#...i could probably afford to have a fourth cat

[trensu]

Have a snippet from that one holy warrior au. thanks to @ent-is-indecisive for helping me come up with a title for this fic. i'll be tagging it as stasis in darkness for easy tracking. this is part of a rough draft so it probably will be modified by the time i finish the damn thing and make it ao3 ready. but my brain's kind of stuck and needs a kickstart to get it going again, so i thought i'd share it and hopefully get motivated again

It happened again.

–

The fourth night:

“Isn't it true the King of Darkness–”

“Lord of Night.”

“Yeah, him. He controls all the monsters in the dark and sets them on innocent people for fun. Don’t see why you’d want to throw your lot in with a god like that.”

“Because he doesn’t. He takes care of nighttime animals. Bats, coyotes, owls…”

“The scary ones, you mean.”

“No! Besides, he takes care of cats, too. Cats aren’t scary. They’re, you know, cute.”

“Hmm. If you say so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You got something against cats?”

“Of course not!" The man said, sounding mildly offended. Steve opened his mouth to go on about the Lord of Night's chosen creatures but the man interrupted with, "Well, look at the time! Later, gator.”

The man ran off with a grin not sparing him a second glance. Steve stared after him, baffled.

“What the fuck’s a gator?”

–

The fifth night:

“Don't you know your King, excuse me, Lord of Darkness–”

“Night. Lord of Night.”

“Same thing. He helps criminals evade justice. Pretty sure that one’s true.” The man lounged lazily on a nearby boulder as he asked. Kind of like a cat, Steve noticed with a trace of amusement that was easily smothered by annoyance at the man's…everything else.

“He helps people who travel by night. Most of the time they’re just night workers or people with nowhere to go. The ones that are shunned for being different or the ones too poor to afford safe shelter.”

“Huh. Alright, explain the horse thief thing, then, if he’s so good and noble.”

“...fine, he’s got a soft spot for horse thieves but thievery isn’t that bad of a crime in the grand scheme of things.”

“Ha! Sure,” the man conceded. “But! You can’t deny that this Lord of Night cursed people with terrible nightmares that left them sleepless and suffering for days. To the brink of lunacy, some say.”

The man said it with triumph, as if with this he’d finally break Steve’s faith. Steve shrugged. 

“All gods get angry.”

“And that’s okay? You’re fine with him inflicting mind torture on some poor mortal just because he threw a tantrum?”

“First off, he wouldn’t just throw a tantrum," Steve said with exasperation. He might end up throwing a tantrum if this guy persisted. "I don’t think he’s the kind to get angry easily. And second, the people he cursed before always deserved it. Besides, he helps with good dreams, too. It’s not all bad.”

“Uh-huh, I totally believe you," the man said, heavy with mockery.

“Look man, if you’re so against the Lord of Night, why are you still here? Why do you keep coming back and bothering me?”

“...curiosity?”

“Well, be curious quietly. I need to pray.”

“...he probably doesn’t even have prayers.”

“I said shut up, man. I need to concentrate.”

The man leaves without any more fuss. 

–

The sixth night:

“You have a lot of faith in a god who lost his own name. Does he even have any holy texts left?”

“Dustin could only find one, but that was enough.”

“Really? Other gods have entire libraries of stories and whole tomes of holy words. They have temples and monasteries all across the land of mortals.” The man motioned derisively at the crumbling statue. "This thing here is barely a shrine!"

“Hey, I'm working on that, alright? It's going to look great when I'm done with it," Steve protested. "And so what if he doesn't have more? Robin says quantity’s got nothing to do with quality.”

“Yeah, but the other gods are remembered for a reason. That counts for something,” the man's voice lost some of that smug edge. He fiddled with the hem of his fraying shirt as he spoke. 

Steve refused to rise to the bait. He responded calmly, but firmly.

“I don’t need libraries to know I want to carry his symbol. From what Robin and Dustin found, he represents all the things my friends taught me were important.” Steve pauses. "I’m not a good reader anyway so less books are better for me.” 

"Oh, so that's why you picked him! Very convenient," The man sounded very amused. Steve ignored him until he heard the man wander away for the night. He sighed in relief.

With a surge of restless energy leftover from being very good and calm about that nuisance of a man, Steve approached the statue elevated on its crumbling plinth. He reached up towards its open hand held at its side, barely within reach, and brushed his fingers along the worn knuckles. 

"That guy's wrong about you, I know he is,” Steve whispered, fervently. “You deserve a temple. A hundred of them, all for your own."

Steve thought, for a moment, he heard a sharp intake of breath, but when he looked there was no one but him around. 

“I’ll make sure you get a great temple."

He waited, strained his ears for even a single word from his god. He tried not to be disappointed when he heard nothing. Again.

–

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you’d like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

#trensu tells stories #stasis in darkness #stranger things #steddie #thanks again to ent for helping find a title for this #and for listening to my directionless ramblings about it

[ashecampos]

-shot through the heart

and your to blame-

enemies / lovers

Kate Bishop x Female tracksuit mafia member

TW - death, angst

——————————————————

For the longest time criminal mastermind Y/N L/N and avenger Kate Bishop had this little cat and mouse chase throughout the city of Brooklyn, NewYork.

Ten years to be exact.

Y/N was Kates first mission.

—

“take out the girl, in and out” Clint repeats the mission plan to the young archer

—

However as we know now, that mission didn’t go to plan. The two archers shot a rigged bomb which they thought was the young criminal. An explosion blasted throughout the fourth floor of the small abandoned building.

this mission left Clint partially death and Kate just got away with a few scrapes though. Y/N however, left that building that night with a new scar and a broken collar bone.

But that was 7 years ago.

Nowadays Y/N is associated with the tracksuit mafia. Kate is still an avenger. The world is breaking apart at its strings, meaning the tracksuits had an opportunity to strike.

———

Y/N’s POV

One thing I hate more than the cold is early mornings, today we have both. Although I dare say Christmas in NewYork is one of the best things to witness every year, it’s also a pain in the ass.

I walk into the warehouse, combat boots echoing throughout the silent room. I must be early. I shrug and whistle some old Christmas song while equipping myself with guns and knifes. I put extra ammo in other peoples guns, knowing today could go tits up.

“Ah there she is. Hey Y/N, come, come we have a surprise for you. Well for boss but your bound to love this” my main man Tomas comes up to me patting my back with a smirk.

Silently me and Tomas walk into one of the farthest rooms from the exit, confused and tired I walk in behind Tomas.

I step further into the dimly lit room to see a chair in the middle with Hawkeye sat upon it. Chuckling I walk in front of him.

“Awe guys I know it’s Christmas but you didn’t have to get me such a thoughtful gift” i quip as I walk around, silently wondering where the protégé is these days.

i turn back to the group of probably 20 men “what do we need from Mr Barton? you know he has a lovely family he surely has Christmas plans with. Cmon guys let’s not keep the poor man too long” I question the group.

“we need miss Bishop..well the big boss does” another man says almost intimidated.

I smirk “oh what has my favourite avenger gotten herself into this time?” I chuckle while turning back to Clint “where’s the girl?” I say, taking my gun out of its holster, placing the cold metal against the older man’s forehead with a smirk.

“your delusional” he says lowly.

“Keep him here till I find the girls whereabouts. I’ll be in my office” i state to the men while I walk away, throwing the gun to Ivan.

———

in my office I shut the door and throw my body onto the faux leather chair at my desk.

“Kate Bishop why the fuck are you under my desk…if you wanted to pleasure me I’m more into knifes and chains” i smirk as I look down at the woman under my desk.

Standing up from her place under my wooden desk she holds me but the throat and straddles me making sure I cannot move “kinky” I state with a wheeze.

“You want out of this business? Say it and I can guarantee your safety with the avengers” she her other hand to grip my chin, making me look at her.

“Ah yes because mister general Ross would been so happy to invite a Romanian assassin onto the team oh wait isn’t one Slavic spy enough or are you guys going down a more ethnic route?” I use my hand to slowly inch Kates hand off of my neck, allowing me to speak without passing out.

she climbs off my lap “tonight there will be a meet up with your team and mine. It’ll end in blood shed. Please Y/N we cannot afford the casualties and neither can you guys. Call it off” she states before opening the window. Cool air seeping through. “See you there drăguţă” ((sweetheart)) I laugh as she jumps out of the window, I then make my way back to where the other men are

“Okay, okay children let him go, we have insight on the avengers” i say with a laugh. Walking over to Barton I grab my pocket knife, cutting his restraints “tell your team to bring their dancing shoes tonight will you?” is the last thing I say before shoving him to the floor, half of my men go and escort him out of the warehouse.

————

laying down in my bed in the warehouse I shut my eyes. Memories flow through my head. The red room. Meeting the avengers. Being kicked out of the avengers. Meeting the tracksuits. Meeting kingpin. With a groan I throw myself out of the bed, realising I did i fact get a good amount of sleep, an hour until this so called fight. I’m already dressed all I need is to brief the team, grab Maya and Kazi before heading out.

————

it’s 11pm, me, Maya, Kazi and a lot of the tracksuits are huddled into the back of a van. Being transported to the garage.

once we make it there the doors open and we all split up around the garage, I send the snipers up onto the roof of either the vans or the building behind the sign, I send the best fighters behind cars and the others stay with me, Maya and Kazi to await for the avengers appearance.

Not even a minute after I’m comes the worlds mightiest hero’s.

“Hey guys, good holiday. Damn I kinda saw you guys as a sunny holiday Christmas people. Not enough money for your Hawaii trip?” I speak first out of habit. People say my job is to be a weapon. I say my job is a full time career in taking the piss out of the avengers. Anywho a fight breaks out and it’s me against the ant man “I don’t want to hurt you kid” he tries to plead “awe Katie look, you have competition here, he cares about me” I frown playfully, punching him square in the nose, I sweep his feet from under him and when he tries to get up again I slam his head to the floor, knocking him out.

Next I go for Spider-Man, i quickly analyse his power, he’s using web slingers “Oo fancy can I try?” I quickly pull the gear off of his wrist, throwing them to Tomas “here bro thwip thwip” he chuckles while attaching them to his person. The little big boy goes to swing his fist at me. i punch the dude in the ribs, he falls to the ground eyes shutting while I shake my hand in pain “ouch that really hurt” i state with a whimper.

Lastly I walk over to Clint, knowing my boys are going to take care of the rest of the team.

“You killed my mother” I say coldly as I punch the man in the face “say her name” I cry out as his back hits the bonnet of a red car, he lets his body slide down the car until he is sat in front of it. “Maya is going to kill Clint” The Falcon shouts out to the standing avengers obviously not knowing I am indeed not Maya.

I stand up and turn around to correct him but before I can say anything I hear the release of an arrow, seconds later the said arrow pierces through my skin, I look down at the arrows placement.

Right through my chest, awkwardly situated on the left side of my body on from what I can gather is my heart.

Pain shoots through my body, forcing me to fall to my knees.

“Shit” is all Clint says behind me.

My former team the avengers and my loyal team, the tracksuit mafia all stop fighting.

Since the arrow left it’s place in Kate’s bow she didn’t stop looking at me.

Both teams ran over.

Kate got to me first. “No fuck, Y/N don’t you dare leave me like this”

“Hey, Bishop, I really like you. You know that?” I say through staggered breathes as I lift my hand up, grabbing the arrow and pulling it out of my body. “you’ve got good aim”

Darkness engulfs my vision and my body falls onto the cold concrete floor.

———————

#hawkeye #kate bishop #ladyhawke #tracksuitmafia #winter #christmas #the avengers #spiderman #ant man #maya lopez #kate bishop x y/n #reader insert #kate x reader #wlw post #sfw #red room #Spotify

[pawsandfurrs]

5 Must Haves For A New Cat Mom/Dad

The day is finally coming close to when you bring your new furbaby home. You must have all these things planned as to how you will spend your days with this new cat baby. You definitely have taken an off from work for that day and kept your schedule free for at least the first week. Am I right?

 However, we bring to you five essentials that you will need in order to take care of your cat once she arrives home. Remember, she/he is new to your surroundings and will need patience and time to adapt to everything. So make sure you create a checklist and tick these 5 off.

Let’s get into it right away:

●     Pet carrier:

Number 1 definitely is a pet carrier. This is necessary because you will need a carrier to bring your cat baby home. This is the first step. You may want to use a cardboard box or a handy-dandy carrier but it is best to use a proper pet carrier.

Besides, you would want to get your cat on a royal throne with a crown the first time you bring them home.

●     Cat Food:

Stocking up on delicious and nutritious food before bringing your cat baby home is advisable. Pay a visit to the vet and figure out where your cat is health-wise and then accordingly purchase food.

