"I love you!"

The, the door was slammed shut.

"_____, you're too cute!" Lev had to use every strand of will power he had to not faint on the spot.

Who knew that his kuudere partner was such a huge softie?

Maola mewled and rubbed her head against Lev's leg.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Maika."

#lev haiba #haiba lev #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #lev haiba x reader #haiba lev x reader #lev x reader #kuudere

[angelofthebau]

Satchel Boy Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count: 1257

Interviewing a witness that profiles for a hobby leads Reid to an interesting interaction.

(First public fic, it’s an idea I’ve had for a few days)

Warnings: Very minor mention of murder detail.

Understated fluff.

     --> Part Two

     I savored the peace that 11am granted to the Coffee House. Given another couple of hours, the moody room would become alive with regulars and strangers alike - faces with stories and secrets. Right now, the only face was old Billy in the corner, a quieter man with squinting eyes that wandered around the coffee shop every few minutes when he took a break from the morning papers. Dyslexia, I’d guessed. A while ago, I’d brought his coffee to the table and noticed that his eyes moved at different speeds when he read and that, when he took his break from reading, his eyes would stare at something blank and avoid the posters with text plastered on the brick wall to regain his alignment. He drank black coffee and had a authoritative shadow of a manner on his face at all times. Probably an ex-cop.       I guess Brutus counted as a face, too, even if he was slumped behind the counter. I laughed when I read his resume and wondered if he knew that his name meant ‘stupid’. He wasn’t stupid - he was completely unaware of everyone. To him, everyone was a face that just wanted a coffee or perhaps a tea. He didn’t care for stories or study those who walked through the wooden doors. He just wanted to make a paycheck. I couldn’t blame him, he was only nineteen.      Billy’s face clouded over when the door opened, like a reminder of something.      Two men strolled in - well, the one trailing behind was barely a man. Two strangers with a whole lot of stories by the looks of it. Shared stories. Bad stories. Good stories.      “Hello...agents,” I greeted as they stepped up to the counter. Their expressions changed a little, the younger twitching his nose a little.      “How did you know that?”      “Wild guess,” I sighed. “But you,” I pointed to the dark-skinned man who stared me down. “You look like you’ve just stepped out of a brochure for FBI trainees,”     A ghost of a smile flickered around his mouth, before settling back to his business expression.     “Do you own this coffee house?”     I nodded. “For two years now,”     “Ma’am, could we talk to you alone?”     I shrugged lightly and nodded towards Brutus, his expression nearly making me splutter with laughter. It was like seeing a child watch a movie they’re not supposed to be watching.    The agents settled down on the break room chairs in front of me, a table separating us. I studied them for a moment, watching where their eyes drifted to and what they took in.     Profilers.     “We’re looking for a man who’s been in this place within the last six months. Perhaps not regularly, but enough to be assumed local. He probably orders the same drink every time and stays for hours, typing on a laptop. He doesn’t have a set time for when he’ll arrive, so he most likely knows you and all of your staff,” The leading agent said, his hands moving with every word subtly. A sign of intelligence, declarative and thoughtful speech, but understated. He tries to blend into wherever he is and match with who he’s talking to, but with a persuasive kind of authority.    “Agent...?”    “Morgan,”    “Well, Morgan, I hate to be that person, but that’s a lot of the men that come in here. What else do you have?”    “Do you offer table service?”    “Only I serve the tables sometimes, my staff prefer to stay behind the counter,”     Morgan nodded and looked over at the younger one, who pulled out a wad of paper from a little satchel. I smiled. The satchel was sweet.    “Read through some of this to see if you recognize it. We believe that this man wrote this at your coffee shop,” Morgan said, sliding over the document. It was stapled neatly in two corners, like a book. Whoever wrote this was organised and meticulous, but had a spark of creativity that he tried to hide.    “I have to warn you, ma’am, it’s not great,”    My eyes scanned the document, flicking page after page, taking in every detail. It was a story, though the writing too formal and simple to be pure creativity. One section seemed to become lost and emotion leaked through the words. He became more descriptive, more excited. A sexual release from seeing the end of a blade in a victim’s mouth and telling them that he’s not stupid. It seemed like a biography for an untraceable man, or one that thought he was. One hundred and five A4 pages of a plan. His own story.     “I don’t recognize the story. Bittersweet,” I stated, carefully placing the paper back onto the table and lifting my head. Morgan was smirking a little, and the satchel boy staring directly in my eyes, perplexed.    “You read it so fast, are you sure you don’t recognize it at all?” Morgan asked.    “I don’t. But the formatting stands out. Most men in here rarely type a word document, most are emails or spreadsheets. The few men that do type a document stick to the default font, maybe make the sizing a little bigger and ignore the voice of their wives in their head saying they should get their eyes checked out by a doctor,”     Morgan chuckled.    “This guy kept the original font size. Probably a younger guy who hasn’t spent most of his life staring at a screen. He chose a different font. He used Lucida Sans - a simple font but he used the typewriter version. I used to use that font sometimes. A basic font, but with a vintage feeling. Facts of the past. As if he imagined that this story would live forever,”     Agent Satchel’s mouth dropped slightly. Something just made sense, but only to him. Morgan nodded.     “Thank you for your time, ma’am,” Morgan nodded and began to leave the room. Satchel stayed.      “Can I just ask you,” He began, pausing to wet his lips, his brow furrowed. “How you knew we were agents?”       I broke a small smile.       “You just simply look like agents. Not obviously. You just do. Your friend Morgan, his expression is one of determination. His clothes are simple but practical. His job is something professional but active. He scoped out the layout of the cafe, looked for any CCTV. He’s looking for answers,”        Satchel nodded.       “And you...” I began. His eyes studied my eyes, my mouth. Waiting to hear me. “You’re an agent, but not in the way your partner is. Probably a Doctor. Your mind makes sense of things in ways that your colleagues can never quite understand. You know a lot about the world, but only factually. I’d guess a memory condition related to words. Your eyes darted towards the bookshelves in the cafe. Knowledge is power to you, although you don’t understand much of real life emotionally,”      He was fixated on me.      I reached one hand out to him, placing it on his chest.      “Your life isn’t measured by statistics and knowledge, doctor. They won’t make you feel normal,” I whispered, before standing up and seeing him out. Morgan waited patiently by the counter, his left ear being torn off by Brutus’ constant need to be in on something.     Brutus.     I grabbed Satchel’s shoulder and stopped him from entering the cafe room.     “What do you call the guy you’re looking for?” I mumbled.      “An unsub. Why?” he whispered back, stopped in his tracks, barely moving his head to let me hear him.      “Your unsub is talking to Morgan,”

#spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #spencer read x female reader

[chaoticchickadee]

Active Meditation

"Deep in her thoughts, Ahsoka almost didn’t see the event board as she passed by it. Most of the flyers were uninteresting-- some speeders for sale, a lost tooka notice, and war effort posters covered a majority of the board, however there was one advertisement in the corner that caught her eye. Free Beginner’s Pottery Class it read, in bold lettering at the top."

Or, Ahsoka discovers a new hobby after seeking help from Obi-Wan.

Read it here on AO3 

Like her master, Ahsoka had always had a hard time meditating. She really tried, but especially after experiencing the “hurry up and wait” lifestyle necessary in the war, she found it difficult to just sit still and calm her mind. While Anakin was visiting Padme on Senatorial duty, she was using some of her precious alone time to practice meditation techniques, but it still didn’t come any easier to her. Sighing, Ahsoka flopped onto her back and tried to think of a solution. She knew if she went to Anakin with her troubles, he would understand, but he wouldn't be able to help her with this. Master Obi-Wan always had sage advice to offer when she asked, but the thought of revealing her vulnerability made her hesitate to reach out. However, Ahsoka couldn’t recall ever feeling judgment or disappointment when confiding him, so she reconsidered the option. Deciding that despite her fear of her grandmaster’s disappointment, he would be the most helpful for finding a solution. She slowly got up from the floor and headed for Obi-Wan’s quarters.

Once outside of Obi-Wan’s door, she raised her hand to knock, but paused right before her fist made contact. Guilt and trepidation settled in her gut and almost made her turn around and go back to her rooms. She swallowed and finally knocked, determined to go through with her plan. For a moment, she worried Obi-Wan was out, but then his door opened and Ahsoka was blinded by his bright, cheery smile. “Ahsoka! What a wonderful surprise! Please, come in, I’ll make some tea.” Ahsoka flashed him a tight smile and followed him into his small common area. “Is there something wrong, padawan?” Obi-Wan asked as he puttered about in the kitchenette. “Well, I was hoping that you might be able to help me with something. I’ve been having a really hard time meditating, and I can tell it's starting to affect me. No matter what I do, I just can’t get my mind to settle. Do you have any advice?” Ahsoka asked, nervously trailing off at the end. Obi-Wan hummed as he brought two steaming mugs into the common area, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Well, from what I remember with Anakin, he always seemed to do better when he had something to pour his excess energy into. It’s a little trick called ‘active meditation.’ Sometimes focusing the mind on an activity is what is needed to bring clarity. You could try finding a small, repetitive task that you enjoy to do while you meditate. I bought Anakin a beginner’s droid-building kit and it worked wonders. Not so challenging that it would take all of his concentration, but enough that he would have something to center himself. You could try something like drawing, or dance? Whatever feels right to you.”

Anakin had never told her about that, but after witnessing his restless energy over the course of her apprenticeship, Ahsoka supposed it made sense. She took a sip of her tea as she mulled over Obi-Wan’s advice. Ahsoka wasn’t totally convinced that it would work, but ultimately decided that, out of respect and trust in Obi-Wan, she would at least try it. “I don’t really know what I would do, but I guess I could try it, Master. I’ve never heard of this before, does it really work? Is it--” she paused, searching for the right word, “-- allowed? ” Obi-Wan smiled fondly, patient and understanding as he answered her questions. “Oh yes, in fact many knights and masters practice both active and traditional meditation, depending on their current needs and state of mind. Many practice katas, but others have found the arts conducive to achieving peace and mindfulness. I--” He was interrupted by the shrill beeping of his comm on the other side of the room. Obi-Wan excused himself for a moment and went to check the message, shoulders sagging as he read it. “I’m afraid an emergency meeting has been called by the council, I have to go. You’re a bright young woman, I’m sure you’ll find an activity that feels right. Please don’t hesitate to come to me if you have any trouble.” Ahsoka nodded and followed him out the door. They parted ways down the corridor, and Ahsoka changed course from her quarters toward the entrance to the temple, hoping a walk would help clear her head.

Ahsoka strolled through the streets of Coruscant, contemplating her grandmaster’s words. She did always excel when working with her hands. Learning mechanics and ship repair with Anakin had been easy, her deft fingers learning the intricacies of the movements with ease. The more she thought about it, the more Obi-Wan’s advice made sense to her. He’d clearly only wanted to help her, and his voice had held none of the judgement and disappointment she had feared when she first knocked on his door. If her grandmaster thought this… “active meditation” would help, then she would give it her best try.

She knew some of the clones had taken up a form of weaving, making small accessories like socks and helmet liners with just a couple of sticks and some yarn. When she’d asked about it, they’d told Ahsoka it relaxed them and that it was the process that was important, the finished product was just a bonus. It certainly had an appeal, but Ahsoka couldn’t see herself finding much enjoyment out of fiddling with some sticks and string. Her thoughts drifted to her master, who seemed to always be in reach of some half-finished mechanical heap. Often during long, boring meetings she had noticed him quietly building and taking apart small mechanical components. Ahsoka enjoyed mechanics plenty, but a lot of her duties in the GAR involved ship and droid repair, and she wanted her meditation to be an escape from her day-to-day life, not really an extension of it.

Deep in her thoughts, Ahsoka almost didn’t see the event board as she passed by it. Most of the flyers were uninteresting-- some speeders for sale, a lost tooka notice, and war effort posters covered a majority of the board, however there was one advertisement in the corner that caught her eye. Free Beginner’s Pottery Class  it read, in bold lettering at the top. On the bottom of the page was a comm frequency and information on where and when the class would be held. Memories of wandering the temple halls as a youngling, soaking up the beautiful art and artifacts on display quickly came to the forefront of her mind. She remembered staring in awe at the intricate designs and shapes of the vases and statues, amazed at the detail. Ahsoka checked the date on the flyer, smiling when she noticed that the class would be during her leave. Snapping a quick holo of the relevant information, she turned away from the event board and made her way back to the temple.

Senior padawans were allowed to come and go as they pleased during their free time, so while Ahsoka wasn’t  technically sneaking out, it sure did feel like she was. She opted to take one of the lesser known exits in the temple, the knowledge of which had been passed down in her lineage specifically for troublemaking. Logically, she knew no one would care if they found out where she was going, but Ahsoka wasn’t quite ready for anyone to know about her potential new hobby yet. Soon she reached the end of the corridor and stepped out into the cool Coruscant night.

The rec center hosting the pottery class was only a few blocks away from the temple, so it wasn’t long before Ahsoka entered the small, modest building. She followed the small signs indicating where to find room 137, where the class would be held. Pausing outside of the door, she could hear quiet, relaxed chatter coming from inside. Ahsoka gathered herself and opened the door, scanning the room for an open workbench. Ahsoka found one near the door and walked quickly over to it and waited patiently for the class to begin, hoping she looked more confident and at ease than she really felt.

A few minutes later, a friendly Rhodian woman made her way to the front of the classroom and cleared her throat. A hush fell over the students, eager to receive instruction. “Hello everyone, I see we have some new faces, welcome. I am Meeqkrik Vunu, your teacher for tonight. This week, we’ll be making mugs. They are pretty easy to do, a perfect opportunity to get creative with your design. Your work tables are already cleaned and set up for you, so go ahead and grab some clay from the cabinet to begin.” Meeqkrik’s soft voice instantly put Ahsoka at ease. She reminded her of the Creche Masters at the Jedi temple-- approachable, understanding, and patient, genuinely happy to be here teaching her students. Ahsoka followed the others to an open cabinet on the left wall of the room and scooped up a handful of clay. Once everyone had their clay and settled back at their work benches, Meeqkrik began her instructions. The soothing cadence of her words helped Ahsoka relax, and soon she found herself enjoying the process. It was easy to get creative and let loose in the calm atmosphere of the little classroom. As her hands performed the small, repetitive tasks, Ahsoka’s thoughts flowed freely and she let them go into Force with an ease she hadn’t had since she was a youngling. Smiling to herself, Ahsoka realized that once again, Master Obi-Wan’s advice had been spot-on.

Once she had the basic structure of the mug done, Ahsoka sat back and tried to come up with how she wanted to design the mug. She looked around the room, analyzing what her peers had chosen to do with their mugs. Most were carving small motifs on the side, some abstract, some familiar shapes, like the tooka the young human in front of her chose. A twi’lek towards the front of the room had made the body of his mug mimic a tree trunk and shaped the handle to look like a leaf, which Ahsoka thought was pretty cool. The unique design of the twi’lek’s mug gave Ahsoka an idea, and she quickly turned to work on her mug with renewed vigor.

An hour or so later, Ahsoka gingerly carried her mug to the front of the room where Meeqkrik was patiently waiting for their finished pieces. “Ah, an ambitious creation. Very well done, miss…?” “Oh, Ahsoka is fine Ms. Vunu, thank you. Where should I put it?” Ahsoka blushed at the compliment. “Just find an empty spot here in the kiln. We’ll have a painting session on Taungsday if you can make it.” Meeqkrik answered, gesturing to the large oven-like structure in the corner of the room. Ahsoka nodded her thanks, and carefully set her mug on the tray inside of the kiln. She then headed back to the temple, excited to finish her project on Taungsday.

The next morning, Obi-Wan joined her for breakfast in the cafeteria. “Good morning, Ahsoka. Have you had a chance to try active meditation yet?” he asked. She grinned, “Actually, I have. The rec center hosts free pottery classes, I went to one last night. It really helped, thank you. The creative outlet really was perfect for sorting through my thoughts” “That’s wonderful, Ahsoka. I’m glad it helped. What did you learn in the class?” Ahsoka could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke, and she told him about her exciting night out.

Ahsoka counted down the hours until she could return to the rec center, eager to paint her little mug. When Taungday evening finally came, she raced out the temple entrance, a stark contrast to her exit just a few days prior. She couldn’t quite hide the smile that crept up on her face when the rec center was in view, and quickly made her way back to room 137. Meeqkrik had their mugs on the counter up front, and a few other students were already working on theirs. “Good evening Ahsoka, welcome back. Your mug is here on the left, and the paints are over in the cabinet next to the clay. Take all of the colors and time you need, we have the room until closing.” Meeqkrik said quietly, and Ahsoka thanked her and went to gather her paint. She grabbed black, gray, blue, and a dash of red, then brought them to the nearest bench and set to work. It took Ahsoka almost until closing to finish painting, the finer details of her design taking patience she didn’t know she still had. When she was done, she brought it back to the kildn one last time to set the paint. Meeqkrik assured her she could swing by to pick it up at any time that ten-day, and soon Ahsoka was walking back to the temple, enjoying the brisk Coruscant night.

While Anakin was at the Senate building again, Ahsoka left to pick up her mug. It’s unique and familiar shape made it easy to pick out on the table set out for the pottery class. She gingerly secured it in the satchel she brought with her and sped back to the temple, hoping to make it there before her Master was due back. Relieved when she didn’t see his speeder parked outside, Ahsoka scurried back to their rooms. She made it just a few moments before she heard Anakin’s boisterous voice outside, most likely continuing his debate with Knight Secura about who had the better master. The door clicked open and Ahsoka heard Anakin step into the room. She tried not to fidget where she sat on the battered but comfortable couch, her excitement palpable. Anakin finally noticed her as he walked into the room. ”Hey Snips, do anything fun while I was out?” he asked cheerily. Ahsoka beamed, “Actually, yeah. I was having some trouble meditating, so I asked Master Obi-Wan for advice. He suggested I try something called ‘active meditation,’ and it worked! I took a free pottery class over at the rec center, and I made this!” she said, brandishing the mug from her bag. “Active meditation, huh? Well I’m glad it helped. You did a good job with the mug, the resemblance is uncanny.” he chuckled. Indeed, it was. Ahsoka had painstakingly painted every detail she could of their favorite astromech, down to the mismatching panels just above the right strut. “Thanks, Skyguy. I figured, since Rex keeps stealing your favorite mug by accident, you could use this one instead. It certainly can’t be mistaken for anyone else’s.” Anakin gently took the mug, looking it over with the biggest smile she had ever seen. “I love it. You’re the best padawan I could ever ask for.” He set his present down on the end table and swept her up in a bone-crushing hug, which Ahsoka enthusiastically returned. “Thanks, Master. I love you too.”

#pls reblog #sw #tcw #star wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars fic #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fic #star wars fanfiction #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #disaster lineage #found family #chick fic #original content

[thethistlegirl]

Comfortember day 10 (Crying)

I’ve been tossing the idea of a sort of guardian angels AU back and forth in my brain for a while, and then this idea hit (a combination of two books I’d read, the unavoidable knowledge of the Supernatural plot twist, and my overactive imagination) so here you are!

Riley vividly remembers the day Jack vanished.

Vanished is exactly the right word to use. Because Riley can find anyone if she tries hard enough. But Jack? Jack literally doesn't exist anymore. It's like he walked out the door after laying Elwood out cold, and fell off the face of the earth.

Mom says to forget him. But Riley can't. Jack is different, he wouldn't just leave.

She tries everything. In and out of juvie and probation for her forays into government databases that take top level clearance to access the legal ways, because the only way to make someone disappear that completely from every public record is to make them a whole new identity. Building a facial rec program from scratch to scan the limitless feeds of social media and security cameras for just a glimpse of a familiar face. Stealing a car and driving all the way to the town Jack casually mentioned he was from in Texas, only to discover that it's empty. And has been for the past seventy years.

It takes almost six years before she finds the first clue. On a sketchy dark web conspiracy theory forum, a blurry picture of the same geometric symbol that she remembers Jack had tattooed on his wrist, the one he usually covered up with that ridiculous leather cuff.

A symbol, according to the anonymous poster, of the elite race of Guardians. Interdimensional beings, who, if you believe the stories, have taken an interest in the human race and will attach themselves to people or families, to learn about the ways humans live.

It's hard to sort the 'facts' from the clearly ridiculous posited theories or pontificating. Anyone who claims to know much about the Guardians is just looking for attention. Even the little online forums that spring up around the topic are full of things Riley can tell at a glance are flat-out invention. But every once in a while, there's a grain of truth. A grain she sorts out and squirrels away, slowly building a file that will lead her to the real story.

Apparently, Guardians used to be like legitimate guardian angels, thus the name. Protectors of the humans they cared for. Until one of them saved their human counterpart so incredibly unbelievably that the race was almost exposed to the public knowledge, and thus, a Code was created. According to this Code, physical interference in the fates of the human realm is forbidden. Some sort of real-life 'prime directive', she guesses. Those who disobey face immediate banishment to the Liminal. A space between their world and the humans'.

What happened to Jack finally makes sense. His fight with Elwood was the first time he'd actively interfered in Riley's world in a way that changed the status quo. He must have known he was going to be taken, and left so they wouldn't watch it happen.

But now that she knows where he is, Riley knows what she has to do.

There's only one way for a human to get sent to the Liminal. To become such a threat to the Guardians that they have no other choice. She figures posting everything everyone has ever collected about them, under her real name, to every forum on the dark web, is a good start.

The portal that opens up behind her less than a minute later is a bit of a shock. But she doesn't have very long to be impressed with the very not mundane appearance in her apartment before her world goes black.

When she wakes up, she's surrounded by black grass, a golden sky overhead traced with glowing purple specks like stars. She feels around her for the backpack she had strapped on her shoulders, and is relieved to find it there. So is the knife she'd bought from a pawnshop and now has strapped to her leg. If the stories are true, the Liminal is far from safe. But she's survived six stints in detention centers. She knows how to keep a sharp eye out and protect herself from threats.

She's not sure how she's going to find Jack here. There's no telling how big the Liminal is. It might be as big as the world. And as she quickly establishes, her technology is no good here. Her phone, the screen cracked from how hard she fell, is flickering and the same strange little geometric symbol keeps popping up and vanishing.

She can't even turn the damn thing off to save the battery for the flashlight, so she tucks it into her backpack and starts off toward a range of blood-red mountains in the distance, rising above the sea of waist-high black grass.

She hears it before she sees it. The whoosh of wings. She instinctively ducks, wondering what kind of predators this world supports, if to them she's nothing more than a field mouse in a meadow.

She pulls the knife out of its sheath and waits in a crouch, ready to explode into a fury of action if the creature attacks.