Ask the previous owner or shelter that you purchased the cat from to know what they have been eating and what are the do’s and don’ts for them.

Checkout our website for Cat Food in Kuwait.

While you are stocking up on food, also get cat friendly bowls so you have something to serve food for your cat in.

●     Cat Collar:

A cat collar has three purposes. One is to mark it yours and make your cat baby relationship official. Number two, a collar provides identification of the cat if required. It is tremendously sad to see cats not have identification on them and wander on the streets.

Thirdly, a collar is trendy and cute. It adds to the charm of your cat baby. It is like an accessory and your cat will like that!

Checkout our website for Cat Toys and Accessories in Kuwait. We provide quality at affordable prices and a wide variety to choose from.

●     Cat Litter boxes:

A very attractive trait of cats is that they are hygienic and use litter boxes. Before bringing your new baby home, you must make sure you have litter boxes ready. You need to introduce them to the litter box as well.

Along with that, decide how you would want to dispose of this waste. Learn about the guidelines of disposition in your locality if any.

Checkout Cat Toys and Litter Boxes at our website at great prices: https://pawsnfurr.com/cat/litter-and-accessories

●     Cat Toys:

How exactly do you plan on playing with this little one? You have to have the best and safe toys to make sure your cat baby is on its toes and in your arms. Plus, you don’t ever want your cat baby to feel bored.

Toys are a way by which cats can be healthy and also sleep better. This ensures their mind and heart is healthy and happy. Toys will make their life go smoothly and yours too.

 We are excited for you to start this journey with your new cat baby. It probably has been your dream to have a pet cat and now things have finally worked out for you. This could also be your fourth cat, no judgment here!

If you are planning your new cat baby’s arrival do checkout for cat toys Kuwait and cat food in kuwait at our website: https://pawsnfurr.com/

#Caru Dog Natural Chicken Bites #Caru Cat Treats #Caru Dog Food Near Me #Cat Shelves Kuwait #Cat Furniture Kuwait #Cat Cages Kuwait #Dog Houses In Kuwait #Best Pet Accessories Kuwait #Pet Store Kuwait #Pet Shop Kuwait Online #Cat Toys Kuwait #Dog Food In Kuwait #Dog Food Kuwait #Caru Wet Cat Food

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[theladyofdeath]

Heels {Rowaelin}

The prompt: walks in front of their crush in stripper heals and a short skirt because they want their attention

Rowan x Aelin os

Written with @snelbz​

There was no way this could be a good idea.

Aelin was sitting on her bed, watching as Lysandra flicked through her closet. She had told her that tonight was the night and had recruited her to help her do what she considered nearly impossible.

She was going to get the attention of Rowan Whitethorn.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know she existed, it was quite the opposite. He was one of her friends, having met during orientation week their freshman year, and as their group grew, so did their friendship. But after three and a half years, she had very solidly gotten her stuck as just that: his friend.

“You’re wasting your time,” Aelin crooned, flipping through the timeline on her phone. 

“Bullshit,” Lysandra muttered, flipping through the clothes in her closet. “You need to feel confident, Aelin. Rowan is obsessed with you, and you’re obsessed with him. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, but remained quiet. 

“How about this?” Lysandra asked, pulling out a denim mini skirt and black halter cropped top. As Aelin was about to reply, Lysandra said, “Say nothing. Put it on.”

With a roll of her eyes, yet again, Aelin did as much. Once she had the skirt and top on, she looked in the mirror. 

And she looked hot as hell.

“Shoes?” Aelin asked, despite herself. 

“Oh, I have the perfect heels,” Lysandra said, fleeing from the room. She came back a moment later with a pair of black stilettos that were Aelin’s  size. 

Scoffing, Aelin held them up. “I’m going to break my neck.”

Lysandra snorted and flounced back into the bathroom where she continued to straighten her hair. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Fine,” Aelin amended. “I’m going to break my ankle.” She set the shoes on her bed and joined Lysandra in the bathroom to finish getting ready.

She let Lysandra curl her hair, but drew the line when she offered to do her makeup. They had very different styles when it came to that and while Lysandra looked drop dead gorgeous with her cat-eye liner and ruby red lips, Aelin would never be able to pull it off.

“Where is this party even at?” Lysandra asked, pulling her hair back into a stylish ponytail.

“Lorcan’s.” Aelin was trying to keep her hand steady as she applied the thin line of liquid eyeliner to her upper lid. “I think Elide convinced him to throw it.”

Lysandra snorted, applying her mascara.  “Sounds right. Lorcan isn’t exactly the host-type.”

Aelin grinned, tossing her eyeliner in her makeup bag. “Alright, hurry up. I want to make my entrance.”

With a roll of her eyes, Lysandra took one last look in the mirror and declared herself ready and they were off.

Lorcan’s apartment was just on the edge of campus, so the two girls walked and earned the eager glances of many as they did so.

Aelin took it as a good sign.

“Will Aedion be here tonight?” Lysandra asked, shooting a glance over at Aelin.

She groaned. “Probably.” She still couldn’t believe that her roommate actually had the hots for her cousin. He was practically her brother and the thought of him in any sort of compromising position made her want to gag. “If you hook up with him tonight, please do it at his place. I can’t afford therapy on my barista’s salary.”

“Trust me,” Lysandra said, adjusting her ponytail as they approached the steps to Lorcan’s. “I plan on giving you complete privacy at the apartment tonight. And you better take advantage of it.”

Butterflies grew in the pit of Aelin’s stomach. 

She planned to, hoped to, wanted to…but, she had to catch Rowan’s eye first - something that made her nerves go haywire. 

Lysandra must have caught it, because they stopped outside of Lorcan’s door and Lysandra made Aelin face her. 

“You look gorgeous,” she said, and brushed Aelin’s hair back. “He’d be an idiot not to come after you.”

That was the goal, after all. Aelin was not going to be the one doing the chasing. She wanted Rowan to see her, want her, not be able to take his eyes off of her. She knew he’d be here, the party was at his best friend’s apartment, knew that everyone from their friend group would show up. Yet she was absolutely fucking terrified he’d see her and have zero reaction.

She played it off with a joke though. Scoffing, she tossed her hair over a shoulder. “He’d better. I didn’t book an emergency appointment with my waxer for nothing.”

If Lysandra noticed the fake bravado — which she absolutely did, she and Aelin had become as close as sisters over the past three years — she didn’t call her out on it. Instead, she smirked, smacked Aelin on the ass, and said, “Then let’s go get your man.”

The music could be heard from a block away, and when they opened the front door, the apartment was already packed.

People definitely noticed them come in, though, including Elide who was running towards them, a drink in hand. “It’s about time you two showed up!”

“The host himself isn’t here to greet us?” Aelin mocked, giving Elide a hug.

Elide chuckled as she rolled her eyes. “He’s been out on the balcony for about a half hour, avoiding all human interaction.”

“Sounds about right,” Lysandra replied, rolling her eyes, but then she began looking around the spacious townhouse Lorcan and Elide shared. “You haven’t seen Aedion tonight, have you?”

Elide gave Aelin a knowing glance, but said, “Last I saw, he was playing beer pong with Fenrys. Don’t know who the poor bastards getting their asses handed to them were, but they’re probably still in the kitchen.”

Lysandra gave Aelin a wink. “Good luck.” And then she was gone, lost in the bodies dancing to the music.

Her part in tonight was done, to help Aelin get Rowan’s attention. It was all up to Aelin now, so Lysandra was free to find someone to occupy her own time. Even if the thought of who she’d be with made Aelin want to shudder.

Alone with Aelin, or as close to it as they could be, Elide let out a low whistle as she finally took in Aelin’s outfit. “I have a feeling that outfit isn’t just to impress me.”

“Does that mean you’re not impressed?” Aelin asked, pretending to pout. 

Elide looped her arm through Aelin’s and led her to the bar. “I’m always impressed, but I don’t think you care so much about my opinion, do you?”

Aelin snorted as she began to look around, but Elide saved her the struggle.

“He’s on the patio with Lor,” Elide said, simply. “Don’t worry. I’ll drag his ass back in here soon and Rowan will follow.”

Elide poured them both a shot, which Aelin gladly took and even asked for another. But when Manon and Asterin Blackbeak showed up, she waved Elide off to go greet her friends, and leaned against the bar, debating on a third shot.

She wasn’t trying to get shitty tonight, just a little messy, but her nerves were beginning to grow again.

Just as she decided to say fuck it, and get another shot, and heard a whistle from behind her. She turned and found Dorian Havilliard staring at her legs.

Or maybe he was staring at her ass.

They had messed around her freshman year, when his dorm room was just down the hall from hers, but it had never been anything more than that between them, and they agreed that they were better as friends. It didn’t mean they didn’t have fun though.

She smirked as she tossed the glass back and set it down on the bar top, before turning to him. “See anything you like?”

“I see quite a few things I like,” he said, raising his drink in salute. “Then again, only a fourth of your skin is covered, so there’s a lot to look at.”

Aelin laughed, quietly, and clinked her empty shot glass against his full bottle. “Gotta show off what the gods gave me.”

“As you should,” he agreed with a wink. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Well, it is school, and I actually study,” Aelin said, turning to refill her shot glass.

Dorian had the audacity to look offended. “Hey, I study, too.”

Aelin laughed as she turned back around. “Reading a bunch of books that have nothing to do with any of your classes doesn’t count as studying, Dor.”

“But they’re so much more interesting,” he replied, chuckling as he thought of the boring curriculum he studied for his pre-law degree.

Aelin rolled her eyes as she tossed back the shot and set it behind the bar. Four shots was enough. She’d be fun, she’d be confident, but she wasn’t tipsy enough to make an ass of herself.

Yet.

“I assume all of this skin isn’t for me, so who are you trying to impress?” Dorian asked, and then added, with a wink, “Chaol?”

Huffing a laugh, Aelin shook her head. “Absolutely not. That ended in a disaster and I’m not inclined to repeat it.”

The sliding glass door opened and Aelin’s eyes snapped to the door, before she quickly turned away before Lorcan and Rowan stepped inside.

“Oh,” Dorian chuckled, softly. “Whitethorn then.”

It wasn’t a question.

He had moved imperceptibly closer and she knew how it would look to Rowan. For whatever reason, she decided she wanted him to be jealous she was talking to another guy.

Even if she had no idea whether or not he’d even noticed her.

“Is this who I am now?” Dorian asked, quietly, leaning into her ear, fully aware that it looked like he was coming onto her. “Your super hot wingman?”

Aelin snorted, and didn’t bother moving away. “My overly cocky wingman, maybe.”

Dorian huffed a laugh. “I still take it as a compliment.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be flirting up Manon instead of fake flirting with me?” Aelin whispered, quietly. She glanced at Rowan, who was filling up a red solo cup.

“I like to make Manon wait,” Dorian said, running a finger up Aelin’s forearm. “She gets jealous, too, and it makes things so much more exciting in the bedroom.”

“Thanks for the image, Dor,” Aelin said, pushing away the need to roll her eyes and flick him in the nose.

He and Manon weren’t exclusively in a relationship, but everyone knew they hooked up with each other, and only each other. But, again, totally not exclusive.

“Besides,” Dorian mused, his finger skimming Aelin’s arm. “She’s busy doing body shots with Asterin. I’ll enjoy her later.”

Aelin snorted, reaching behind the bar and pulling an ice cold beer from the open cooler. She handed it to him and he opened it for her, flicking the cap in the air as if it were a coin.

He let it fall to the bar top as he leaned in to whisper in her ear one last time. “Pretty sure that’s my cue.”

She followed his gaze across the room, and found Rowan looking at her. Watching her and Dorian both.

“Have fun,” he added, before sauntering off towards the kitchen.

Rowan watched Dorian walk away to the other side of the room where he sat to watch Aedion and Fenrys continue to dominate in beer pong.

When Rowan’s eyes trailed back to Aelin, she was already watching him, a slightly-forced mischievous smile on her lips.

On the inside, she felt like she was going to puke.

He made his way across the room, pausing in front of her and slipped his free hand into his pocket. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” she said, and she wasn’t sure why it sounded so breathless.

“I didn’t see you get here,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

She did the same, fighting the urge to toss her hair over a shoulder. “You were outside.” She realized that told him she was keeping tabs on him and she quickly added. “I mean, Elide told me Lorcan was outside, so I assumed you had to be with him.”

He smirked. “Right. Well, I was. It’s a little crowded in here.” She nodded, but he went on. “However, seems like you didn’t mind when Havilliard was over here with you. Not too crowded for you, then, huh?” 

Aelin slowly lifted a golden brow. If Rowan wanted to play, she would play. “Not crowded enough for someone to be blocking your view of me with Dorian, apparently.”

A light lit up Rowan’s green eyes as his jaw twitched, suppressing a grin. “I can always count on you to manipulate my words and their meaning, Galathynius.”

Aelin’s grin was wide. “Someone has to keep you in your place, Whitethorn.” 

“And is that you?” He asked, voice low as he took a drink from his cup. “The person that’s going to keep me in my place?”

Aelin’s eyes glittered as she took another drink. It was always easy with Rowan. They could talk for hours, that witty banter, back and forth. But, that’s all that had ever happened between them: simple conversation. 

From the way she caught him watching her legs as she took a drink, though, she thought tonight may just end up as she planned.

A hell of a lot more than simple conversation.

“Want to dance?” She asked.

His eyes slowly slid up her body to meet her gaze. “You know I don’t dance, Ace.”

She took a long, slow drink from her bottle. “Not even with me?”

“Not with anyone,” he said, crossing his arms and resting a hip against the bar.

It was a miracle no one had interrupted them, but the bulk of the drinks had been set up in the kitchen.

“That’s a shame,” Aelin sighed, finishing off her beer and tossing the empty bottle in the trash can. “I would love to dance, but I don’t have anyone to dance with.”

Rowan said, “I’m sure you can find someone, especially with how you’re dressed tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “And how is that?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you look drop dead fucking sexy,” he replied, without missing a beat. “I just don’t get why.”

“What do you mean?” Aelin asked.

“Why try so hard?” He asked, head cocked to the side. “Who are you trying to impress?”

Cocky bastard. She could see it in his eyes, he knew what he was doing and she hated him for it.

Hated that she loved it, anyway.

“What need would I have to impress anyone?” Aelin asked, chin raised. “I think I’m naturally perfect in every way.”

Rowan chuckled. “Then you should’ve come in your sweatpants and a tank top.”

Aelin rose a brow.

Rowan shrugged. “I think that’s when you’re sexiest.”

With that, with his cup pressed to his lips, he turned and walked away.

Aelin blinked after him, not sure she was sure she heard him right. He made his way through the people and headed back to the door leading out onto the balcony, stopping to say something to Lorcan. He waved him off and then Rowan was slipping back outside, while Aelin just started after him.

She pushed her way through the crowd, which was easier said than done when you weren’t a six-foot-four giant who mildly scared the shit out of everyone by scowling at them, but she eventually made it to the door. Sliding it open, she stepped out into the balmy night air.

“You can’t say shit like that and then just disappear,” Aelin said, finding him exactly how she’d expected to.

Rowan was leaned against the wall, the sole of one booted foot pressed against it as well. A lit cigarette dangled from his fingers. She gave him shit about smoking all the time, but knew he only did it when he drank.

Or when he had something on his mind.

He held the cigarette out to her, but she gave him a look. “You know better than to offer me that.”

Rowan just grinned and put it back between his lips. “You’re missing the party.” 

“What did you mean?” Aelin asked, standing opposite of him, leaning against the railing. 

“When?” he asked, looking up at the sky.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rowan,” she snapped, and it got his attention. 

Blowing a puff of smoke into the cool night air, he met her gaze and slowly shook his head. He gestured to her outfit, to the heels that were making her feet ache. “What is this?”

“They’re clothes,” she said. “For a party.”

“They’re Lysandra’s,” he replied, simply. 

“I can’t wear my roommate’s clothes?” Aelin scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight-.”

“Why can’t you just admit that you’re just trying to impress someone?” he interrupted, watching her, that light in his eye fading. “You’ve never been not-confident a day in your life. Whoever it is that you’re trying to impress, he obviously isn’t worth it if it causes you to be someone you’re not.”

Aelin looked down at the cropped halter top, the skirt that hardly reached her thighs, the heels that she was certain would cause blisters. “This is someone I’m not?”

Rowan slowly shook his head. “Last time we went out, you wore that little golden slip dress….” He shook his head, reminiscing on the memory. “That was you. You wore sneakers and you were still barefoot halfway through the night, dancing on the patio. What you’re wearing now - yeah, you look gorgeous - but I can tell you’re not comfortable in it.” 

“If I’m trying to get someone’s attention, maybe my usual isn’t best. Especially if it pushes me out of my comfort zone,” she snapped back, her hands on her hips. “And why is it such a problem if I’m trying to impress someone? Dorian was impressed.”

“Dorian doesn’t drool all over you like a dog in heat,” he replied. “He respects you, regardless of what you’re wearing, how much skin you’re showing off. But if you’re trying to impress some D bag who will only notice you if you’re dressed like that, you might want to reconsider.”

“And what if I was trying to impress you?” She asked, getting in his face, cigarette smoke and whiskey breath be damned. “What if I was trying to get your attention, Rowan?”

His jaw locked and his eyes searched hers, as if he was trying to find the underlying meaning in what she was saying, even if there wasn’t one. 

“Then you’d be wasting your time,” he said, at last.

It felt like a knife had been shoved into Aelin’s ribs with every word that had come out of his mouth. Begging herself not to cry in front of him, she went to take a step away, but Rowan grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him.

Their chests were nearly touching, and his hand trailed from her wrist, into her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers.

He took the cigarette from his lips and said, “You’d be wasting your time because you impress me every time that I’m around you.”

“You never act like it,” she breathed, shaking her head. “You never do anything, and you’ve never tried to make a move. What the hell else was I supposed to do?”

He flicked the cigarette over the rail and let go of her hand, only to frame her face with both of his. “This.”

And then his lips were on hers, and Aelin didn’t care that she could taste residual smoke or stale beer. She knew she didn’t taste much better. All that mattered was that Rowan was kissing her and his hands were on her face and hers were tangled up in his shirt. His tongue slid against hers and she had to fight to stop the moan that threatened to slip out of her.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “That,” he said, breathlessly. “That is what you should have done to get my attention.”

Aelin swallowed, harshly. “Do it again.”

Rowan didn’t have to be convinced. His hands slid down her back as he brought his mouth to hers, and he pulled her body uptight against his. They stayed out there for a long time, for hours, uninterrupted. 

At one point, she saw Dorian come by and lock the balcony door, so everyone else would get the hint to stay the hell away.

Wingman of the year.

They stayed on the balcony, kissing and laughing and kissing some more, until the party wound down. Around two, Lorcan let them inside, and Aelin pulled Rowan out of the apartment and across campus to her own. 

True to Lysandra’s word, she was nowhere to be found.

The second Aelin stepped into her apartment, she kicked off her heels and was swept into Rowan’s arms. He carried her into her bedroom, where he stripped her down, out of her roommate’s clothes.

Rowan Whitethorn saw all of her.

She had his full attention. 

#rowaelin #rowan #aelin #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #prompts #collab #snacmc

[jgvfhl]

The Number Lads Have Little Friends!

So you know when you're in a zoom meeting and someone's cat walks by? Suddenly everyone MUST SEE THE BABY!!! "SHOW US THE LITTLE GUY!!" they cry. Yeah holocalls are zoom calls and droids are pets. Sort of. They're precious, anyway (mostly). A little interlude before we get to more plot things 😌 About 4400 words

Loopy: fives, echo, how the hell do you deal with r2d2 and c3po on a regular basis??

high fives: twooie is our little guy!

Loopy: that does not answer my question

CrispyDomino: why what’s r2 doing?

Loopy: we’re on aleen trying to help after a bunch of seismic activity all but leveled this town

Loopy: and your droids managed to find a secret underground gas chamber of death

RedBoiiiii: dude sick!!!

d0nut man: sevens…

RedBoiiiii: wrong exclamation, i realize that now

high fives: oh does this mean we have to update r2’s body count again?

Loopy: WHAT??? Actually, no, it’s not that surprising

Loopy: didn’t skywalker build him or smth? not surprising

Leafs: underground gas chamber of death huh? that’s new

RedBoiiiii: echo

RedBoiiiii: buddy

CrispyDomino: yeah?

RedBoiiiii: the name change

CrispyDomino: well it does suit me now

high fives: he actually looks fine, just his leg is messed up still

CrispyDomino: and loops you never said if we have to update twooie’s body count

Loopy: force no, he didn’t kill anyone

Loopy: altho the commander is about ready to leave without c3po

high fives: lol

CrispyDomino: he has that effect

high fives: yeah who knows how senator amidala deals with him all the time

DressedtotheNines: somehow i’m not surprised commander grump doesn’t like threepio

Leafs: so does everyone know who these droids are except me?

RedBoiiiii: no i have no idea but r2 sounds awesome

d0nut man: he should meet cricket! he’s general bala’s little guy

RedBoiiiii: WE NEED TO HAVE A LITTLE GUY SHOWWWW i wanna see all the little guys

d0nut man: yessss

Loopy: all my squad has is a mouse droid with a vibroblade taped to her

RedBoiiiii: WHAT?? THAT’S AWESOME

CrispyDomino: that’s… what??? Why??? That’s a huge safety hazard!

Submarine: oh my squad has one of those too

CrispyDomino: WHY????

Submarine: it was a joke first, but then no one could get it off of the mouse… so…

high fives: that’s… slightly concerning, but it’s still cool

RedBoiiiii: oh hey doesn’t the commander have a droid too? bc pilot?

Leafs: are you sure you want to open that can of worms?

RedBoiiiii: I must know!

Double Trouble: I heard Sevenset was gonna taunt death, i came as fast as i could

DEATH: you’re just in time

RedBoiiiii: Commander!!!! Do you have a droid????

RedBoiiiii: because you’re a pilot, yknow?

DEATH: I have a droid…

RedBoiiiii: Yay!!!

DEATH: do I want to know why he’s so excited about a fairly obvious fact?

Leafs: probably not

DressedtotheNines: he wants to see your droid friend

RedBoiiiii: excuse u i said i wanted to see the little guys

DressedtotheNines: right, that

DEATH: … why?

RedBoiiiii: no reason! just because! Loopy and Fours have stabby mouse droids

DEATH: … joy of joys

-scene-

Do-si-do was not in the upper levels of his piloting squad’s hierarchy, and most of the time, he was fine to keep it that way. But today, it was a little irritating. He was trying to get permission to … borrow the squad’s astromech for the Numbers meeting today, but it was proving difficult. If he didn’t figure this out in the next ten minutes, he would feel no remorse in getting the hand-held holoprojector and interrupting whatever other purposes R3-M15 was serving.

But he hadn’t given up on pleading with the squad sergeant yet. “I just need her for half an hour! Less than that, if you want.”

Sergeant Doppler sighed for the fourth or fifth time during the conversation. “Do-si-do, I told you already, Artemis has a schedule, and so do we. The ships need their monthly software inspection, and we can’t afford to let her get behind on them.”

“She can do my ship last! Or tomorrow, or something--please, sir?” Do-si-do insisted, darting in front of Doppler when she started walking again. When she didn’t say anything, only glared, he stepped aside, but added, “I’ll just bring the meeting to her if you won’t let me bring her to the meeting.”

Doppler finally sighed in a way that Do-si-do thought might mean she would relent. The sergeant crossed on arm over her chest and pinched the bridge of her nose. “How… I cannot believe I’m asking this, but how long is the meeting?”

Without transmitting the glee he felt, Do-si-do answered, “Never more than an hour, but I can let her go before that. Thirty minutes tops, sir.”

“Fine,” the sergeant said heavily. “But she has to get some work done. Take the call in your ship and let her work on it during the meeting.”

“Absolutely! Thank you, sir! I’ll put in a good word about you,” Do-si-do assured her before jogging off in the other direction, towards the hangar bay were Artemis did all her work.

He found her already working on someone else’s ship, but it was right next to his anyway, so he walked up and squatted down where she was plugged into the ship.

“Hey Artie!” he smiled.

She beeped happily, her visual receptor turning to face him, her bronze plating glinted dully in the blue lights from the ray shields as she did.

“Hey, Serge’s orders, you’re gonna to my ship next, okay? Got some brothers who wanna meet you. And maybe some new droid buddies, who knows?”

Artemis gave a whir and an “ooh”, sounding affirmative. Normally, Do-si-do’s bucket would auto-translate her binary, but for now, he was hoping he could guess close enough.

“Meet you up there, then,” he said as he stood up. He got a beep in reply, so he turned and climbed into his X-wing to dial up the frequency and wait for Sevenset to start the meeting.

His friend’s blue hologram appeared on top of his control panel in a minute or so, although his face was far closer than it usually was. “Hey, Do-si-do!” he smiled, taking a few steps back. This revealed what Do-si-do recognized as Sevenset’s bunk on Kamino. The ARCs--thank the Maker--got actual bunks, instead of the pods all the cadets slept in. Sevenset sat down on the bunk and a silver and white mech droid rolled up next to him.