But there's only a thump. Then silence.

Then a whisper.

"Riley?"

She looks up, stunned.

Jack is standing in front of her, the tattoo on his wrist glowing a bright crimson that pulses in a familiar rhythm. The same one-two pattern of the unstoppable flicker on her phone. And spread out from his shoulders are a pair of massive cinnamon-brown wings.

She drops the knife and throws herself at him, eight years' worth of sobs tearing out of her throat. She doesn't know what happens now. Whether they'll make things worse or better. Whether the single story she read about a Guardian's human lover entering the Liminal to get them back will apply to an adopted child as well. But if all it takes is a love strong enough to risk everything, then she thinks they'll be alright.

Jack is crying, too, and every single one of their tears that hits the ground splashes and widens, creating a silver pool in the middle of the black grass, with them at the center. And when the familiar blackness washes over her, Riley closes her eyes. This time, she isn't going into the unknown alone. Jack is holding onto her, strong and familiar and safe.

When she wakes up on the floor of her apartment, in a puddle of water, to the banal familiarity of police sirens and crying kids, she can't even be upset that the whole room looks like it's been flooded and her rig and all her files are definitely wrecked. And when Mrs. Lambert from downstairs comes pounding on the door and shouts that her bathroom ceiling is leaking and Riley's going to have to pay for repairs if she overfilled the bathtub and flooded the place again, Riley just opens the door with a smile.

"It's fine, Mrs. Lambert," She says, turning around and then opening the door a little wider. "My dad's here. He can fix anything."

#comfortember #macgyver #macgyver fanfiction #macgyver au #guardian angels au #jack and riley

[when-are-you-coming-back-steve]

I’m inpatient so, backstory Part 1

Mochi had a good life honestly. Well if you didn't think too much into it. They learned things that others apparently didn't learn but that just meant they were smart right? They grew up in a house that had a stable income and everything was perfectly normal, they were perfectly normal. Except other kids didn't know how to hide from the cold alone outside, they didn't know how to manipulate someone, they didn't know how to blend into the shadows or know how to eavesdrop without anyone even knowing you exist. The others didn't know that everyone was constantly in danger of the others, they trusted and they loved not realizing the secrets they handed out freely. But it's not a big deal, she was just a little different, a little smarter, that's what everyone else said. 

They were a good kid with good grades with a normal family and was completely normal. They weren't like the kids who were constantly beat, they weren't thrown insults. She wasn't a genius or a prodigy and she wasn't stupid, she seemed to have a mind slightly off. 

No one batted an eye when they started writing down in notebooks, why would they? Mochi didn't exist. But Mochi had faced the consequences of talking and accidentally dropping that said knowledge, it wasn't something they needed having happen again. All the information in their mind needed an outlet though, somewhere to be reliably stored and shared so they started the notebooks. 

It was filled with everything they needed, information on different people, info on places, analysis, murder plans, and escape plans, animals and technology, anything that came into their mind. 

What does any of this have to do with the Chaos family? Well it went like this.

Mochi was watching the latest thing that caught their attention; the chaos family. To be honest the family scared them, quite an accomplishment but very concerning. Mochi knew Sal, a far off neighbor, thought they were a mafia family, but that wasn't what scared them. They were just too authentic and trusting. Some of the members would only be there for a few days and a spot at the table was there, every part of people coming out and then appreciated. Everyone listened and cared and it was wrong. Nothing was sugar-coated, but why would it when most of it was so nice. Mochi couldn’t understand how they did that. So they spent much of their time now trying to find info on the family.

One of the members, who they seemed to call Cenn or Renn, was working on a project from ver work while the kids hung out at the playground. Cenn was their favorite to watch, they don't know why. Maybe it had to do with how much ve ended up telling their projects out loud, it was always fun to work it out while watching vem. Ve had just told the lawyer, Green, about ver most recent project, so they excitedly got to work. Apparently, they got too excited as their shaking caused their notebook to fall loudly against the ground. 

Cenn’s head turned to my direction, where they sat frozen on my tree, and then looked down at the notebook, “Need any help?”

Mochi immediately became stuttering and waving their hands around, “I..Its...no..yeah..it's fine…” 

Apparently it was Mochi’s unlucky day because Cenn was already picking up the notebook, and even worse, the page it was turned to was the same page that held their answer to Cenn’s project. What was supposed to be a small glance became a stare as Cenn saw the name of the page. As much as they wanted to, Mochi couldn’t stop vem from reading it. And so for a minute Mochi sat tense as the tree and Cenn read the stupid notes until,

“What is this?”

“Well, you see, just some notes for an idea, it's nothing.”

“..I’ve been working on this thing for a hour, how long have you been taking these notes.”

“Just a little while, a few minutes? I just overheard a little and my mind ran off I guess, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, this is great. I didn’t even think of this.”

Oh no. This was not supposed to be a conversation. Time for an escape route. The layout of the park ran through their head as they tried to think of a good reason to leave. 

“I’m sorry but I really got to go, y’know mum probably wants me home by now.” The lie came out naturally. 

“Really? Where do you live?” Shit. Where do they live again? Is it better to lie or tell the truth? No time, just answer ve are waiting, 

“Oh uh over there.” And they pointed. Towards where they most definitely not live. Mochi pointed towards the town with the worst crime rates, and that's including the Chaos family. Great.

Of course a wave of concern crossed Cenn’s face. A kid, walking towards there, alone, at sunset? Not a good idea. “Would it be okay if I walk you there?”

Yeah no. This was already completely off script. So of course in their panic induced brain, they flipped on the tree to grab the notebook and jumped off towards where they pointed. Mochi started running backwards when their wits came back, “I should really get home now. Run home y’know. Mum probably wouldn’t like that, stranger danger right?” and turned around to sprint around the block. 

That went great.

``````````````````````````````

Of course, when Mochi was around Cenn again, ve saw them and came over. 

“Did you get home okay?”

“Yeah great. Thank you.”

“I was wondering actually, do you have any more notes on my project?” A whole page maybe. 

“Just a little bit, nothing really.”

“Do you mind if I read it.” Absolutely yes. 

“Yeah..no..um you can read it.” Yes, hand vem the notebook that has everything that proves you stalk their family, great idea. Mochi knew this was a terrible idea, so they went to minimize the damage, opening to the right page before handing it to vem. Thanks to anything holy Cenn only read the page they gave. Hopefully ve would read it, hate them and leave. A million different scenarios ran through Mochi’s mind of what they should do, when Cenn decimated every single plan by taking out a flyer?

Mochi's eyes were already scanning the page, when Mochi saw "Hiring"

What in the ever living.. 

“What?” 

“Well, I’m swamped with work, and honestly this is the best thing I’ve seen in years.” W h a t.

“Okay?”

“So, I could use someone with a brain like yours to get some of this work off my back," Cenn handed them the flyer and said, "Here. Just think about it.:

 ```````````````````````

Ok, ok, ok. No or yes? Interaction is hell but it would get me more information. It is just helping Cenn right? No reason to actually interact with more of the family.

This is a bad idea. The worst idea possible. But..

The poster stared through Mochi. In big bold letters “Hiring” and under that, “Advisor for Maxx Chaos needed.” 

They should just write it down. Look out for new people around the chaos family. But..

A job would help pay for notebooks. This job would allow more information on the Chaos family. It could be fun, working on Cenn’s projects. 

And look at that they already sent a quick text to the number on the poster, “Need a resume?”

Oh no. What are they doing? Their resume is atrocious, nothing of substance just random facts, it would probably scare anyone off. 

The phone beeped, “A resume, you say?”

And well gosh, you can’t leave the Chaos Family on read.  So they quickly copy and pasted the resume. 

Once again a terrible idea. 

“Wow. If you want to you can be my advisor.” 

And that's how you destroy a Mochi. What in the world?

“What's the hours?”

“Always. Come to the address listed as soon as you can.”

...Mochi is right outside the house. How long is an acceptable amount of time till someone should arrive? Can’t be too early or too late, don’t want to make it worse.. And the choice was out of their hands. 

“Who are you?” Oh no. A member of the family, wondering why in the world I’m standing in front of their mansion. 

Guess the best time is now. “I’m the new guy, well Cenn’s advisor? Ve told me to come a.s.a.p.”

“Cool! Come in, ve are probably in the meeting room. Good luck!”

The person dragged them in and they left. Mochi is left alone, in a mansion, with no direction. A meeting room. 

It is a little concerning how nobody gave more than a glance at a random person wandering around in the house. But they found the room with little ruckus. Well things were blowing up in some hallways but it is the Chaos family. Mochi turned the handle to the door that said “Meeting room” and started the job. 

#abuse tw #my backstory #not a countdown

[lunescapism]

AR in Adobe Aero and 3D rendering.

Adobe Aero

This program was new to me, up until I was asked to use it for class work. I know it’s still in its early stages, but the idea that this kind of work can be made more user friendly is amazing. But, that also caused a lot of issues and frustrations for me as a student. I had a lot of tech problems during my use, and had to use a handful of devices to make sure things were working as planned. Our project outline required choosing an organisation, or company that could make use of augmented reality. I decided to work with the American Museum of Natural history, since their branding is pretty much nonexistent, and they largely rely on word of mouth and a few scholarly publications to attract their visitors. Due to Covid restrictions, their ability to cater to their usual audience was limited. I wanted to create something that would encourage interaction with the museum and produce a fun way to learn a few facts about one of their major attractions — the T-REX fossil collection. I created a poster with a QR code to be scanned through the Aero App, which would then reveal the head of the fossil. The AR display was meant to be used like an exhibition hall, after the first 3D model appears, there’s an on screen prompt, so the user will turn their phone and reveal more fossils alongside respective facts.

ZBrush Core Mini

I was having issues with finding 3D files that were compatible with a mobile view of Aero, and I discovered a program that could help me render my own model for use in this project. I have really limited sculpting knowledge, so this was something relatively new, but I fell in love with it. Creating my own character was easily the most fun I’ve had in the semester, so far. It renewed my creativity after some pretty serious burnout, and I really hope I get to use this program for future projects, or even just personal use. If I had more time, I would have liked to make the entire body of the fossil to include in my AR experience.

#graphic design #AR projects #zbrush

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 11

Triss Merigold stared as Geralt laid the sleeping woman onto the four-poster bed, in the rooms that Triss had sought sanctuary for the past couple of months. The Marquis of Smegwag had been in urgent demand of a Mage, and his hospitality had been exquisite. The Marquis had given her own private house with workshop attached, stocked with every ingredient she could ever want to help the Marquis expand his power reach. It had not been since being Forrester's Mage that she had been surrounded in such luxury. The mansion itself was situated in an affluent town, no filthy streets or gruff-looking whoreson out to gut you for whatever was in your pockets. It was pleasant and peaceful after all the years being frames for killing her former king. The last person she has thought to see was Geralt of Rivia, especially cradling her like such a glass doll.

‘I almost feel like you are stalking me; you almost seem to know where I am.’ Triss teased as Geralt pulled a blanket over the figure. Triss watched as the brunette with the plush lips stirred slightly as they watched as the giant worry tucked her in with such delicacy you would think she would shatter into a million pieces.

‘Hmmm’ Geralt hummed as tenderly he plumped Adva pillows before turning and leaving, but not before cast one last look as he closed the door.