After Sevenset, several numbers joined in rapid succession. Trees and Loops appeared around the same time. Loops, true to what he’d said in the chat, was carefully holding a mouse droid with a vibroblade taped to it. Trees didn’t have any droids visible in his frame, but Do-si-do was pretty sure his squad didn’t really have one. He waved at them, but didn’t have time to say much, because Echo and Fives joined next with R2D2, and then Nines appeared with two other 212th members, one of whom was seated and leaning his arms on the top of brown and yellow astromech built much like Artie.

“Is that the murderbot himself, Domino?” Trees asked.

“Yep!” Fives beamed, and R2 gave a happy series of beeps.

Zero joined after them, sitting next to a C1-series astromech built in appropriate dark green and black. They both waved. Fours came after him, likewise gingerly handling a weaponized mouse droid who looked a little too aware it was armed.

Loops held his up to the camera. “Twins.” He didn’t sound thrilled.

“Yeah…” Fours did the same, and sounded just as hesitant.

“Where’s your friend, Do-si-do?” Zero asked.

“She’s working,” he replied, sitting forward to push buttons to turn the holoprojector’s visual receptors around towards Artie, who had appeared in the nose of his X-wing. “Say hi, Artie!”

Artie whistled and her dome spun in a circle. There was a series of beeps and whirring noises from the other holograms as the droids recognized binary when they heard it. That was kind of cute.

“Trees, you’re still taking attendance for these meetings, yeah?” Sevenset asked.

“Informally speaking, yeah.”

“Gonna have to mark the commander late.”

Do-si-do snorted, trying to imagine the commander’s lack of expression in learning he’d been marked late. He turned the camera back on himself.

“Somehow,” Trees said, “I don’t think he’d care.”

“Yeah, but it’d be funny as hell,” Fives pointed out.

As usual, it was with impeccable dramatic timing that the resident commander appeared just then. For once, though, his hologram contained more than himself, because next to wherever he was sitting stood an astromech in the same style as R2D2. Naturally, in all black, because this was Commander Death’s droid.

“Commander!” came Sevenset’s now familiar greeting. “You brought your little friend.”

The commander probably sighed, but it was inaudible, and all they saw was him crossing his arms and leaning further into his chair. “Yeah. I did.”

“Aw, they’re like a little mini Commander Death,” Do-si-do couldn’t help but say.

“A little death droid,” Sevenset agreed.

R2 beeped sharply, and Fives laughed. “Twooie says they have to share that title.”

The commander’s helmet tilted, and his droid gave a few short blips, much lower in pitch than R2. “He doesn’t share well,” the commander said.

“Introductions!” Sevenset announced, throwing his hands in the air. “We need introductions.”

“Ladies first?” Do-si-do suggested. “You can meet Artie, then my sergeant won’t have my ass for keeping her away from work for too long.”

Sevenset raised his right hand. “All in favor of saving Do-si-do’s ass, say ‘aye.’”

There was a chorus of “ayes” in response, so he pushed the button on the control panel to turn the camera around again. “Alright, then, thanks guys. Anyway, this is R3-M15, or Artemis, but most of us just call her Artie.” Artie once again spun her dome around in a greeting. “She’s my squad’s main ground mech. Has been since I joined, too.”

Again, the other droids beeped and chirped replies. Sevenset added, “I know Artie heard this, but Beskar says she’s very pretty,” while patting the top of the mech next to him.

“Aaww,” Do-si-do smiled, while Trees made a face of pure boredom. “That’s sweet.”

“His name is Beskar?” Echo asked, drawing everyone’s attention to Sevenset.

“Yep!” Sevenset patted the droid’s top again. “I don’t know who named him, but he’s the droid in charge of keeping our living quarters all in working order, so we make sure we’re nice to the little guy. Right, Beskar?” The silver droid whirred happily.

“How’s he so shiny still?” one of the 212th troopers asked.

“Kamino.”

“Oh. Right.”

Nines then nudged his brother, prompting, “Alright, you did it, you introduce ours.”

The trooper rolled his eyes, but he sat up straighter, and the one leaning on the droid sat up as well. “This is Dusty, he’s one of Ghost Company’s mechs. He’s kinda shy.” He said the last part as if in explanation of their droid trying to edge his way between the two of them, like he could disappear if he just got past them.

“Oh, hey, so’s ours,” Zero said with a smile. “He’s General Bala’s droid technically, but he helps out the whole legion. This is CR1-KT, or Cricket, and he’s somehow in charge of all the other C1s in the legion.”

Cricket waved an arm at them tentatively, then another droid’s arm stuck into the hologram and waved more excitedly.

Zero leaned forward and picked up the projector. “Yeah, and they all wanted to say hi,” he said, lifting it up and turning it to reveal a cluster of dark green C1 droids all waving and rocking on their wheels and buzzing with pleasure to be recognized. “They’re called Cricklets.”

“Zero,” Loops said. “That is adorable.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cute,” the ARC agreed, setting the projector back down in its previous position.

Beskar gave a couple cheery beeps, appearing to agree. R2 and the commander’s droid made some comments as well, but judging by Fives’ and Echo’s reaction, it wasn’t quite the same sentiment.

“Hey! R2D2!” Fives said, looking absolutely affronted, one hand on his chest.

“That was not nice!” Echo added, mirroring his twin’s expression.

“Oh, okay, okay, language!” Sevenset said, covering Beskar’s dome where “ears” might have been.

Do-si-do looked down at his control panel and saw Artie had sent a message to him: They both called the Cricklets little poodoos. He held in his laughter, considering R2 was clearly not to be rewarded for such language.

The commander elbowed his droid. “I told you to behave.”

“Yeah, but are we really surprised it’s those two swearing up a storm?” Trees asked. No one was, of course.

“Didn’t General Skywalker build him?” Loops added.

R2 beeped and straightened up a little. Fives nodded. “Yeah, he’s the general’s droid, alright. He’ll probably end up with more medals at the end of the war than any soldier will.”

“Despite the blue streak he swears up and down,�� Echo said.

“Well, can he keep to less colorful coding to a minimum while there are young and influenceable droids here?” Sevenset asked, still covering the sides of Beskar’s dome.

“R2?” Echo prompted, turning to the droid.

After a second, R2 beeped, his dome turning to each side.

“Thanks, buddy,” Fives said, patting the droid’s arm joint on the side of his body.

The commander’s droid piped up, giving a short series of blips that made all the other droids spin to look at it. R2 stood up as tall as he could, the red light near his visual receptor seeming to glow brighter as he let out a shrill reply.

Artie helpfully translated onto the ship’s display: --KARK DID YOU JUST CALL ME, YOU SACK OF POODOO? YOU LITTLE OIL STAIN, YOU KRIFFING CLANKER-POT OF PARTS--!!

“Hey, whoa!” Fives jumped to his feet and reaching towards the astromech, but they had no way of shutting the droid up, as he had no mouth to cover.

“Twooie!” Echo said at almost the same time, but staying seated.

Do-si-do did laugh this time, because this--they had to admit this was funny as hell, and Trees, Zero, and Loops joined him. Even Artie was making a whirring noise akin to giggles and spun her dome in amusement at the chaos the all-black R unit had created. Sevenset, however, had the stupidest, comically offended expression on his face, and that only made it funnier.

Eventually, Echo disconnected from the transmission, finally ending R2’s tirade at “I’LL GUT YOU LIKE A KARKING PORG AND ROAST YOUR PROCESSORS.” Do-si-do and the others took several moments to calm down, some of them still catching up on the translations offered by their various droids and devices. Do-si-do wiped his eyes as he saved Artie’s translation of the outburst to the ship’s computer for later download. It was too good to leave there.

“Holy Force, Commander,” he wheezed.

“Why--why is your droid--” Loops tried, but broke off into giggles again.

Nines, who now only had one visible companion slumped over in frame, rubbed his eyes. “I had no idea a droid could know that many curses.”

The commander, for his part, hadn’t been visibly affected by the outburst the way others had. “They just like stirring up trouble.”

“Always?” Sevenset demanded, finally taking his hands away from Beskar’s trembling frame. “They’re always like that?”

“Only when provoked.”

“Provoked?”

That made Do-si-do and Loops crack up again, but Nines asked, “Okay, so. Introductions, please.”

They composed themselves in time to hear the commander sigh. “This is R3-MY, they like to be called Remy. They’re a pain in my kriffing neck, but they’re the best astromech the Death Wings have seen in a long time.”

Remy beeped, somehow sounding proud.

“Yeah, don’t get a fat head,” the commander shot back without hesitation. The droid knocked into his shoulder, and the commander did not retaliate.

“Wow,” Do-si-do said, lacking anything else to say.

“Sir,” Fours said, breaking his usual silence in these meetings. “It feels like your droid would murder me in my sleep and hide my body as a prank.”

That made Do-si-do’s eyebrows jump up, and he saw similar expressions of surprise on Trees’, Loops’, and Sevenset’s faces. Remy, for their part, beeped and gave an “ooh” kind of noise that might have sounded innocent.

It didn’t, however, because the commander said, “Yeah, they might.”

Fives and Echo’s holograms rejoined the conversation, without R2. “We’re back,” Fives said.

“R2 ran off, we dunno where.”

“So, what’d we miss?”

“Commander Death’s little friend is named Remy, and they would murder someone for one potato chip or less,” Sevenset informed the pair.

The two ARCs considered this, then nodded. “Seems about right,” Echo said.

“Yeah, that checks out,” his twin agreed. “What about you two? Fours and Loops brought little guys.”

“Oh, yeah, their stabby little friends,” Do-si-do nodded. “Gents?”

Loops held up his mouse droid, sporting a standard-issue army vibroblade taped to its back. “This is Ack.”

There was a short pause before Fives said, “‘Ack,’ as in…?”

“That’s the noise you make when she runs into you.”

Ack beeped, short and high-pitched. The other droids replied.

“She looks cute,” Sevenset said hesitantly.

“She is!” Loops assured him. “She feels safer with the vibroblade.”

“I can relate to that,” Zero nodded, like it was logical. Cricket bobbed forward, apparently agreeing.

They all turned to Fours, who reached down out of view and pulled up his squad’s mouse droid with a weaponized attachment. “This is Bob. It’s um… It’s short for Bob and Weave.”

“That’s beautiful,” Do-si-do said immediately, and saw Zero, Fives, and Sevenset nodding their agreement.

From somewhere out of view, someone in Fours' vicinity shouted, "Thank you!" Fours shook his head, smiling quietly. It was nice to see him warming up to the group.

"What about Trees, huh?" Fives asked, looking to the 41st trooper.

He shrugged. "Don't have one."

"Really?"

"We're not a tech-heavy squadron, we don't have pilots, so…" He gestured simply with a hand. "Not even a mouse."

"You want an honorary droid?" Sevenset offered.

"A what?" Trees narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, like the two-twelfth has honorary blue boys we definitely don't adopt when we go on missions with you guys?" Nines' companion asked.

"You do what?" Domino asked.

"I wanna hear about that later," Do-si-do said, raising a hand.

Zero dragged the conversation back to its origin. "Hey, Trees, you want a Cricklet?" Next to him, Cricket turned to him, a little agitated. "Not literally," he assured the droid.

"Why…?" Trees asked.

"You're both green," Loops pointed out.

"You should have a little guy," Sevenset said. "It's fun!"

"Two of the droids I met today are actively homicidal," Trees said, gesturing to Fives and Echo, then to the commander.

"Only to Separatists!" the two ARCs shot back.

Remy and his commander were notably quiet.

Zero waited until the hubbub died down before saying, "If it makes you feel better, Trees, only one of the Cricklets is actively destructive."

"Only one?"

"Yeah, Dotty. She's Firebolt's little buddy, they're all crazy."

"Thanks," Trees deadpanned.

"But you can be Gary's buddy!" he finished. "He's very nice, even apologizes if he bumps into you." Turning out of frame, he called, "Hey, where's Gary?"

"I think Trees having a little buddy will do him good," Sevenset nodded, scooching back onto his bunk and folding his legs under him. "Our Green Bean needs some de-stress time."

"I thought you changed my name to Leafs," the "Green Bean" in question pointed out.

"You can change it back!"

Zero got their attention again, now sitting between two C1-series mech droids. Cricket had moved to his other side, and a second droid had appeared in his place. This one had more silver showing under the green paint. "This is Gary. He's nice, I promise."

"Sure, that's comforting."

"Yay!" Sevenset cheered. "Little guy acquired. Congratulations."

Gary waved his arms, beeping happily. The other droids echoed the cheerful beeping, except Remy, who probably would have rolled their eyes and sworn if they had had the ability.

"I'm a little unclear what I've acquired," Trees said, "But yay for me, I guess?"

“You have acquired a friend, Trees,” Sevenset told him.

From somewhere out of view behind Trees, a voice cried, “Trees has friends? Guys, I won!”

This was followed by Trees hissing, “Sithspit,” and leaping from his seat to presumably chase after the announced winner.

After that, there was a short pause, as all the numbers contemplated this interaction. Do-si-do had always known Trees to be a bit cagey, and a bit stuffy when it came to regulations, but there was never a doubt that he had more than enough heart to go around. He just masked it well.

“Come to think of it,” he said, speaking the end of this train of thought aloud, “why don’t Trees and the commander get along better? They’re cut from the same prickly cloth.”

“Maybe Trees’ pattern was sized down first, is all,” Loops remarked, which made some of them snicker.

“Also, didn’t you establish the commander doesn’t get along with anyone?” Nines said. “I feel like that’s the first thing I learned in this group.”

Do-si-do nodded, recalling Nines’ first entrance in the chat, and his offer to help the commander blackmail Commander Cody whenever he’d like. He hoped they’d tell the group if they ever followed through on that.

Trees returned to view and took the gap in conversation as an excuse to change the subject. “Hey, Echo, how’s the leg?”

Echo made a face, and Fives’ gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s… slow,” Echo finally answered.

“He can put some weight on it now,” Fives said, trying to add some kind of hopeful note to the discussion.

His twin scoffed dryly. “Yeah, some. For about a minute, then it kriffing collapses. Sorry, Beskar,” he added when he caught himself cursing. “It’s frustrating.”

“But you’re out of the med bay, yeah?” Loops asked. Last call, Loops had been in the med bay with them.

Echo nodded. “Yeah, but barely. The only thing keeping me out is my arm healing well. Otherwise, I couldn’t even use crutches.”

“What about a leg brace?” To everyone’s surprise, it was the commander who asked.

After taking a second to register who had spoken, the ARC shrugged. “I’d love one, I hate crutches. But, I can’t even wear my armor over it until the graft sites heal fully, and that’s another week out.”

More than one of them pulled a sour face. They were soldiers: inactivity was as much their enemy as the Seps sometimes, and the thought of having months off duty from an injury made them all uneasy. He couldn’t imagine being Echo right now--or Fives, for that matter.

Sevenset finally said, “Well. As much as I’d love to be around to help, I really hope you stay very far away from Kamino right now.”

The rest of them nodded their agreement. Kaminoans had decommissioned clones for slighter injuries than Echo’s. “Well,” Do-si-do said, “best of luck to you, brother. Hopefully, you’re back blasting clankers with the best of ‘em soon.”

The sentiment was echoed by others, and Echo gave a small smile. “Yeah, that’s the idea. Thanks.”

Do-si-do glanced down at his ship’s display as Artie typed a message across the screen. “Oh, hey,” he said, catching everyone’s attention. “Artie’s gotta head out and finish the software checks on the other ships, but she wants to say goodbye first.” He turned the camera once again so Artie could send a cheerful farewell to the other droids in the call.

One of the droids--he couldn’t tell which one--must have said something out of the ordinary, because Artie gave a flustered series of beeps and whirring noises and quickly dropped out of the ship and sped off to the next one. Judging by the commander putting a hand over his visor, and the shine in Sevenset’s eyes, however, whatever had just happened involved the commander’s little death droid.

“Commander, did your droid just flirt with Artemis over there?” Sevenset wanted to know, a huge, smug smile on his face as he leaned forward, resting an elbow on Beskar’s dome. The droid didn’t seem to mind.

The commander lifted his head, but said nothing for several long seconds. “They have some bad habits.”

“Naturally, of course,” Sevenset nodded.

Do-si-do caught on. “But, what I’m wondering--where might a droid pick up such habits?” he asked. Death couldn’t kill them both at the same time, right? So there was strength in numbers here, literally.

Remy also seemed to have a fondness for pushing the commander’s buttons, because they gave a few short beeps, then casually rolled out of frame, although at a good clip so the commander wouldn’t catch them. Do-si-do could respect this.

“Don’t get stupid ideas,” the commander warned the group, his tone sharpening to an edge.

There was a beat before everyone present said, “Too late.”

“They already think Remy learned how to flirt from you, now they won’t leave you alone about it,” Trees went on, perfectly accurate, of course.

The commander grumbled something inaudible, slumping back in his seat and shaking his head. “You’re all idiots,” was the only thing they heard him say.

Sevenset smiled and replied, “Yes, but we’re your idiots.”

The green visor tilted towards him. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“You haven’t left,” the ARC pointed out, once again engaging in his favorite Death-defying activity. “I mean none of us exactly has the power to make you do anything, you’re a CC.”

“Shut it, ARC.”

“Okay,” Sevenset said with an enormously smug smile plastered across his face.

There was a quiet beep from Fives and Echo's image, and the former raised his vambrace to read a comm message. He showed it to Echo, who visibly deflated when he did. "Hey, sorry to interrupt the fun," Fives said, "but we've got a briefing to get to."

"See ya next time, Domino!" Sevenset chirped, waving at the pair.

Nines waved as well. "We've got one too," he said. "Maybe it's the same one," he joked, and he might be right.

This was usually how the meetings ended: organically, one following after the other when they left. Sevenset always stayed until the end, and when he could, Do-si-do did too. They waved to the others as their images disappeared one by one.

“Why hasn’t the commander left, do you think?” Do-si-do asked when it was just them at the end.

Sevenset shrugged. “Maybe he’s just bored over there, I dunno.”

“Yeah, maybe.” There was a brief pause. “Then again, we’ll probably never find out, huh?”

His friend laughed. “Yeah, probably not. Take care of yourself.”

“See ya next time,” Do-si-do replied, giving a mock salute.

The End! Or... To be continued...? 👀 @mercurydancer @nintendolover13 @23-bears @theultimatesandwich @darth-void @sophaeltheangel

#number lads #numbers gang #my writing #my fanfic #tcw fanfic #clone ocs #clone trooper oc #the clone wars #r2d2 #mouse droid #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #domino twins #i write things sometimes

[ikeromantic]

Fake It Til You Make It

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction - approx. 2200 words. This scene takes place post-romantic epilogue. Fluff and a little spice.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Adrift

Kyubei watched the innkeeper through narrowed eyes. Though the man was clearly nervous, he didn’t seem to be lying. His story hadn’t changed in the last three tellings, so either he was an accomplished liar or he was telling the truth.

“L-lord Akechi and the woman left with one of the Akechi warriors. Right after we saw the fire across the lake,” the innkeeper said for the fourth time. “Then the storm came and after that, no one saw him.”

“Do you remember anything else? Did anyone else come in after they left? Did you see anyone acting strangely?”

The man shook his head. “No, I mean, not really? Everyone was a bit strange after we saw the blaze. Wondering if Azuchi was still standing.” He frowned. “You think it might have been Lord Akechi? Him disappearing like that right after -”

Kyubei cut him off. “No. That was the work of the Mouri clan.” It wasn’t the first person he’d spoken with that suspected. And why wouldn’t they? Mitsuhide was only just back from his misadventure at the shogun’s side. An ally in disgrace. A man not to be trusted.

The worst part of all this was that Kyubei really had no idea what his lord wanted him to do. Should he quash the rumors? Encourage them? Mitsuhide’s instructions from his last letter said nothing about an attack on Azuchi - not like this - and nothing about disappearing. Of course, he pretended like he knew exactly what was going on. He had to, until he received additional instructions.

“So . . . am I free to go?” The innkeeper was frowning now. His nervousness replaced by a desire to get back to making money at the inn.

“For now,” Kyubei said. He gave the man a hard stare. “If I need anything else, I will send someone for you.”

The innkeeper bowed and left, leaving Kyubei alone with his thoughts. It really seemed that in the storm, his lord had simply vanished into thin air. And Miyake too.

Perhaps they'd left with Ranmaru, who was also missing. But if so, there would be a letter. A message. Something!

The castle staff had no idea where he was - they’d waited for him to return for hours. Miyake’s squad couldn’t find their commander either. Both men were expected.

And the chatelaine . . . his lady. Kyubei worried that he had failed to protect her again.

***

Morning came with pale light through a high window. It fell across four careworn, sleeping faces. Sasuke and Miyake lay in a tangle of blankets on the floor, and in a bed, Mitsuhide clung to his little mouse. He woke with the first notes of bird-song, but kept his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to confront the strange world of 500 years in the future just yet.

His little one stirred in his arms as the sound of morning birds turned into a hum of outside activity. “Is it . . . are we really . . .” She opened her eyes and looked around Sarutobi’s flat. “We’re really here.”

Mitsuhide nodded.

“I want to be happy about it, but . . .”

He shushed her with a kiss. “It will be fine. Worrying won’t return us faster.”

She sighed and buried her face against his chest. “I know. I just hope everyone is alright.”

“They will be,” Mitsuhide reassured her. He didn’t think of it as a lie - simply an assumption he based on his past experience. Nobunaga would handle this threat as he did others that came before it.

And Kyubei would see to what the left hand needed to be doing.

Sasuke sat up, rubbing his face. “I apologize for the accommodations,” he told them. The same apology he’d given the night before.

“At least we had somewhere to sleep.” The chatelaine sat up and wiggled out of the blanket. “I should probably check on my flat and see if it’s still mine. If so, we won't have to impose on you a second night. Although,” she sighed. “I don’t have my ID or my keys or anything.”

“I don't mind,” Sasuke replied. “You are welcome to continue crashing here. Although, we may not be here for long. Weren’t there activities you wanted to do in this time? While you can?” His left eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly.

Mitsuhide gave her one of his slow, warm smiles. His fingers traced a path down her spine. “Yes, you did mention some things I would like to see, since we are here.”

His little mouse arched like a cat against his hand. “I did . . . yes. Alright. Since we’re here, we might as well try to enjoy it!”

Miyake rolled over on the floor and pulled the blanket over his head.

“I take it that means you plan to stay here for the day?”

Sasuke answered for the half-asleep warrior. “Actually, I would really appreciate it if Miyake would accompany me. I need to go to my university and make some arrangements.”

Miyake groaned and sat up. He blinked as his gaze went around the room, taking in all the strange objects. Finally, he settled on the ninja. “You need protection or something?”

“No. I don’t think anyone will attack me.” Sasuke felt around for his glasses and slid them on. “But I expect to be moving some heavy equipment in the lab. And I may have a friend who can help us out with those arrangements, if you're there to corroborate my story.”

“Corr what?” Miyake frowned.

“Authenticate. Like a two factor security key.” The ninja grinned.

The warrior looked to Mitsuhide uncertainly.

“If Sarutobi believes you can assist him today, then that is what you will do. I am sure my fiancée and I will be fine.”

The chatelaine looked less certain about this, but she nodded agreement.

The four of them took turns dressing in the ‘washroom’ to give each other privacy. His morning was one of surprise as the . . . toilet . . . squirted him with water. And warm or cold water came from a metal spigot at the turn of a handle too, spilling into a porcelain basin. There were more smokeless lanterns - electric lights they were called - and other wonders.

Had Mitsunari been there, he was sure the scholar could have spent weeks studying every device but Mitsuhide just needed to know how to use it.

In this place, he was the naïve child, and his little one, the wise teacher. Such a shift in their positions was hard to take. Mitsuhide didn’t think of himself as arrogant but this situation was humbling in the extreme. Thankfully, he managed to get through dressing and breakfast without any serious mishaps.

Sasuke and Miyake left to the university. The flat was silent in their wake. Mitsuhide and his little mouse sat on the edge of the bed. She was tapping away at a . . . tablet . . . to get access to her accounts. The electronic scroll was interesting, at least. With pictures and writing all lit up so you could read it even in the dark.

Mitsuhide stood and stretched, trying to get used to moving in his new clothes. They were Sarutobi’s and didn’t quite fit. He was dressed in a pair of pants that clung tightly to his legs and ended short of his ankle. The top was a soft weave, dyed black. It sported an odd blue character on it and the word Sonic. Sarutobi said the picture was a hedgehog, whatever that was.

He would have liked to wear something without a picture on it. He’d had the choice between this one and something with a lizard that walked on two legs and shot fire from its mouth. Those were the only two shirts the ninja had that were long enough to cover him to his waist. And there was no way he was walking around with a bare midriff. Even if his little mouse looked interested in the idea.

Her midriff was bare afterall, she’d laughed. And it was - sort of. She tied one of Sasuke’s shirts in a bow under her breasts and had a pair of his shorts on. Though Mitsuhide wasn’t familiar with the clothes of this time, he thought she looked like a child trying to fit into her father’s clothes. Endearingly cute, but ill fit. Some of the clothes they saw women wearing on the way in the night before would have looked much better on her.