The mage busied herself by making tea, and with a snap of her fingers, a broad spread of food appeared on the table, along with a serving woman who appeared with a jug of spiced wine which she offered to Jaskier with a smile. The bard's eyes widened as she leaned over a thrust her over ample bosom into his face. Triss rolled her eyes as Jaskier giggled flirtatiously at the serving girl who rolled her eyes at his awkward pass, how a talented bard though comparing her chest to juicy melons was a good idea was beyond Triss. Before she passed the Witcher the tea which he instantly discarded. Taking the hint, Triss gestured to the small workroom off the main chambers.

The room was a working laboratory; cauldrons bubbled, herb and flower were being dried and turned into a powder. Neon liquids sat glowing decorative bottles against the wall, next to it a row of antique books filled the next two walls, books in languages he had never seen; it was an extensive collection, second only to Aretuza, Triss did like to be well equipped. It had felt like a long time since he had seen Triss, around the last time he was a proper item with Yennefer. The moment Yennefer came into his mind, he felt sour, he had last seen her a month before he stumbled upon Adva. As always, the demanding raven-haired mage had manipulated and strung him along and disappeared, taking Ciri with her. A sense of bitterness washed over him for the first time in weeks; he had almost forgotten about their argument, and he had just walked in Yennefer’s best friend’s home, carry a woman who could be his mate.

‘I would seem you have landed on your feet.’ Geralt grunted as he rested against a cabinet.

The curly-haired woman sat at the workbench and sipped her tea as she watched him, he seemed different, his eyes were concerned, but his face seemed less severe. His body was unmoving and still but a nervous energy vibrant in the room, it was unsettling to see the cold Witcher so unsettled. With another small sip of tea, she replied ‘I have. The Marquis is very kind. But enough of this small talk, it never suited you. So, are going to have to tell me why you are here? And who she is?’

Geralt tossed the book toward the caramel skin mage. Triss quickly caught the book despite its heaviness. It was old and in near mint condition, but just from looking at the spine, there had been extensive stress over the last couple of weeks. In one section particularly, read over and over again to the point the book flopped open at the start of a chapter written in the old language; the stunning calligraphy read – THE WITCHER’S MATE. Creasing her brow slightly, she read the first page with profound confusion.

‘Witcher’s have mates? I have never heard of anything like this. I have heard of soul bonds between humans and mages sometimes even elves but this…never.’

‘When I was in training there was a story that Alzur, the mage who created the School of Witcher’s, he designed the Witcher’s with the ability to have a soulmate, to be something other than a Witcher. For all eternity to be loved and adored by one person, a love that would never wavier. But it’s a myth, a fairy-tale. I have never heard of it happen, or Vesemir or his mentor or the mentor before him. ‘Geralt spoke softly with hard eyes.

‘Yet it is written about in a book.’ Triss gently pointed out. ‘A guide to Witcher’s no less. And from the detail here I would say it more than a myth, you have information about the symptoms, effects, the ritual of the soulbond and a lot of detail about the sex, in a lot a detail. I do not even think I have heard of most of these positions and I have been around the block more than a few time Geralt. Seem like you cannot deny it provenance. But then again Great Geralt of Rivia would not have come to see little old me unless something was going on. Tell me Geralt we are friends, after all.’

The white-haired Witcher growled, rubbing his hands over his face, he did this for a few minutes before straightening himself and pacing the small length of the room in two strides.

‘I felt it before I had even seen her; the smell was incredible, and since then, it has only been getting stronger and stronger. It’s a symptom, along with the constant need to be near her. I even fucking brought her from the tavern she worked it, I should have just left her there but I couldn’t, the thought they would pressure her into being a whore or worse sold off to another sadist like Tradi was too much. I thought it was just some rebound from Yen but, yesterday I felt her inside my head after she conjured a lightning bolt out of nowhere. She was in my head, reading my thought. I felt it. Its unbearable… I can’t… ’ Geralt growled, shoving a cash of glass bottles off the bench, sending shards across the polished floor.

‘Well…skipping over the fact you brought someone Geralt. It seems like there is no denying the fact she is your soul mate. So, what the problem, you got the manual on how to go so claim her? What the problem?’  

‘There’s this... Tradi of Brownstone tried to murder her for this in Brightwater, told me it was a family book that she had been left with when she was abandoned at Brightwaters dock. In all the confusion I picked it up, is it worth setting a Griffin on the town for.’ Geralt sighed and handed the Burgundy journal.

Triss starred at him in disbelief ‘Does she knows you have this?’ Flipping the book in her hands in belief.

‘No, and it would be good if it stayed that way till we know what we are dealing with.’ Geralt once again crossed his arms and hunched over the workbench.

Triss gave him an unconvinced look before running a hard hand over the book. It was old but sturdy. Thick deep red leather, with an engraved design, etched across its surface. There seemed to be some kind of dialect around the sides; the rest was an ornate pattern of the cycle of the moon and some soft-shell design. The power vibrated of the book was potent and shrouded in an ancient protection spell.

‘This is a powerful book.’ Triss marvelled as she opened the book and scanned the unreadable script.

‘Black magic?’

‘No… no. It an Arcana.’ The curly-haired mage gushed as she turned page after page.

‘Isn’t that for tarot cards?’ Geralt questioned.

Triss stood and pulled a book from the shelf and past it to Geralt, The Secrets of the Arcana. Before speaking again, ‘Arcana means secrets of nature. For centuries Alchemists sought to discover secrets and powerful remedies. It legend that at the start of the time when magic was first explored, the elder races documented everything in family journals. To my knowledge, only one other survived… and that is locked in the vaults at Aretuza. As High Mages, we have only ever glimpsed it…this, however, is nothing like the one I've seen. I have never seen any language like this. Ever.’

‘Can you decode it?’ Geralt demanded.

‘Decode it? Maybe with time…why, though?’

‘If we can work out what it is, it can tell us something about her. About this connection, it has to have something to do with the book.’ Geralt straightened, his leather armour creaked as he did.

‘Hmmm. I can try... But Geralt have you ever considered that she is your mate?’ Triss placed the book down and picked up her spiced tea, a mix of cinnamon and nutmeg mixed with the vanilla of the tea.

‘Hmmmmm.’ Geralt growled.

Despite the growling ferocity of his voice, there was, in his eyes, hope. Triss had to know Geralt years and deep down, there was echoing loneliness that seeped through his ones and to the core of his soul. A yearning to connect with someone. The Witcher had tried hard with Yennefer, but the two were just too volatile, like chalk and cheese. There was an intense attraction between them, intensified by the Jinn spell. Geralt at heart was a lovesick puppy following Yennefer around. In spite of their friendship, Yennefer’s treatment of Geralt was a sore point for Triss. They had had something long ago, but now it was a deep love like brother and sister. Protective and warm. And if it were true, Triss would support this bond with everything she had.

‘Because there is a way to check if you are soulmates.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Geralt took little convincing and watched Triss prepare the solution in a wooden bowl. Ahwinder eggs, rose thorns, peppermint, powdered moonstones, pearl dush and rose petals. The smell was surgery and warm as they carried it through the house to the room the Adva slept sweetly. Triss could not help but admire the women. Her body was unlike Yennefer’s, it was thick and curvy, more suitable for a Witcher’s mate Triss thought as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Thick, long eyelashes fanned out across her cheeks, paired with soft cheekbones and plump pink lips. Resting the bowl on the side, she removed the girl’s hand from underneath the blankets and revealed a knife, glinting menacingly in the sunlight.

‘What are you doing to her?’ Geralt growled, gripping Triss’s wrist tightly.

‘It a small cut Geralt, protective much? Are you sure you just don’t want to accept she is your mate?’ Triss snapped, pulling her hand back.

Geralt released her hands and took a step back to watch the mage drag the knife across her palm. Deep red droplet fell into the bowl and hung motionless in the water. Triss did the same with Geralt bronzed hand and watched as the blood did the same. Geralt watched as the blood mingled into the water, the water was a sea of blues and pinks, the vibrant red vivid against the water. Geralt felt a sense of relief when the water did not react but also a sense of regret. The cat-like orbs looked downcast and heaved himself from the bedpost and of out the room when a faint glow emanated throughout the room. The glow grew and grew till the pair had to turn their eyes away from the burning light. The bowl rattled and pulsated on the table till the light burnt out and an overpowering sweet smell.

‘Does that answer your question….Geralt this is a powerful bond…if you don’t complete the link…I don’t know what is going to happen.’ Triss coughed picking up the bowl, now empty and thrusting it under his nose.

‘Fuck’

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room span as Adva’s eyes blinked open. The room was lavish and extravagant, richly decorated in filigree paper and a deep mahogany bed with silk sheets. They were soft against her skin, and the bed, the bed was a cushion of air that held her tenderly. Adva’s body ached, it felt like she had slept for a century, but still, her body yearned for more sleep. Pushing herself up a stinging sensation bite through her hand. Flinching away, Adva brought her hand, find her hand carefully wrapped in a white linen bandage. With every flex, she could feel the flesh of a hand separated cause her to recoil in pain.

‘What happened to my hand?’ Adva groaned. ‘Oh, dear lord! Are they okay?’ Sitting bolt upright in the bed and on weak legs attempted to stand, only to be pushed back into the bed by small hands.

‘They are downstairs, perfectly fine.’ A beautiful woman smiled down at her with perfect white teeth and warm chocolate brown eyes.  ‘I am Triss Merigold, a mage, Geralt’s friend. Your safe.’

‘Oh…hello.’ Adva smiled weakly resting herself against the pillows, almost sighing in ecstasy as she rested into cloud-soft pillows.

‘I know you have a lot of question, but you need to rest for now. You were suffering from magical build-up; Its when magical creativity does not have an outlet. You have probably been suffering from a long time but your…powers kept you from exploded, so when Geralt was teaching you his little party trick all that pent up magic that was within saw an opportunity it went for it. None of that was your fault; I am surprised that Cersi didn’t want to train you. But her lose it my gain; I could teach you, properly. But only if you want me to…what do you say?’

‘Yes’

Woooooooo I’m back baby! Sorry my tumblr account locked me out and work is roaring back to life! 

Please let me know what you think!

@broco8​ @introvertedmouse​ @luxyash​ @threepupsinapuddle​

#geralt imagine #geralt reader #geralt smut #geralt of rivia #geralt #the witcher #witcher netflix #henry cavill #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt x oc

[irwintry]

Black Leather

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, drugs

Summary: Calum is in a small band in the mid-90s, and Y/N stumbles into his show one weekend in October.

Word Count: 7k

Among the sea of eyes, his were the ones that stood out.

The bus had stopped by too soon. In the four minutes it took to walk to the stop, you were running instead, lungs heavy while hot coffee sloshed onto your jeans. After twenty minutes passed, you were headed down Broadway on the 68 bus, your fingers twitching against your knees to the sounds of morning commuters. You were late. You were so fucking late.

The sprint to Sever Hall hadn’t been worth the energy. It hadn’t been worth the splattered burn, red splayed in dripped shapes against your thigh. It hadn’t been worth the asthma induced, cross-country sprint, one that left you wheezing in the hallway outside of your classroom. When you stumbled into the room, it was a hundred-eyed gaze, and you soon realized you had been better off skipping altogether.

“Sorry,” you breathed out, holding your chest high as you met each pair of eyes staring you down.

He had been looking at you. His lips were tugged into an unfamiliar smile while his dark brows rose in surprise. It wasn’t an appearance he wore often, and it kept you frozen in place. You were used to the frown and the rigid stare.