She looked up as if she knew he was thinking about her. “Ok, I think we’re ready to go.”

“Where to, my love?”

“Well, first to my apartment. It looks like my rent payments have all been made. And the building manager knows me so I should be able to get a spare key.” Her smile was all relief.

They arrived to the apartment, a small space in a tall building that reminded Mitsuhide of a castle, if the castle was robbed of all charm and beauty. Her room was utilitarian and sterile, and while there was still the wonder of technology, he could see none of her personality in the space. He said as much.

“Hm, yeah. I didn’t really have time to decorate. The apartment came furnished. I moved in and then, well,” she laughed. “I ended up in Azuchi with you.”

Mitsuhide pulled her into a hug. “A fate worse than death, little mouse?”

“You know it wasn’t,” she giggled, laughing harder as he ran his fingers down her sensitive sides. Holding her like this felt like home, even if nothing else was familiar.

After several slow breaths, they let go of each other.

“I must confess, I cannot see you living in this place. It doesn’t seem very safe. And you don’t have much room for your sewing.” Mitsuhide couldn’t help but poke into her cabinets, shelves, and drawers.

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty small but it was a place I could afford on my own.”

Mitsuhide heard the pride in her voice. He smiled. “I can imagine you coming here, determined to make it on your own.” He turned from the cabinet he was inspecting to see her stripping off her shirt.

Her pert breasts were a pleasant surprise, but she crossed her arms over them as soon as she saw him looking. “I’m just changing clothes! I didn’t want to wear Sasuke’s basketball shorts all day.”

“Please, continue.”

“I - I can’t while you’re staring at me!” She turned so that all he could see was her back.

Mitsuhide laughed. “Are we not lovers? How many times have I kissed, nibbled, caressed every bit of your skin from head to toe?”

She shivered, skin dimpling with remembered touches. Slow, nervous, she turned back around. Her arms lowered, revealing her chest again. “You can watch if you want to.”

He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or mischief that made her voice squeak at the end. Either was amusing. “Mmm, I’m a lucky man to get a show.”

“You are,” she smiled. Her fingers went to the tie on the shorts. They fell away, pooling around her feet. Underneath, she wore nothing.

Mitsuhide sucked in a breath.

Her hips swayed as she walked to her wardrobe. She glanced over her shoulder at him and fluttered her eyelashes, trying to be saucy. The effect was a little spoiled by the blush that ran from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. From within the wardrobe she pulled out a little twist of cloth. It was light blue and made of some embroidered material.

He didn’t realize he could see her skin through it until she slipped it on, slowly pulling the fabric taut over her curves. Though she was technically covered, it was somehow more tempting than just skin alone. “What . . . is that?”

“Panties.” She giggled. Then she pulled out a matching bit of cloth and wrapped it around her chest. The rise of her breasts were restrained by this new piece of clothing as she reached behind her as if to tie it.

“And that?”

“My bra.” She turned right, then left, letting him get a good view.

The sight made Mitsuhide want to simultaneously rip the clothing off her and still enjoy looking at her in them. It wasn’t possible to have both . . .

“To be honest, it’s been kind of nice not wearing these the last few months. But I think I would feel weird if I didn’t wear them with my modern clothes.”

“I like them.” Mitsuhide smiled widely. A grin that brought heat to her gaze before she looked away, suddenly shy. He knew this ground well. Even here in a world where everything was strange, his little one was the same.

He stepped forward, reaching to cup her cheek. His other hand settled lightly on her hip, fingertips stroking the skin just above the fabric of her panties. She inhaled sharply, lips parting. Mitsuhide took the invitation.

The kiss was, at first, gentle and sweet, but the press of their bodies built heat between them. Their breath mingled, tongues entwined. Hands grasping, stroking, pulling. Tearing.

Mitsuhide stopped at the sound of fabric ripping.

His little one gasped and reached down to feel the damage. Her eyes widened. “You . . . tore my panties.” Then she started to laugh.

He laughed too. Never in his life had he expected a woman so wonderful. A woman he would want badly enough to - literally - tear the clothes off her. This kind of passion he’d always believed was fake. Yet here he was. It was unthinkable. Incredible. “I love you,” Mitsuhide told her, smiling so widely that it hurt.

“I love you too.”

She gestured to the wardrobe. "I should probably, you know. Finish." It took only a moment for her to shimmy into her own clothes. Then they headed out into this strange world that was his home 500 years after death.

Next: Kitsune's Day Out

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #otome boys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

[gaysimpsstuff]

Flightless Birds Chapter Two: Courtship Of Care

Chapter One Here

Chapter Three Here

Chapter Four Here

Chapter Five Here

Summary: After Y/n’s encounter with Hawks, things in their life start to change. They have a creeping feeling that someone is watching them, and they get mysterious gifts and letters.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Stalking, toxic behavior, mention of suicide, mentions of clowns, multiple fourth wall breaks, hospitals, mentions of blood, violence, mentions of surgeries

Other: Sukaibado park is not a real place, however, Nishi Ward in Fukuoka is a real place. This was meant to be longer but I hit the word limit, so it’ll get pushed to the next chapter! Sorry! If you have any critics or questions don’t hesitate to let me know! I want this to be the best it possibly can be for your entertainment!!

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @cathy8taffy @1small-frogs @catcherisvibin @waffleareniceandfluffy​ @mandalorian-baby-bird @theblueslytherin @assassinslittlesister (lemme know if you want to join or leave the taglist)

“Well, she’s clearly a bitch.”

You laughed at Izanagi’s reaction to the woman that yelled at you. You were in the back of his car, as sometimes your wings would get in the way of Izanagi’s driving, so it was just easier to sit like this.

“I mean- you’re not wrong.” You chuckled. “I’m just glad Hawks managed to get rid of her!”

“What’s he like?” Izanagi asked. “Hawks, is he as awesome in person?”

“You’re a simp.” You teased, laughing as he spluttered to defend himself. “I guess he’s pretty chill. He’s a lot taller than I thought he’d be, though.”

You’d chosen not to tell your friend about the creepy vibes you’d gotten from the hero, it was probably nothing anyway. He was a bird, like you, so he was probably just curious about you also being a bird. Even though you were a Parakeet and he was theorized to be a Red-Tailed Hawk. Animal quirks were uncommon, and among the animal quirks, you mostly saw dogs and cats, even goats were more common than birds. Plus, it wasn’t exactly a good idea to tell your best friend his celebrity crush was a creep.

“How much taller?” he asked

“I don’t know… maybe about four- no, five inches taller than me.”

“Damn- and with me being shorter than you by two inches that’s- fuck he’s a lot taller than me.” he murmured.

“Like I said before. You’re a simp.”

“Shut uppp!” he whined.

The rest of your day was peaceful (if anything including Izanagi could be considered ‘peaceful’), and you were grateful you only lived a block away from Izanagi, it made it a lot easier to get home. Thinking back, maybe you should have taken a moment or two to stop. Stop and look around, maybe then you would have seen the flash of red against the darkening sky, or felt his eyes bearing into your back. Maybe then you could have stopped everything, but it was too late now.

Sleeping wasn’t always comfortable. Beds that were shaped and built like actual bird’s nests were too expensive for you to afford with your salary, plus it was just way too big to fit in your tiny studio. Which meant you had to deal with the tiny bed and all the different ways your body could hurt in the morning.

You sat up, groaning and patting around your bed to find your phone, finally locating it on your nightstand. You grabbed it, turned it on, and scanned your lock screen, taking in your notifications. Thank fuck it was Saturday, and you didn’t have to go to work. Thank fuck again that your days off were on the weekends. Thank fuck a third time that Izanagi invited you to go to the park with him and your other friend, Kouten Yuu. Thank fuck a fourth and final time the messages were fresh and not sent an hour ago, which gave you plenty of time to get ready.

“Welp,” you muttered. “Time to get up and fuck the day.” you forced yourself into a sitting position, stumbling out of bed and almost immediately flopping back onto the mattress again. Maybe today wouldn’t be the easiest day to fuck. You sighed, pushing yourself up again and stretching. Your wings had been crushed by your body’s natural sleeping position, so being able to spread them wide in the mornings helped with preventing stiff wing muscles. That meant less cramps! Yay!

“Sukaibado park, huh? Guess Kouten and Izanagi are hoping to get me in the sky today.” Sukaibado park was a popular park in Nishi Ward, Fukuoka, that had laws protecting people with flying quirks, allowing them to take to the say in the surrounding area. It certainly helped that the park was located near the beach.

You stood up, grabbing some clean clothes off the ground from your drawer and putting them on. You glanced out the window as you dressed. You let out a sigh, grateful you could afford a home in such a beautiful area of Japan. You and Izanagi lived across from Sukaibado Park and had a great view of both park and beach just beyond it. In reality, you shouldn’t be able to afford this place, but since the flat itself was so small, it was just in the range of affordable.

You quickly brushed your hair and teeth, and texted Kouten, asking him to pick up something for you to eat on his way there. It was kind of a ritual between the three of you, everyone brought something to the table. Kouten brought the food, Izanagi brought his guitar, and you would bring your amazing singing voice! The three of you were practically a band already!

Aw who you are you trying to kid? Izanagi just picked up the guitar after quitting drums, trumpet, and piano, and your ‘singing’ was mostly chirps. It was a miracle Kouten hung out with you guys, let alone fed your poor asses. You grabbed your keys and opened the front door-

Huh.

What?

A small box was waiting for you on your doorstep, unlabeled except for neat cursive writing spelling out your name. You picked up the box and put it on the nearest surface inside, choosing to ignore it. Today was for flying, stretching your wings, pretending to like Izanagi’s music, and devouring whatever Kouten brought you.

As expected, Kouten and Izanagi were already there, waiting for you at one of the picnic tables with a full course meal on the table. You could smell it from the park entrance, and were at the table in an instant. It would have startled the boys if they’d not already grown used to it.

“Fuck, Kouten what did you bring this time?” you asked, looking up from the food for a moment to take in your friend’s appearances. Izanagi was dressed casually as usual. White t-shirt, blue jeans, and a grey sweatshirt wrapped around his waist. His long, light blue hair tied up in a ponytail as he chowed down on a large chicken wing. But do not be fooled- despite looking like an innocent UwU smol bean, Izanagi was a force to be reckoned with. Do not ever comment on his short stature or this man will kick you into worlds beyond.

Kouten was the complete opposite of Izanagi, both in looks and personality. Today, he’d adorned a light blue sweater and black pants, and even painted his nails yellow. Kouten’s hair was short and super curly, and his eyes were a startling green color. His resting bitch face and six feet of height was usually enough to scare most people off, however, Kouten was the sweetest man you’d ever met. Best hugs, best advice, most importantly…

“FRIED CHICKEN!” you shouted ecstatically. Of course! For such a beautiful day, Kouten would bring his best food. “Oh thank fuck for the fifth time! I’ve been craving this all week!”

You sat down, hurriedly muttering ‘itadakimas’ before snatching as many pieces of chicken as you possibly could and devouring them. Who gave a flying fuck if you looked like a cannibal? The chicken was delicious! Besides, you weren’t a chicken, you were a parakeet. There was a difference.

“Woah, hey, slow down a bit, Y/n” Kouten cautioned. “You’re gonna give yourself a stomach ache! Don’t eat more than five-”

“Five?” Izanagi interrupted. “Pussy, no more than eight.”

“Eight?!” you stared at your blue-haired friend with wide-eyes and a stuffed mouth. “Pussy. No more than eleven.”

“ELEVEN?” Kouten shook his head. “Oh no, if you eat that many you’ll hurt yourself for sure aaand you’ve already eaten twelve. Why do I even bother?” he threw his hands up in defeat. You and Izanagi continued to argue about how much chicken was too much, ignoring poor Kouten. That’s pretty much how things usually went between the three of you, you and Izanagi being dumbasses and Kouten being the only sane person there.

After thirty minutes of eating, came Izanagi’s ear-bleeding ‘song’ about some girl he knew in high school. If only he’d tuned his guitar beforehand, maybe then it wouldn’t have felt like nails on a chalkboard to you and Kouten. You lasted eight minutes before you finally had to put a stop to the terror he reigned on your poor ears. Then came the best part of the day, flying! Izanagi and Kouten would chat about random things on the ground as you soared high above them.

Flying is difficult to describe, but thankfully, whenever you are asked, you have an answer.

It’s liberation, ecstasy, and anxiety. The liberation was not being bound by the laws that chain others to the dirt. Being able to freely soar, reaching places others could only dream of being. The ecstasy was speed, dipping and diving and looping around the clouds. Being able to fly right through those fluffy bundles of water. The anxiety was falling, failing and getting yourself hurt.