You managed a small smile in his direction before finding a seat toward the back.

You knew his name. You knew his face. You knew that he had come from outside of the states. But that was the gross extent of your knowledge of Calum, other than the dingy attire and the fact that he was more brilliant than you would ever know. He spoke in class on the rare occasion, and the words that flowed from his lips were dripping in pure gold.

And on the back page of your notebook, you kept his quotes in black ink. You wrote what you could hear through his soft mumbles, and you wondered why he kept so quiet with a mind as beautiful as his.

He kept his nose in a book. You spent the last month and a half studying him when you could, mentally tracing over the creases in his skin when an unsettling opinion was spoken in class. You thought about how bright his smile was despite having never seen it. You thought about how his deep brown eyes would look in the sun. You thought about his taste in music, and you wondered if you would ever know him the way you longed to.

You were caught up in your daydream when his eyes flickered over. His stare pulled you out from the swirling headspace, and you were quick to regain your involvement in the professor’s voice. Yet, despite the collected exchange, you could still feel his gaze. It was a heavy and mysterious gaze, the kind that elicited unwarranted shivers. But you didn’t mind it. The sensation sparked desirable nerves.

The next fifty minutes were spent in a distracted haze. Even the tragedy of Oedipus could not compare to the hope of delving into Calum’s personality. He was well reserved, and you ached to crack his code. You ached to be the source of his rare smiles.

That had been the reason behind your abstracted mind. He had smiled when you walked in.

You wondered about it for the next few hours, your brain preoccupied as you absentmindedly stepped around leaves on the pathway. You kept your head low on your way to Sage’s while the crisp wind nipped at any exposed skin. Scuffed shoes met shallow puddles along the pavement, and you were careful to avoid muddy spots against the lawn. The pole of posters beside Hollis Hall suddenly tore you out of the moment.

You looked beyond the anti-gentrification and political agenda signs. You looked beyond club meetings and tutor session invitations. The one poster that caught your eye was crumpled and torn, and it read:

Knight Knuckles. Slip Tit. Mudslide. Killed for Casualty.

8pm, Oct. 13th. $2 Coverage.

87 Linden St, Allston, Mass.

You reached around for your backpack, pulled out your notebook, and wrote down the address. You weren’t going to go, you told yourself. It wasn’t your scene–– it would never be. You shut the notebook and stuffed it back into your bag, mind returning to thoughts of Calum and the sandwich you were about to indulge in. To finish your day, you made small rounds through Harvard Square and stopped by the poetry shop to further indulge in unlikely necessities. All thoughts of Calum ceased.

-

The back door was cracked open. A few guys sat on the steps before it, each with a cigarette in hand and a beer in the other, and they were laughing at some offensive joke while you stepped around them. They weren’t worth the hassle of arguing against–– they would simply make their opinions overshadow yours with the use of their superiority complexes. So, you stepped inside, and the hot air swelled around you.

About a dozen strangers crowded into the small kitchen, and another few were cramped into the living room. The home was void of any furniture, but you weren’t shocked. The squalid interior with its spray-painted walls and missing floorboards was proof that hardly a soul lived here. At least, you hoped.

You slipped two dollar bills into a jar, and a man with an eyebrow piercing grabbed your hand and stamped a bright red mark onto it without saying a word.

“Watcha want there, Maggie May?” asked another man. He was leaned up against the fridge, and he had a few piercings as well.

You rolled your eyes. “Eat my ass.”

The girl beside him snorted. “He wants to know what you want to drink,” she said. “Also, I love you. I’m Tori.”

“Hey, yeah, you too,” you sighed out, slipping your jacket from off of your shoulders. The discomfort was evident. “Y/N. Not Maggie May. And, what do you have?”

“Mostly just Pabst,” she replied and tilted her own beer your way. “Beer and stuff.”

You nodded. “I’ll take that.”

Tori lightly shoved the man away from the fridge to retrieve a beer for you. When your fingers brushed, she smiled. “What brings you here, then, Y/N? It’s usually the same crowd ‘round here.”

“Dunno,” you mumbled. “Don’t usually come to a lot of stuff like this, so I figured I’d give it a shot. It was kind of a last-minute decision.” You popped the drink open and took a sip. The taste was foul and cheap, yet you kept the sweating can close to your chest.

“Makes sense,” replied Tori. Her eyes narrowed, and it felt as though she was reading you like an open book. “Do you even know anybody here?”

You shook your head. “Not a soul.”

“Cool.” She grinned. A few people made their way downstairs. “See you down there, Maggie May. I’ll dedicate the first song to your poor, lost soul.”

You had begun to retaliate when she left your company, and you soon followed the pack down the narrow steps into the basement. The first level was Barbie’s Dream House in comparison. Down below, you were met with concrete floors and a harsh smell of piss and weed. A make-shift space was filled with boxes and trash bags, plus a stained futon over in the corner. Christmas lights were hung around pillars beside the performance space, and wires were scattered like snakes over empty boxes of Marlboro. You could only imagine how much turmoil the oriental rugs below the drum kit had been through. You pushed through bodies and stood below a mural, meanwhile admiring the glossy eyes of handsome strangers beside you. A cute man offered you a joint, and you politely refused.

The first band was ear blood, but you recognized the need for courtesy. You nodded along to the screeching noises, wishing you had bought earplugs specifically for the occasion. The second band’s sound had little representation, yet the tunes were simple, and the lyrics were crude. The can of Pabst was warm against your skin. A half-hour later, the third band had finished their set. Tori fulfilled her promise of dedicating her song to you, and you greeted the feeling of eyes like an old friend.

You leaned against the cinderblock wall and ran your fingernails along the rim of your beer. The night had been going on for longer than expected. You needed to use the bathroom as well, but you wouldn’t be caught dead using it here. A stinging dissonance filled the tight space, and you returned your gaze onto the final band.

And then your eyes met a familiar figure. A tall, mysterious figure with an infamous leather jacket stretched across broad shoulders. Small, dark hand tattoos stood out against his brown skin.

“Yeah, uh, we are Killed for Casualty,” spoke the lead singer. His voice was soft, just like the golden curls that framed his face. You had a feeling you would like this band. “Let’s fucking rock, then.”

A series of blaring chord progressions filled the small space, and the crowd came back to life. The crash cymbals drowned out the lead singer’s voice, but you hardly cared about the quality of the music. You hardly had the energy to enjoy the melody when all you could focus on was the man behind the bass. All you could see were his furrowed brows and his deep frown. His eyes shut tight as his body swayed with the beat.

You hid behind shoulders. You hid behind the thought of his smile and sweet voice melting against your skin. His lips touched the mic every time he sang, and you couldn’t look away. Calum had a light aura–– it didn’t matter what clothes or expression he wore. You saw another part of him, yet you didn’t even know him.

You nestled rim of your beer beneath your front teeth while you moved with the crowd, head bobbing along to songs you had heard on the radio before. There were songs you didn’t recognize, too, and those were the ones Calum lost himself in. So, you lost yourself in them as well.

“Holy shit, you guys are awesome,” said the other guitarist. His light fringe was surely a sight, but you admired his adrenaline. He had a bubbly, boisterous attitude that you longed to have in your life.

Calum’s face lit up as his eyes scanned the crowd. You hadn’t assumed he would ever see you, but the world froze when he did. Your blood ran cold as his smile fell, and you were seconds away from slipping into a fit of self-doubt before his smile grew again. And then he winked.

He had winked at you and resumed with the set as if it never happened.

You hugged your jacket against your body, heart stuttering at the thought of his flirtatious nature directed toward you. You had finally seen his genuine smile, and you had been the reason behind it, too. The music was drowned out by the thoughts in your head.

“Thanks, guys,” said the lead singer, his eyes bright as he spoke. “I’ve been Luke. That’s Calum on bass. Ryan on drums. Michael on guitar. We’ve been Killed for Casualty. Thanks for comin’ out.”

You took a deep breath, meanwhile, the crowd thinned out as the band packed up their things. You made your way along with the strangers, yet your plans to duck out were torn to shreds by a tap on your shoulder. The tap was quick–– almost as if it had been a mistake, but when you turned to face the culprit, Calum stood before you. And he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect t’see you here.”

You shrugged. “Figured there was no better way to spend a Saturday night other than listening to music I’ve never heard before in my life.”

Calum laughed. “Oh, c’mon. I’m sure you’ve heard of Radiohead.”

“Oh, duh.”

His smile never died. He was looking at you, truly looking at you with crinkly eyes that you wanted to get lost in. “We–– uh, we have another show next weekend. It’d be sick if you came.”

“Yeah?” you asked, raising a brow, to which he reciprocated your gesture. “You really want me to come? Do you even know my name?” Your teasing tone hardly fazed him.

“Course,” he said. “You’re Y/N, and you’re almost always late to our Tragedy in Literature class. Like, always late.”

You pouted. “Don’t blame me. Blame the MBTA,” you replied, and he laughed.

“I always blame the MBTA.”

“It’s really the worst, isn’t it?” you asked him, and you felt yourself softening into the comfort of the conversation. In a matter of hours, you would be convincing yourself that the encounter never happened.

Calum’s smile was contagious. “Fucking awful. A man farted on me once on the red line.”

“You’re–– you’re kidding,” you said, but you soon fell into a small fit of laughter once he shook his head. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

“Speaking of awful––“ Calum pointed down to the empty Pabst in your hands. “Is that what they’re handing out? Christ–– Kev’s gotta get a raise. That shit sucks.”

“It was kind of disgusting,” you said, yet you shrugged it off.

“So, I gotta finish packing stuff up,” said Calum, “but listen–– it was really cool to see you. Hope you can make it out next time.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. “Only if you promise to dedicate that last song to me,” you replied. “It was my favorite.”

Calum grinned. “You’ve got yourself a promise, babe.”

-

The bus had been early again that following Monday. So, for the second class in a row, you were stumbling in late. Only a few heads turn in your direction, and immediately, you looked for the pair of deep brown eyes that made your heart flutter. You had only spoken to him once, but it had been enough to haunt you throughout the next day. It had been enough to spark something you hadn’t felt for anyone in years.

You found Calum in a heartbeat, and he had already been looking at you. He had already been smiling at you. You smiled in return and took your seat.

He spoke up once during class, and you placed the delicate words at the back of your notebook. After the class ended, you were quick to stand, heart racing at the thought of his smile so cute and goofy. You were too preoccupied to notice the man falling in step beside you.

“Like I said––” he began, voice so golden and smooth that you believed it belonged on the radio. The idea of Calum as a newscaster was a vision to behold. “––always late.”

You playfully hit his arm, and his laughter echoed around the halls. You were certain it was the kind of laugh that birthed fairies. “The bus system sucks,” you replied. “It’s the earliest one I can get, and it’s never on time.”

“Jus’ messing with you, love,” he said. His presence intimidated you, but it was the kind of intimidation that you never wanted to leave. It created the desire to hold him by the waist and carry him with you wherever you went. “Where ya off to?”

“I was gonna pop in Widener for a small study break,” you said, tugging your sleeves down so you could hold onto them with your fingers. “Then I usually get lunch before my last two classes of the day.

Calum huffed. “Mid-terms got you tickin’, too?”

“Something like that.”

“Harvard wants us all dead,” mumbled Calum as he held the front doors of the hall open for you. “That’s what I think.”

You had been expecting a chill from the morning, but the bright sun kept the air warm. You pushed the sleeves of your sweater back up your arms, and you stared at Calum in amazement. “You want yourself dead,” you said. “Do you ever get hot in that damn thing?”