That one day you’ll fly to high, and your wings of wax will melt. That the sun’s bright light will blind you to the incoming plane of reality and kill you. The knowledge that you wouldn’t even realise it, falling is just like flying.

It’s beautiful and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. In the sky, it’s calm. People don’t stare, or whisper. No one bumps into you, the world is all yours when you’re in the air. Even if you struggle to breathe, it always feels worth it. Worth the soreness in your wings after a long flight, worth the hammering of your heart after just pulling up in time to not hit the ground, worth it all. It’s exhilarating.

Word of advice for you free birds, fly while you still can, you never know when you might get caught up in a cage.

Landing was always the most difficult part. Hawks always seemed to be able to do it with ease, but you knew from experience that it was a lot more difficult than it looks. You could feel your whole body float for a second before you dove down. The ground rising to meet your weightless body faster and faster, before your folded wings extended, and you tilted them upwards, carrying your body up again, as you swooped above the ground, righting yourself and landing with just a few flaps of your multi-colored wings.

“Best part of the day~” you cooed, stretching your arms as you folded your wings behind your back. Kouten and Izanagi looked at you in awe.

“I wish my quirk would let me fly.” Izanagi grumbled. “I can’t do shit with light manipulation.” he flicked his wrist, forming a small crystal of light in his palm. It flickered for a moment before vanishing.

“Come on, don’t be so hard on yourself!” you sat down next to your friend, patting his back sympathetically. “I think your quirk is beautiful! I still have that little star hanging on my wall!”

When you and Izanagi were still littler children, and his quirk was still in development, he’d made a small star out of light. It would glow when you touched it, and it was like having an actual star in your hand. It was so shiny, transparent but sparkly, filled with a dazzling array of rainbow specks, a faint glow dappling your walls with miniature constellations.

“Yeah, Izanagi. Think about it for a sec.” Kouten offered. “Your quirk is certainly better than mine. Being able to identify any flavor isn’t all that impressive. Helpful for my job, but not much other than that.” Izanagi looked up at Kouten, frown only deepening.

“If you really think that about your quirk, than you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.” he grumbled.

“Izanagi! Not the right time!” you glared at him, and he just shrugged you off.

“No seriously, even if your quirk has that single use, it’s still a use. You’ve made the best meals I’ve ever tasted. Remember Colonel Sanders? According to legend, that man wrote down the OG KFC recipe on a hill as he contemplated suicide. I’m pretty sure he had a quirk similar to yours. If his chicken was good enough to save his own life, then surely it’s saved others, right? Be like him.”

You softened, smiling at Izanagi. Even if he was a bit of an ass, he had a heart of gold. He’d never let any of his friends feel down. You were pretty sure he threatened to punch away your deathly fear of clowns. Not the clowns, but the fear itself. Weird, but touching.

“That.... was the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t understand how it’s touching, but it is. Thanks, man.” Kouten pulled Izanagi in for a hug, and you cooed. However, you guys were friends, so things really couldn’t stay wholesome.

“Gayyyy”

“Dude I’m literally bi.” Izanagi glared at you.

“Gayyyyyyyyy” you laughed, so did Kouten. Izanagi rolled his eyes, but eventually he too, chuckled a little.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Anyways I gotta go, I’ll the you two weirdos later, kay?” he grabbed his guitar, waving at the two of you.

“Later, buddy!” Kouten shouted after him, waving.

“Bye!” you smiled, waving him off before turning back to Kouten. “So what should we do?”

“Great suggestion, Kou, but we need something entertaining that we can do right now.

“Head to your place and watch YouTube?” he shrugged, and you nodded.

“Perfect plan. Knew I could count on you!” you laughed, helping Kouten clean up the mess on the picnic table before heading across the street to your flat. You keyed the door, opening it and walking in.

Kouten’s eyes immediately fell onto the package you’d received earlier. You’d just tossed it onto the coffee table half-hazardly.

“What’s that?” he asked curiously.

“I dunno really. I just found it on my doorstep.” you shrugged, sitting down and opening your laptop.

“Seems kinda creepy, it doesn’t have a return address.” he frowned. “It could have a tracking device in it- you should just throw it away.” you nodded, Kouten was probably right. He usually was. You promised to throw it away after a few Vine compilations.

You lied.

After Kouten left, you turned to the package. It had been hours since it was left on your doorstep, you were really hoping it wasn’t food or anything. You sat down on the edge of your bed with the package in your hands, slowly peeling the tape off and opening it.

You were… reasonably underwhelmed by the contents of the package. It was just a beanie hat. Yellow with a red feather embroidered on. Hawks merch. Maybe you’d accidentally ordered it? Or maybe Izanagi sent it to you. Yeah it was probably him. You’d have to thank him the next time you saw him.

You put the hat down on your nightstand, checking the time. Maybe you should make lunch. You believed it was the last of the unlabeled gifts. You were sorely mistaken.

The next day, there was another package.

“Seriously, Izanagi?” you grumbled. “Another?” you picked it up and brought it back inside, opening it hastily. You couldn’t lie, you were at least a little curious to what he’d gotten you this time.

A… bottle cap? No, five bottle caps.

“Fuckin weirdo.” you muttered, brushing it off and umping the caps next to the hat and continuing on with your day.

The third day, the package had a weird note attached to it, reading your coffee order from that morning. You pursed your lips, ripping the note apart in fear before opening the box. You screamed.

There was a dead squirell inside.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!” you dropped the box in your shock and fear, and the poor animal fell out onto your floor. You paused for a moment to take a deep breath. You crouched down next to the animal, poking it lightly. Maybe it was still alive?

Nope.

Dead.

Dead as fuck.

You shuddered, wrapping it up in a paper towel and taking it out back, holding a small funeral for it and burying it.

Who the fuck was sending you these things? It was clearly not Izanagi. He was an animal lover, and he’d never do this. You felt like throwing up, but for some reason (probably plot convenience), you didn’t say anything.

A few days later, something terrible happened.

You remembered your phone buzzing, and you sat up to pick it up. It was the middle of the night and you were trying to sleep. It was Izanagi. The fuck was he calling you for right now? You hit accept and pressed the cold screen to your ear.

“It’s 1:23 AM. Explain.” you growled into the phone.

“It’s Kouten- he was attacked! I- I’m taking him to the hospital right now, come quick! I’m taking him to Sanno Hospital near Fukuoka tower!” he exclaimed. You sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“What?”

“I’m driving, so I gotta put the phone down, but hurry!”

Beep

Beep

Beep

The call ended. You were already on your feet, pulling on clothes and grabbing your car keys. You rushed into your car and drove as fast as legally possible.

What the fuck happened? Kouten… attacked? By whom? Was he okay? What kind of injuries had he sustained? Was he concsious? Was he breathing? How had Izanagi found him? What the hell was going on? Was this related to your stalker?

Your mind buzzed with scenarios, all the way to Sanno Hospital, all the way across the parking lot, through the doors, as you talked to the man behind the counter, on the way to the ICU. Then your mind was blank again.

You sat next to Izanagi in the hallway, both of you sitting near a door with a large lit-up LED sign. Surgery in Progress. Your hands folded in your lap. You were so dizzy, what the fuck was happening? Myabe it was because you were tired, or still in shock, but it didn’t feel real.

Was Kouten really behind that door? Were doctors really slicing him open? Were you really here? You still felt the warmth of your blankets from just twenty-seven minutes before. Had it really been almost a half hour? It felt like it had just been a few seconds.

Nothing felt right.

“Hey.” you slowly turned your head around to look at Izanagoi. “You okay?” he asked. You sighed, shaking your head. “Do you want to hear what happened? Think that’ll make you feel better?”

You paused for a moment, slowly nodding. You didn’t want to speak. If you opened your mouth, you feared you’d let all the meals you’d eaten force their way up your throat.

“I got a text. It was from Kouten, he just sent his location. I didn’t know why, but I figured it was important. So I went there. I shouldn’t have taken my time. I found him in an alleyway near the tower, he was so still. I’d never seen him like that. He was- Kouten was soaked in blood. There was a knife lodged into his chest an I- I panicked. You know the rest I think.” he trailed off, looking away from you. Your eyes fell to the floor, still silent.

How many minutes had it been?

The next thing you knew, A doctor was speaking to you, saying something about successful surgery, how he was in recovery, how he needed rest. A moment later, you were standing outside Izanagi’s car. Numb. You decided with him silently to go back to his place and stay the night together. You could get your car in the morning.

Izanagi offered you his bed, and he would sleep on the couch. But you couldn’t sleep. At all. Your mind was racing. You jumped up when you heard the door creak open.

Oh.

It was Izanagi.

You patted the sheets next to you, and he crawled in with you. For a moment, you felt a spark of excitement in your cheeks, but it disappeared quickly, just like your consciousness now that he was here.

The next day, you still felt numb. Better, but still numb. You woke up with Izanagi’s arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your shoulder. Your wing flopped over him. You sat up, rubbing his face to wake him up. His eyes slowly blinked open, brown orbs looking up at you.

“Hey… Y/n.” he mumbled.

“Mornin’ Iza.” you turned around, checking the time. “Sorry, I still have to work.” you told him. He nodded, understanding. He drove you there, and promised to take you to the hospital after, so you could pick up your car. The entire day at work seemed so slow. Everyone dragged their conversations with you on for forever. Time was moving so slow. It felt like a century had passed when Izanagi picked you up.

You didn’t speak, he just took you to the hospital. Then, everything moved quick again. You were outside Kouten’s hospital room, holding Izanagi’s hand.

You almost didn’t want to go in. You stared at the ground, vision blurry. Izanagi squeezed your hand, re-grounding you.

“Ready?” he asked, looking at you with soft eyes.

“Never.” you chuckled breathlessly.

He nodded with you, opening the hospital room door and walking in with you.

You kept your eyes glued to the ground, feeling Izanagi tighten his grip on your hand. You could hear the beeping of the monitor, but you didn’t want to see it.

“Hey… guys.” Kouten. You ripped your gaze from the floor to direct it at the hospital bed. You felt a chill freeze your throat, choking you. Your friend was laying down in the bed, hooked up to tubes and machines, bandages covering most of his body, including one of his eyes. He looked tired and thin, unlike his usual cheerful manner.

“Hey, Kouten.” Izanagi managed to pull the words from his chest and put them in the air, a talent you could not yet access. You just… stared. Everything felt so still, even as Izanagi pulled you to a chair beside Kouten. You could hear the muffled sounds of your friends talking to each other, but you weren’t really there. Your ears were ringing and your vision blurred.

“Y/n? You good there, Buddy?” Kouten’s voice broke you from your fog. You looked up at him, and he offered you a smile. You could feel the ice that had been stuck to your skin since last night melt away under his sweet gaze.

“Yeah, sorry Kou. I’m just… scared. Did- did you see your attacker?” Kouten frowned, shaking his head solemnly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see their face. But I did see blonde hair and something red, probably blood, but I don’t know. It kind of looked like a sword, maybe? But also looked like- I don’t know.” he shook his head again, apologetic.

“Why were you out there anyways?” Izanagi asked him.

“I just needed some air, and the city is really pretty at night… and maybe I got a text from someone cute on a dating app and wanted to meet them…” the last part was muttered under his breath. You couldn’t help but face-palm.

“I’d lecture you on how fucking dumb that is, but I think you’ve already learned your lesson.” Izanagi scolded, “You fucking dumbass! Thank fuck you’re okay!”

After about fiteen minutes, a nurse came in and told you and Izanagi that he needed more rest, advizing the two of you to head back home and return tomorrow.

You could barely think, why? Why was this happening? How could this even be happening?

And why couldn’t you do anything about it?

#bnha #mha #keigo takami #mha hawks #bnha hawks #bnha x reader #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #mha x reader #takami keigo #yandere hawks #flightless birds #tumblr is a dumpster fire #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo x reader #bnha keigo #hawks #bnha x y/n #boku no hero academia #keigo #mha x y/n #keigo x reader #poc reader #hawks x gender neutral reader #hawks x trans reader #male reader

[honey-makki]

grandma’s blessing

best friend!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death (family member), oral (fem receiving), fire, probably unsanitary cooking conditions if i’m being honest (it’s soft i swear)

summary: the holidays are your favorite time of year. your best friend hanamaki tries to keep holiday cheer alive despite the loss of a family member.

word count 2.4k

masterlist

Holiday’s are tricky. Decisions on whether the trauma of going home will be a heavier burden to bear than the guilt and loneliness of your city apartment. GOing home was never a pleasant experience. Trips filled with parents nitpicking your seemingly successful life and emotionally battering you about anything and everything they could. The only reprieve would be hugging your grandmother and being able to see her face-to-face during dinner. She understood why you didn’t come home every opportunity and didn’t blame you a bit.