“What, my jacket?” he asked, tilting up the leather as a smile grew. “It’s not about sweat, baby, it’s about fashion.”

Baby. You laughed the pet name off.

“’sides,” he continued. “It’s not about how hot I feel either. It’s about how hot I look.”

“I mean, yeah, it looks good.”

Calum raised a brow. You enjoyed watching his reactions out of the corner of your eye.

“But I always say that comfort comes before fashion,” you said as you kicked a few fallen leaves on the path before you.

He let out a chuckle. “Is that why you’re rollin’ in late with some big ass sweater on every day? Hell, you’re already late, so you could at least have the decency to show up with a coffee.”

“Honestly, I’ve thought about that,” you said. “And what do you have against big ass sweaters, huh?”

Calum shook his head. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

“Maybe next time I’ll wear a black one,” you replied. “Maybe then you’ll appreciate my fashion.”

“Can’t believe I’m being attacked at eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“You had it coming.”

He laughed again. “You don’t need t’wear black for me to appreciate you, love.”

The words warmed your chest. You smiled. “Well, I said my fashion, but it’s nice to know you appreciate me, Cal. Is–– is that okay? If I call you Cal?”

“Yeah,” he said. His smile hadn’t faltered throughout the entire conversation. “Reserved that nickname just for you.”

“Do you have any other classes today?” you asked him and placed yourself onto the steps of the library. You were still a few inches shorter at best. “Because you can join me if ya want.”

“I appreciate that,” he said, “but unfortunately, I’m already running late.”

Your jaw dropped as you laughed at his words. “And you make fun of me for being late. We’re gonna get kicked outta this fuckin’ school.”

Calum laughed along with you, and the sound was music. Everything about him was music. “I make fun of you because it’s cute to see you flustered.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you muttered, but your smile only grew. And so did your heart, too.

His eyes were golden in the sunlight, and they shimmered when he smiled. Sometimes, when he grinned so wide, his eyes squinted shut, and the sight left you woozy. You wondered if he knew how beautiful he was.

“See you ‘round, love,” he said to you, meanwhile taking a few steps back.

“Don’t forget about my dedication,” you replied. “I’m only coming this weekend because of you.”

Calum winked. “I won’t, darlin’. Study hard.” He turned down the path with a final wave, and you let out a sigh. And your smile carried on.

-

“You weren’t in class on Wednesday.”

That next weekend, you stepped off of the bus in Allston, your jean jacket hugged tight to keep warm down the tired streets behind music halls. The home was familiar, and it was packed full again. The bodies no longer stared at you like a stranger, but they still avoided you like one. Yet, Tori was there to keep you company as the night carried on.

You kept an eye out for Calum. The basement rocked with sound, air heavy as it filled with heat and smoke. The Christmas lights made you feel at home, yet none of it mattered when the one person you wanted to see wasn’t even there. So, you swayed to music from new bands you didn’t care about, wishing you hadn’t been stupid enough to fool yourself over a guy.

But, like always, he arrived when you least expected.

Tori gave you a wink and stepped away.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, chuckling. Meanwhile, his band had begun preparing their instruments. “I forgot I wasn’t.”

“You okay?” Calum asked you. “I can get ya the notes if you want.”

“I’m—oh wow, that’d be nice, thank you.” You grinned. “Yeah, um, I’m good. Turns out my alarm clock is a goner, so...”

Calum smiled. He was wearing a flannel tonight, and you decided that he could make trash bags look good. “Damn alarm clocks can’t be trusted.”

“They really can’t.” You eyed the rest of his band and furrowed your brows. “No drummer tonight?”

He glanced over at his friends before looking back at you. “Nah. We’re looking for a new one right now.”

You tilted your head.

“Ryan broke his wrist.”

“Oh, that sucks,” you said. “He was pretty good.”

Calum shrugged, but you could tell he was upset. Tonight, he had become the backbone of rhythm. “Yeah, well. Mike thinks he has a friend who knows some other drummer. He might be able to help out.”

“He just has to do my song justice,” you replied with a smirk. You hardly remembered the song, yet you knew it was your favorite of theirs no matter what. It was your favorite because Calum had winked at you before it, and it was all you could think about.

He nodded. “I’ll make fuckin’ sure of that.” He looked back over to his friend. “I should probably join them, then. Last song is yours,” he said, a grin spreading as he sent a wink your way.

He didn’t allow you to get a word in before he was jogging off and picking up his bass effortlessly. You weren’t sure how an instrument could make someone look so handsome, yet there he was, looking like the best damn man in the room.

“He’s fucking in love with you,” said Tori from behind. Her voice crept up your spine, and you yelped.

“Jesus,” you breathed out.

She laughed. “Cool your tits, Maggie May.”

“They’re ice-cold,” you replied. “And he’s not. We only just met last week.”

Tori shrugged. “You can totally fall in love in a week. He’s done it before.”

“He’s done it before?” you asked. The music blasted, and the bodies around you jumped and pushed. You hardly budged. Soon, you were shouting over Luke’s voice just to talk. “You know him?”

“Old friend,” she said over the music. “I’ve known him since like–– how many years ago was ’88?”

“Uh, seven.”

“I’ve known him for about seven years,” Tori continued. “He was a cute teen. Moved from Australia and played a shit ton of soccer. We started a band together in our last year of high school, but then he kinda disappeared for a year afterward. Came back and said he was going to Harvard–– said he had been with this girl. So, I assumed they broke up.”

You nodded along as she spoke.

“Anytime he’s with someone,” she carried on loudly, “it’s like he’s head over heels. He tries to act all shy and cool until you really get t’know him. And it’s pretty fuckin’ clear he really wants to know you.”

You tried to smile, but something about her words made it hard. Because you had never wanted to think about him loving someone else.

“You seem spooked.”

You shook your head. “Not spooked. Just a little in disbelief.”

Tori let out a laugh. “Why? Because I think he likes you? So hard to believe that?”

You shrugged.

“He is pretty damn cute,” she said. “So, if you hurt him, I’ll hunt you down.”

“You can hold me to that,” you replied. “I don’t wanna hurt him.”

“But you do want him?”

You nodded.

“Oh, hell fucking yeah.”

You laughed as she nudged you, and you soon returned your focus to Calum. His eyes met yours right away, and he smiled. This time, the fluttering in your stomach had become a heavy swarm, and you allowed it. You welcomed it.

The stress of the evening slipped off of your shoulders the more you danced. You no longer worried about what you would say to him or the words you had said in the past. You no longer worried about the feelings you wanted to repress. It was new, it was natural, and you wanted to deserve his company. You wanted to earn him.

When the final song approached, Calum kept his gaze on you, eyes brightening every time they met yours. His shy smile had etched itself into your brain. All he had to do was look your way, and you were his–– there was no one else. No one else in the room but you and him.

This stuff didn’t happen in a week. It never worked like this. But you blocked out the harsh noise of your pessimistic thoughts. You weren’t bound to doom what could be good because of your insecurities.

“This next one is dedicated to the person who thinks that 9:15 is the new 8:45. Or the one who just doesn’t bother showing up to class at all.”

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching while his face broke out into a grin. The song began after the silent exchange, and he kept looking at you. He looked at you until the crowd had dwindled and the music faded with their heads. He looked at you as if he had been waiting to have every ounce of your attention.

“Kicked ass,” you said, “as usual. You were a little flat at the end there, though.” Your teasing tone lightened while you crossed the floor toward him.

“Oh, really?” he asked you. He zipped the case of his bass closed and lifted it over his shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were a music critic. I’ll do better next time.”

You chuckled. “You better.”

Calum adjusted the strap on his shoulder, and you admired the comfort in his appearance. You wondered how he would react seeing you in the gray flannel he wore currently. He no longer intimidated you, not like he used to; you lost yourself in the strength of his gaze.

“You live around here?”

You shook your head. “I live down past Central.”

Calum raised his brows in surprise. “Shit, you live that far?” He folded his arms over his chest. “That’s why you’re rollin’ up late every damn day then, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said with a laugh. “It’s not that bad, though.”

His frown deepened. “I can keep ya company if you want.”

“Well, where do you live?”

“Like, a ten-minute walk from here,” he replied. “I’m a night-owl, so it’d be no problem. Only i-if you’re–– if you’re comfortable with that.”

You smiled once he stammered, and he blinked rapidly to cover up the fault in his words. Your heart was swelling. “Really nice of you to offer,” you said, “but you don’t need to go out of your way. The ride goes fast.”

Calum nodded, lips tugging into a small smile. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you mumbled. “But you can walk me to the bus stop if ya want.”

His face lit up in an instant.

-

The next show was at a new location.

Calum came to you that Monday with a torn flyer, hands shaking as he reached over your shoulder while you walked down damp pathways. You were going to arrive on time that day, and you were eager to rub it in his face until he stumbled up behind you. He appeared nervous to talk to you, yet the words he spoke were calm and collected.

“New place,” you observed, eyeing the messy letters. Meanwhile, Calum caught up in step beside you. “Looking forward to it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’ll come?”

“You think I wouldn’t?”

A grin spread on his face. Later on, he sat next to you in class.

That following weekend, you arrived at the house alone, bones shivering while the cold air crept under your skin. Calum stood at the base of the driveway with a cigarette in hand, and he was smiling like he always did when he saw you. Like he always did.

“Hey, Maggie May,” he said.

You groaned as you nearly fell into him, and he grabbed your arm to hold you steady. He smelled of cigarette smoke and earthy cologne. “Not you, too. Isn’t the song about a cougar?”

Calum shrugged and loosened his grip. But it was slow, almost as if he didn’t want to let go. “Who knows?” The cigarette slipped from his fingers, and he stomped it into the pavement. “Come on in. I wanna introduce you to the guys.”

“Oh, the guys?” you asked, chuckling. “Did know we were there yet. I’m honored.”

He looked back at you while he led you in through the back door. “You should be. They’ll like you, though. You’re cool, I guess.”

“That’s convincing.”

Calum laughed. He walked you beyond the men asking for coverage fees at the front, giving them subtle nods while you avoided eye contact. You continued to keep your head down low as he led you down to the basement. The house layout was similar, yet the room was larger, and the lights around the posts were purple bats instead. A few familiar faces were passing around a joint beside the drumkit.

“Hey, idiots,” said Calum. He placed a hand between your shoulder blades. “This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Luke, Mike, and Ashton.”

“The new guy,” you spoke softly, eyeing the strong arms of the stranger across from you. You could tell that, just by his build, he was going to rock the house. “Why are you all so fuckin’ tall?”

The new drummer, Ashton, laughed. His smile was the type to light up the entire room. “Maybe you’re just fuckin’ short,” he retaliated.

Michael chuckled along. “Ya probably need a step ladder jus’ to hug Cal.”

“She can’t even do that,” said Luke. “Her arms aren’t long enough.”

You narrowed your gaze. “Touché.”

Calum’s hand slid down to the small of your back. His touch burned through your clothes. “Okay, that’s it. Y’all can find a new band.”

“Are you leaving us, or are you kicking us out?” asked Michael. He placed the joint between his lips.

“Kicking all of you out,” said Calum, and he tugged the joint away from his friend. “It’s just me now.” He turned to you. “You wanna join my band?”

“Are you kidding?” You leaned into him, and he pulled your closer, hand finding your waist while he gazed down at you. His eyes were warm, and there was something new. Something hidden behind the crinkles that seemed to never cease when around you. Like you could finally feel everything Tori was telling you about. “Can I take Luke’s place?”

“Oh, hell yeah.”

“Hey!” Luke exclaimed, snagging the burning joint from Calum’s fingers before taking a hit. “No more for you.”

A handful of people made their way down the steps, their voices carrying through laughter and drunken screams. Calum’s grip on your waist loosened and dropped.

“Ready to fuckin’ rock?” he whispered to you.

The timber in his voice rattled through your spine, but the shiver only lasted so long before he was guiding you back into the crowd. He hardly spoke after that. The music did enough, and instead, he talked through gazes— warm, heartfelt eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in a while, if at all. For the night, you felt like he admired you the way you had always wanted him to.

“—just annoying as shit. Screaming and bouncing like a fucking slut, man. She was so loud. But who gives a shit, you know? Like, she’s a goddamn whore when she’s—“

Calum tensed at the sound of the men behind you. You could picture the scowl on his features, yet you didn’t dare to glance over. You wanted to pretend nothing had happened, that nothing had been said.

But you couldn’t.

Calum whipped around, and you were quick to grab his arm. “Do you guys mind not fucking disrespecting women like that?” he asked, the pitch of his voice lowering as the words slipped out with ease.

One of the men—you guessed the one who had spoken originally—laughed. Anger coursed through your veins as well, but Calum’s radiated off of him. You moved your hand up to his bicep.

“What? You really gonna do something?” asked the man. He looked down at you and smirk. “I’ll totally take it back if you give me a spin on your little bi—“

Calum lunged, fist flying toward the face of the man with a devilish grin. Immediately, someone tugged you back— you assumed Michael, but you didn’t bother to check. Instead, you were forced to scream over shouts and cheers while the boy you liked fought for you. He fought for you.

The other man had gotten in his fair share of punches, his frightening, rigid knuckles crunching and colliding against Calum’s jaw. Every crack echoed. Every grunt, every groan sent sparks through your nerves, and you felt tears pricking beneath your eyes. Limbs flew and bodies slammed against one another, but you stood there helpless. You stood there wishing you could blink away the fear and adrenaline.

Everyone was shoving each other as the fight spread throughout the crowd. Petty brawls broke out, and you were barely shielded by Ashton’s interference in front of you. But beyond the noise, you still heard Calum, and he was shouting for you.

Shoulders knocked against yours while you fought your way beyond the mayhem. The air was hot, thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol and everything in between, and all you wanted was to find Calum and get out in one piece. You just wanted to be alone with him, to make sure he was okay and to tell him how much he meant to you. To tell him how much his actions meant to you.

A hand reached out for yours. A bloodied and bruised hand with a familiar tattoo stretched across the thumb.

“C’mon,” he muttered once he got close enough, and he pulled you through the chaos to reach the base of the stairs. You were hot on his tail as he walked up, but you chose to remain quiet.

And you stayed quiet the entire walk back to his place.

He was angry, fingers tightly locked between yours while the breeze picked up around you. His pace was heavy, and yours was, too. The door to his apartment slammed shut behind the two of you. You fought the urge to pull him back and calm the frustration, but he was stomping up two flights of steps with you on his heels. You hardly had a chance to glimpse at his small space before you were being pulled into an old bathroom down the hall.

“Cal— Calum.” You pried his fingers away from yours as he paced the tiled floor. “Calum.”

“I’m sorry,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair. He turned to face you, and you were finally able to look at the damage that had been done. You finally saw what he had put himself through just to defend you. Or, maybe it was much more than that. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “They just— I wasn’t just gonna let them say that shit to you.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

But you wished you did to have to feel any gratitude. You wished you hadn’t been forced to watch him break his bones in order to keep harmful words at bay. He suffered a bloody nose, swollen lip, and bruised cheek, and you felt responsible for every single scratch that tore through his skin.

“Do you— do you have an ice pack?” you sputtered, hand reaching up to grab the air. Because you weren’t sure if you had the right to touch him.

Calum nodded, and you didn’t wait for a verbal answer. You hurried into his kitchen, and despite the cramped size, you lost yourself in the details. It was his kitchen— it was Calum through and through. You searched the drawers for a dish towel, trembling hands picking out a dark cloth before soaking it under the dripping faucet. Next, you retrieved an ice pack from the freezer before rushing back into the bathroom. Calum was leaned up against the porcelain sink, and he had taken off his jacket to reveal a thin white tank.

You kept quiet and approached him slowly, heart heavy at the sight of him so bloodied and broken. You thought about his touch and how it felt earlier on in the night. You thought about protective he was despite barely knowing you for two weeks. And lastly, you thought about how, even when provoked into unattractive behavior, he still managed to look so damn hot.

So, you didn’t speak as you pressed the damp cloth against his blood-soaked skin. He stayed still, watching you as you scrubbed lightly until all that was left was a pinkish residue. You felt the weight of his gaze, and it burned deep in your gut. You had said he no longer intimidated you, but tonight, that wasn’t the case. Ir was the kind of intimidation that drew warmth and left you wanting more.

He was close, so close you could hear your hearts beating as one. The heat of his breath touched your skin, and you were forced to steady yourself with one hand against his bare shoulder. You hadn’t noticed his chest tattoos before, but maybe you hadn’t been this observant. Maybe you hadn’t felt as much as you were feeling right now.

You set the ice pack against his cheek and sighed. “Why did you do that?” you asked him, chest heavy while you yearned to reconstruct your words. You hadn’t wanted to plant the blame on him.

Calum swallowed. “The words he was saying, I—“ His eyes watered as he peered down at you, and he winced once you adjusted the frozen pack onto his blossoming bruise. “Couldn’t stand for that shit. Couldn’t bear to hear him say it. And I— I didn’t wanna hear him say it about you.”

You frowned. The hand that had been on his arm moved down to his chest.

“You don’t have t’take care of me,” he mumbled, lips tugging into a soft smile.

“But I want to,” you said to him. Your fingers traced the edge of his tank.

Calum’s smile quickly fell, and the room was quiet. You wondered if he could feel what you were feeling, too.

“Put down the fuckin’ ice pack,” he whispered, words tight and intricate as his hands slipped around your waist.

And then he was leaning in, lips hot as they pressed against yours in a captivating, lustful kiss. The ice pack slipped from your hands, and you felt frozen in his grip. Desperate hands clutched your waist while the kept you pressed against the sink behind you. You tossed your arms around his neck once you got a feel for his smooth, plump lips aching to taste yours. His fingers maneuvered beneath the thick layer of your sweater in order to feel your skin; you just hadn’t been aware of how truly sensational his touch would feel against your back. His lips melted against yours.

You reached a hand around to hold his face, and he seethed.

“Jesus, fuck,” he spat, and your eyes fell to the fresh bruise you had just touched.

“I’m— I’m so sorry,” you breathed out, expecting him to pull away, yet he pulled you close and reattached your lips with as much passion as the first time. Your teeth clashed, tongues slipping against one another while the heat of the moment made your insides churn. Calum’s large hand splayed across your jaw to keep you close.

His lip was still swollen from the fistful impacts, yet he seemed unfazed; in fact, it only spurred him on. But the heat of the moment overwhelmed you. You wanted him, but you wanted to know you had him.

You brushed your top lip against the corner of his mouth, hands gripping the loose material of his tank while you leaned into him. He held you with strong arms, ones you never wanted to let go.

“You’re really fuckin’ something else, babe,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could feel his smirk. “You know that?”

You chuckled. “I think the name is Maggie May.”

The warmth of his laughter spread through you. His fingers danced along the ridges of your spine, and you leaned back to look at him. His smile was small, yet it was soft, and it held every confession you had wanted to hear.

The black leather jacket on the floor caught your eye. A moment later, you pulled your sweater over your head, and Calum stood across from you in awe. His gaze was intense as you reached down for the jacket and tugged it over your arms. The leather creaked, but the loved material had softened through wear-and-tear. It slipped on with ease, and you stuffed your hands in the pockets with confidence.

Calum was silent as he took your appearance in. His jacket sat draped across your torso with only a bra underneath; you could only imagine how the sight made him feel.

He smiled and told hold of your waist. “Well, then, Maggie May,” he breathed out, lips pressing against your cheek and down your neck. The sensation made your chest ache. “I got something to say to you.”

You tangled your fingers through his dark curls as his voice vibrated through you.

“You stole fuckin’ heart, babe,” he said. “I couldn’t leave you if I tried.”

#calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer imagine #5sos au #5 seconds of summer au #calum hood #calum hood imagines #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfiction #calum hood fanfic #90s!calum #90s!5sos #calum imagine #calum imagines #calum fanfiction #calum fanfic #calum au #calum hood au #5sos blurb #calum hood blurb #my writing

[punksarahreese]

▼ - childhood headcanon for Ava plssss 🥺

Ooh I like this one, thank you for asking 🥺

Okayokay so ava was always this huge ball of energy as a kid, not necessarily in a physical sense but academically

Like she was always asking questions and getting library books about obscure topics that children weren’t usually interested in

And it was so amusing to adults in her life, to see little 10 year old Ava Bekker with her wild blonde waves falling in her face as she was absorbed in yet another book about medical facts

She taught herself all the medical terms and always found certain aspects of science class that she excelled at

Her dad ended up in the emergency room with heart trouble one day and Ava had been with him when he needed to go in the ambulance

So there she was sitting in the chair in her dad’s room with a big book about anatomy in her lap, waiting for her mother to come from work

A doctor was explaining something to her dad and when she heard “surgery”, Ava’s attention was immediately grabbed

She listened to the doctor talk about how her dad’s heart wasn’t pumping blood effectively and he would need a graft of another vein put in to stabilize his coronary artery

The cardiothoracic surgeon certainly didn’t expect the patient’s tiny daughter to look up for her book and ask, “What kind of post-operative complications could there be? Will he need to be on blood thinners or something?”

Her dad had started to apologize but the surgeon just laughed and began to explain things in that dumbed-down way people usually talk to kids

Ava shook her head, “I may be a kid but I know about arterial grafts, my books taught me lots about it. You don’t need to dumb it down, I know most of the big words.”

The surgeon seemed taken aback but his surgical fellow behind him just laughed and crouched down in front of Ava, “If your dad says it’s okay do you want to come see something with me while he talks to the surgeon? I’m sure you’ll think it’s cool.”

Once getting the go ahead, Ava took the fellow’s hand and followed her down the hallway. She brought her into a tiny room full of computers, various posters of cardiac anatomy lining the walls.

“What’s this?”

“The echocardiogram room,” she explained as she sat down in a chair and patted the seat beside her

Ava watched as the doctor pulled up some scans and showed her, smiling as the young girl watched in awe at what she saw

“So this is your dad’s heart,” she was saying, “And here is the issue. You said you already know about grafts?”

“Yeah! You’ll have to put him on bypass right?”

“Yep, I know that sounds scary but we are able to start his heart right after to make sure it’s working properly.”

“Good,” Ava had nodded, “Do you like being a surgeon?”

The fellow had agreed and told Ava all about the surgeries she had seen and assisted in. It was both shocking and refreshing to see such a young child speak so intelligently and be so knowledgeable about the circulatory system

“Do you want to be a doctor, Ava?”

The blonde girl had nodded fiercely, “I’m gonna be the best cardiothoracic surgeon ever!”

#little baby Ava with her massive books and smart lil brain 🥺🥺🥺🥺 #I can imagine her being all bossy after her dad’s surgery and being a mini doctor to him #making sure he takes his meds and does his physio lmao #chicago med #ava bekker #headcanons #chicago med headcanons #chicago med fanfiction #my-writing #femboycrockett #asks

[aurelacs]

Ten of Wands

An Ezra/F!OC Red Dead Redemption AU

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

CONTENT: mentions of spousal abuse, ezra is doing his best

A/N: Howdy! This one’s going to be a little short because I sort of dug myself into a hole, but next chapter will be longer! I said this would be a slow burn :). And I have Plans :)).

This is set in the Red Dead Redemption universe, however there’s no spoilers for either game, and you don’t need to have prior knowledge of the games to understand the fic. I’m just using RDR for the setting and the time period (1899). Hope you enjoy!

chapter list | masterlist | read on AO3

II. The Tower

Ezra was intolerable. 

His proclivity for talking mindlessly grated against Annie’s ears, who had grown so used to her mostly wordless self and husband. Even before she married, she was never one to speak much. Their first afternoon and night together was spent listening to him speak cryptically about the so-called “dealings” he had in the towns on the way to Armadillo. He spoke in code about certain men he needed to speak with, small jobs, some of which he called “ harmless errands,” as if that had any meaning to her. She couldn’t figure out when he took the chance to breathe. What all made it worse was Ezra’s incessant need to pry. Even though she did her best to pay attention, he still broke through. Her name, her life, what she was doing in Valentine, did she live in Valentine, how it was strange to meet a woman who was unmarried. Every question stung, dug a little deeper, until it felt like a hole torn in her sternum. For the time being, her one worded answers sufficed, but she could tell he was getting antsy. 

The one dealing he was upfront with was an apparent debt collection he had in Blackwater. It felt nearly unacceptable to Annie. Blackwater wasn’t too far off course, but it was enough that it made her worry about bounty hunters catching either of their scents. Ezra assured her they wouldn’t be there long, but for Annie it felt as empty as every other word he had said since they reached the camp. 

Annie hoped to find respite from Ezra as they settled in for the night, only to be greeted by the fact that he even spoke in his sleep. Nowhere near the winded soliloquies like when he was awake, but enough that it kept her awake well into the evening. There would be periods of silence long enough where she believed herself to be safe, and he would start up again. His words were never coherent; mindless babbles that effortlessly escaped through his pursed lips and furrowed brow. The light from the fire reflected against the curious patch of blonde hair that sat above his right temple. It wasn’t until what felt like hours after Ezra had first settled in for the night that Annie’s eyes grew too heavy to keep open, and she fell asleep. 

Ezra wasn’t at camp when Annie woke up the next morning. She half expected all of his belongings to have disappeared with him, but when she rose to check, she saw his bedroll still laid out under his tent. She splashed some cool water from the river on her face to wake her up further before reigniting the fire that went out during the night. 

“It is always nice to be in the company of another early-riser like myself.” Ezra’s voice was accompanied by the sound of gentle hoof steps as he led his horse closer to the camp. Two rabbit carcasses hung from the back of his saddle. His plan for the day, he said while unhooking the rabbits and beginning to cook them over the fire, was to head to Strawberry to take care of his first “errand.” The town was a couple hours west in the right direction. Annie didn’t feel the need to state her objections just yet. Ezra, for the time being, was the rope that could pull her out of the mire. With as deep as she found herself, she had little other choice. He pulled Annie out of her thoughts and urged her to eat, eager to make their way. He spoke fondly of Strawberry as he ate, like heaven and earth moved to accommodate the river town. He told her she wouldn’t believe how clean it was compared to Valentine. 

“When the sun reaches its peak, it reflects upon the river like a luminous sapphire. It makes the entire town shine a blue the likes of which you have never seen, I assure you.” Ezra refused to stop speaking about it even as they packed up and began their journey. Annie quickly tuned him out. This was the furthest west she had ever been, even if the scenery had barely changed. The greenery felt more lush, the dirt of the road seemed to sink under the horse’s hooves differently. She wanted to take everything in as the threat of never seeing it again loomed over her. The thought gripped at her chest, ate at her to the point where she wanted to scream as though it was the only way to release the building energy. 

It was hard to balance herself on the back of Ezra’s horse without touching him in some way. It felt inappropriate to grip her arms around his waist as the Belgian Draft wobbled along the worn path, but not holding on at all threatened to see her fall off entirely.  Her cheeks warmed unpleasantly at the thought of putting her hands on another man while she was married, even if it was solely for practical reasons. Even if she was no longer married. Annie let out a beleaguered sigh and wrapped her arms around Ezra, minding to keep as much of her body away from his. If he noticed her awkward position, or that she was holding on in the first place, he didn’t remark on it. 

“So, little bird, why do you need to get to Armadillo?”

Annie hesitantly remained silent. The question sent a small pang of fear down her spine, further adding to the tightness in her chest. Her bounty poster still sat folded and tucked into the satchel that hung across her body. Had he looked while she slept? She had given him so little the day prior that perhaps he felt the need to check for himself, and asking her now was just a test of how honest she would be for the rest of their time together. 

“I heard there was a ranch nearby there that was hiring.” 

Ezra turned his head to look at her and smiled affirmatively. “I do not know where the MacFarlanes find enough money to maintain their operation but there they are. The ranch is like a town within itself. I’m sure they’ll have something for you.” He paused for a moment. “If not, there are always plenty of general stores to rob.” Annie could feel his back shake as he chuckled at his own joke. She had the urge to smack him, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to knock the derby hat off his head and into the mud below them. 

“As I mentioned earlier, we are stopping in Strawberry because of a small enterprise I have that involves the post officers of this fine country. After I speak with him, we can be on our way to Blackwater.” 

“I don’t see why we need to stop in Blackwater. It’s out of the way and I don’t want to give the b-... posse from Valentine more time to find us.” 

“We have already crossed into West Elizabeth, the meager posse of a shithole of a town is not going to bother crossing state lines to look for a man that robbed a shopkeep of fourteen dollars. Unless it’s not just the posse about which we have reason to be concerned,” he laughed. Annie stayed silent.

Ezra pulled the reins on his horse to signal it to stop. Dread flooded Annie’s body once more. It wasn’t the volume at which Ezra held his voice, but his tone. It paralyzed her to the point where he had to pry Annie’s arms off of his waist to hop off and look up at her as she sat, frozen. The tone meant hurt. It meant anguish and run and cower. But nothing of that nature followed the tone as he paced silently back and forth a couple steps away, his hands resting on his waist. 

“Little bird, I have been more than forthcoming with my information and backstory and I do not find it to be fair that you have since chosen to give me absolutely nothing.” 

“Stop calling me little bird.” It was all she could muster. 

Ezra’s voice softened as he approached. His question was hushed, like he didn’t want his horse to hear, like speaking it any louder would cause the truth he didn’t want to acknowledge emerge out of her so harshly that she would break. “Do we need to be concerned about more than a posse?” 

“No.” Annie’s voice shook as the word fell from her throat. She didn’t know why he insisted on pressing the matter when they both made it clear that they didn’t want to accept whatever truth Annie was hiding, though hers was far deeper than she knew Ezra could anticipate. 

“I am not getting back on that horse until you tell me what the hell is going on.” 

Annie was on the verge of tears as she reached into her satchel to pull out her bounty poster, still undisturbed. She handed it to Ezra and refused to make eye contact as he scanned over it. She focused above his eyes: his eyebrows, his forehead, the blonde patch that continued to poke out beneath the brim of his hat. His laughter rang through her ears.

“Do you really expect me to believe that you are a murderer?”   

Annie looked at him sheepishly. If only she were able to project the image of her husband into Ezra’s mind. Blood pooling, chest open, dozens of pellets boring small holes into the wall and stairs. Would he be able to feel her fear? Tears did pour as the horrid sight refused to leave her mind despite how hard she pushed it. She jumped when Ezra reached out to gingerly touch her leg in comfort. 

“Would you like to get down?”

“No. Can we please just keep going?” 

He nodded his head silently and hopped back on. Ezra was quiet the rest of the ride, and Annie didn’t want to admit how much, in that moment, she needed his speech. 

*

Strawberry didn’t quite live up to Ezra’s proclamations, but Annie couldn’t deny that it was pretty. And it certainly was nicer than Valentine. The town was built around the river, framed with elevated water flumes that ran from the mine above it. Each building was made from the same dark wood, giving it a sense of uniformity and quaintness that Valentine lacked with its painted siding. The roads were still dirt but miraculously weren’t muddy. Some spots even had flowers growing along the banks. Ezra hitched his horse on a post outside of a depot. 

“I need to stop in here for a minute. If you’d like, up this road is the hotel. You do not seem up for much more traveling today.”

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Ezra was right. It was hard to allow the thought that he could possibly read her, even as well as her husband. Annie had overheard people in Valentine speak about the hotel. The mayor apparently wanted Strawberry to become a tourist destination for visitors of West Elizabeth and spared no expense for the hotel and town surrounding. As Ezra disappeared into the depot, Annie made her way up the incline. Her feet itched to make their way to the sheriff’s office to see if her poster was hung here as well, but resisted the urge. The act begged attention, and it’s possible this sheriff kept his notice board inside the office, which beckoned its own set of problems. 

The best word Annie could muster for Strawberry’s hotel was ‘cozy.’ It was dimly lit with oil lanterns and from the light outside that filtered in through the windows. A gentleman stood by the front desk in a full suit, hands clasped behind his back. He greeted her with a “madame” as she walked in. The action nearly floored her. The man gestured over to a small board that listed the services the hotel offered and the prices: bed and bath, both a dollar each. Annie paused. It seemed foolish, overindulgent, to spend money on a bath, but her bones ached something unknown deep into the marrow that acted as a lure to drag Annie’s hand into her satchel, and dig out two dollars. 

The bath room was upstairs on the right side of a landing, directly next to one of the two bedrooms the hotel housed. Steam had already begun to gather on the windows from the copper tub situated directly in the middle of the room. It also held a small cabinet with fresh towels, and a small table littered with tinctures and labeled vials. Annie stared at them all, taken aback by the sheer amount of oils they had, some of which she had never heard of. She poured in the one that simply read ‘rose’ and slunk into the scalding water. 

Annie could have fallen asleep right there, enshrouded in the warm water and cradled by the heat of the tub. She dunked herself under and stayed there, letting it wrap around her over and over until she needed a breath. It was tempting. The warmth of the bath, the extended moments of privacy, the lock on the door, all called to her an enchanting song that coaxed her hand from down her sternum, to her belly, to the bundle of nerves at her core, when someone knocked.

“How about some company, honey,” a sugar sweet voice rang out from behind the door. A woman paid by the hotel to accompany the weary travelers who stumbled in. It wasn’t for her. 

Even with the embarrassment creeping up her chest, Annie still managed to stay in the bath until long after the water went cold. It had been months since a proper bath, and she didn’t want to leave. When she left the bathroom, she checked three times to make sure no one was on the landing or coming up the stairs before making her way into her room in her towel. The bed took up most of the small room and Annie shed her towel and sank far into the covers with no regard for sleeping clothes or anyone walking in.  

Her dreams that night were of her, naked, surrounded by darkness, a nameless figure with a blonde patch of hair buried between her legs.  

Tag List: @immundusspiritu​, @borderlinedindjarin​, @aforces​

#ezra prospect #pedro pascal #my fic