On years when it would be too much to travel, you knew that she would still give you a call. Spending all day on the phone with you while you bounced around the kitchen making much smaller portions of what they would be eating at home. Even the small amounts of silence on the call were comfortable. You could feel her next to you kneading the dough for a pie while you mixed together the fruit base. It felt like home.

The silence that has been living in your apartment the past few months after her passing was suffocating. Weekends spent with friends at their apartment just to get out of somewhere that just seems to reek of death and despair.

You had spent more nights at Makki’s place in the past month than at your own. He was your closest friend, a true confidant, someone skilled at lifting your mood, and the person you’ve been undeniably in love with for years. You accepted the fate of growing old with a horde of cats as long as you can have his silly pink hair shining in the sun when you hung out with friends. It’s ok that you are going to be alone forever as long as you still had a standing laser tag date once a month. The only thing stronger than your feelings of love towards the strawberry blond was fear of losing him.

He has been a pillar of strength during the past few months. Holding your crying body until you fall asleep on his tear-stained and snot covered chest. Setting alarms in your phone to make sure you are eating or going to work instead of sitting in a dissociative state. Ever since you shared a bed with him, he’s been a little more comfortable with physical contact. Walking closer together arms touching when going out or throwing an arm over your shoulder when lounging around the house. You can’t count the number of times you’ve both woken up in various stages of cuddling.

He was the one to bring up spending the holidays together. He had just gone home for a wedding and couldn’t afford another ticket and he knew that you were in a weird spot. “We can stay here and make dinner and bake cookies and watch shitty r-romcoms? Someone has to appreciate Hallmark movies, why not us?” You can hear his voice crack and start to speed up as a blush rises across his face. You see it but don’t really process it, more relieved that for the first time in months, the thought of holidays didn’t make you run to the bathroom and throw up. You smiled and nodded, setting plans for him to come over later in the week.

Makki always liked when you cooked, throwing a western spin on dishes he considered normal. But today, he was flabbergasted, you didn’t let him just sit on the barstool curating music while you did all the work, no, there was too much food to be made for him to laze around. You laid out the recipe for your grandmothers’ mac n’ cheese, explaining what everything meant while you got started on an asian fusion stuffing you figured out a few years back.

You stole glances at him in the middle of stirring, combining and folding everything together. His tongue sticks out between his lips while he deliberately measures out the exact amount of cheese required. In all the time you’ve seen him, you’ve never seen him totally lose his laid back air until now, and you can’t control your laugh. Is he really more serious about measuring out sharp cheddar cheese than a game that would take them to nationals? Or that physics final he actually studied for? Your heart skips a beat when you see his soft, satisfied smile to the dish he just created. All you can picture when he looks over to you is how cute of a child he must have been. Cheeks round encasing his bright smile as his head tilts ever so slightly to the left.

After he slides the last dish into the oven, you both opt for taking the time to clean the kitchen, knowing that you won’t want to do it after dinner. The dishes are washed and dried and while Makki puts away the ones that go on a higher shelf, you return flour and other ingredients to the pantry but before you put them down you call out to him, voice lighter than normal, the one you use when asking a favor.

“Taka, how upset would you be if I said I wanted to cook a little bit more?”

“You get dishes this time around then, but what are we makin’?”

You turn out of the pantry with a bounce in your step before slapping down the flour and newly acquired, chocolate chips and sprinkles. “Cookies! We always made cookies with my grandma and it wouldn’t be the same without them.” Your eyes sparkle at the thought of the sweet treats and equally sweet memories of your childhood. Makki thinks you are breathtaking.

“Let me get the bowls back down and we can probably make mediocre cookies if you have anything you do with it.” He smiles at just how cute the squawk you made from his teasing is, just happy that he gets to be here with you. He doesn’t really hear how you defend your baking skills and complain that just because you forgot flour one time doesn’t mean you are inept at baking.

He never thought he would be the type to settle down and be domestic, it just didn’t seem like something he cared a lot about, but now he he can’t rid his mind of the thought of waking up ten minutes before your alarm just to make you a cup of coffee or throwing your favorite blanket in the drier on days it’s raining so when you get home, you can melt into the soft plush and warm up instantly.The clattering of spices brings him back to the moment, turning to see you picking up the cinnamon and vanilla extract.

“You good, love?” There’s something about how you look when you flustered because of him, that scratches an itch he didn’t know was there. The first time a pet name like this had slipped through his lips he was certain that whatever line the two of you were toeing had been crossed, demolished. Instead you just tucked your hair away and averted your gaze back to whatever shitty movie the two of you were “watching” that night. Now it’s normal, well its not normal, its very much not normal for him to refer to you as love or babe and it's not normal for you to exclusivley call him by his first name. It's decidedly abnormal considering your relationship or lack thereof. But if you aren’t going to question it neither is he.

He helps you up and gather the remaining ingredients for the “famous snickerdoodle cookies” that you swear had won awards. The mixing of the dough is interrupted when he has to grab your wrist to stop you from adding salt instead of sugar. You refuse to look at him because you know he is sporting a huge smirk and raised eyebrows, knowing that he’s right about you not being the best baker. You are reprieved by the oven going off, signaling to remove the earlier and change the temperature.

“Damn, babe, these cookies look so good, especially this one.” You return to Makki who already started to lay out the dough on the baking tray. You see perfectly round blobs squished slightly by a fork for a pattern and then right in front of him you see the cookie he was talking about. You didn't expect to see your 27 year old boyfriend-who-isn’t-your-boyfriend to be holding a cockshaoped cookie. But really, you should have seen it coming from the guy who laughs when either of you fart.

He can hear the clock ticking as you just stare, annoyed. He was concerned for a second, that maybe he shouldn’t have made a lewd joke when making cookies. This is something he used to do with her grandmother, you stupid idiot.. But when he can see the apple of your cheek peeking out from behind your hand, he recognizes that face. The one that positively exudes warmth and happiness with her laughter. The butterflies always buzzing in his stomach go wild when this face comes out. He would do anything to see it for the rest of time.

You don’t know where the courage comes from but you cup his cheek for a kiss, he mirrors your action. It just felt normal, and you honestly didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal until you both pulled back. Your eyes are locked on his, both of you sporting a soft smile until his keeps growing, evolving into a laugh that is borderline offensive in how loud it is.

You don’t know why and you get a little nervous that maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, when you go to hide your face, you feel the heat rising but also a soft powdery coating? And that’s when you realize his hands are still coated in flour from shaping the cookies. Your eyes are rolling while you chuckle but Makki on the other hand is losing his mind, almost in tears from laughing while putting the cookies in the oven. “It’s not that funny, Takahiro! Get me a napkin please.”

“Nah, you look really sweet. Good enough to eat.” You weren’t surprised when he returned to kissing you, nor when he lifted you up by your thighs and plopped you on the counter. The kisses are sweet, lazy and perfect for a second kiss, and a third and a fourth. This is normal. His lips belong on yours. Your hands should be tangled up in his hair while his run over your waist and legs. This is right. There's no rush to deepen the kiss, both of you happy to just indulge in the warmth of the other, but it is inevitable. A soft nip at your bottom lip or an accidental tug of his hair, neither of you know what happened first but you both are staring at each other, panting lightly with a much darker gaze than the original flour induced makeout session.

“You are just as sweet as I thought. Gotta have a taste.” His voice is raspier than you’ve ever heard and you just let him move your body as he pleases. Pull your hips to the edge of the counter. Spread your legs as far apart as they’ll go. Lift your hips when he pulls your shorts and underwear down. Gotta act as sweet as he says I am. He has barely touched you but when he falls to his knees and just stares at your dripping slit that he's imagined for years, your eyes, you are already imagining how good he's going to feel.

You shouldn’t even try to think, his tongue exceeded any expectation or desire you had. Expertly flicking against your throbbing clit as he works two fingers in you. You feel the groan he lets out when he dips his tongue into your hole before you hear it. The vibrations reverberate up your spine and through your body, an all-consuming heat starting in your stomach, threatening to let loose, to run rampant on your body. His fingers, joined by another, return to your clenching hole and search for the spongy spot hidden deep inside. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your head, drowning out every other noise.

“C’mon love, cum on my fingers, on my tongue, I’ve wanted, dreamed about this for years, give it to me.” His slow words juxtaposed the fervent pace of his fingers and it was enough to send you over the edge.

You feel so hot you fear you might pass out, the groan Makki lets out beneath you is the only thing keeping you grounded. You were first concerned that you had hurt him in someway, but when you see his eyes roll back into his head and his tongue trying to lap up every single bit of cum you squirted on his face and thighs, you know it wasn’t due to excruciating pain, rather it's just an obscene reaction to you.

When you push him back, squirming with overstimulation, you hear him scramble and “Shit! Fuck! Fire extinguisher?? WHERE IS YOUR FIRE EXTINGUISHER???” You are still out of it until he starts actually screaming, words still evade you but he follows your line of sight to the red tube hiding in the corner next to the fridge. The smell of smoke is overwhelming all of a sudden. You were in a dreamlike post orgasmic state and suddenly your coughing, eyes hazy.

the cookies, SHIT THE COOKIES!! Smoke is billowing out of the oven and your fire alarm is blaring, but soon the room is filled with a white foam originating from Makki. You never realized that the foam would continue to expand until half of your kitchen was covered in it and you saw a sheepish looking Makki on the other side.

“Fires out”. Again, he starts to laugh at you, and this time you join him. Today has turned out entirely different than you expected. It wasn’t a sad day, it was filled with laughter, romance, an ill timed fire and Makki. All in all, a successful holiday, despite the fact everything you cooked was coated in foam. He’d seen you staring at the food and already took his phone out to order food, “Indian or ramen?”

Yeah, you think you’re grandma would be happy seeing you like this. Happy Holidays.

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but the image of makki being a disaster in the kitchen came to me one day and here we are. make sure you read the other fics in the collab

matsukawa’s funeral home winter collab

a/n 2.0: also a/o to @iwaasfairy for making that makki image that i used in my header. i love her more than i love him which say a lot

#hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki drabble #hanamaki x y/n #hanamaki smut #haikyuu smut #makki smut #makki x reader #makki x you #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki.coffee #kristen.writes #oral.espresso

[whump-town]

Give and Take

This one's for you @genevievedarcygranger

I couldn't even tell you what this is about but it's something? Like about Hotch? I'm pretty sure there is no plot so just buckle in or whatever. I don't know, this is weird

The key to building a profile, to standing before someone and piecing together the important parts of their character, is to figure which parts of themselves they give to you and which parts they accidentally show. Most people are fairly easy to read (which is the optimal word, really. No one wants to be profiled but most people don’t mind a little reading on them. Makes them feel special, understood). The thing about secrets, about people, is that they always carry their burdens. It’s like any wound, you naturally lean to protect what hurts. And when once you figure out what hurts, when you can spot the source of the blood you’ll find no matter how advanced a species humans pretend to be, we still have the look of a wounded animal. A dog backed into the corner of an alley. A lame cat waiting to see if swift justice will rain down.

And the wound being protected speaks measures but more importantly…

It’s the reaction-- what happens when the wounds been found and what they anticipate the reaction will be to it.

But, hey, that’s all complicated nonsense. Take it with a grain of salt. Honestly, people always tell you everything that you need to know about them. Especially when they have something to hide.

The first time that Aaron Hotchner ever saw a dead body he was twelve.

The river is unforgiving. That May had brought treacherous storms. Drops of rain that fell so hard, so roughly they’d leave welts on exposed skin. Children still marched to school with the threat of their umbrellas being snapped out of small hands and the wind pushing back clothing, trying to disrobe them as they fought against its pushing hand.

Two days of hard rainfall had the river spewing over the bridge in town. Spitting up its murky water like a well-fed newborn, leaving the fallen limbs of trees and dead fish to rot in the sun. By the time the storm blew over the children were as unsettled as the river itself. Jittery with energy, begging for release. So, out they went. Mothers called from their front porches, father’s leveled threatening fingers-- stay away from the river.

It’ll suck you in and it’ll never let you go.

Johnny Martin was three years older than Hotch. He’d failed kindergarten, first grade, and the seventh grade and was generally regarded as a pointless child, someone to look over. Nobody worth a damn fails that many grades, you know? Nobody worth giving a second chance to let alone a third and a fourth. Except it wasn’t that Johnny was intellectually any different than the other kids. It was just as simple as his father was a nobody, a heavy drinker, and his mother was a weak, dreadful sight. So no one ever tried. His teachers didn’t pay him any attention. No one did, really.

That’s probably why he drowned.

He was bloated, Hotch didn’t even know what he was looking at for a moment. There was a cut across his face, the skin raised around the edges that nearly made it look like pursed lips. A panting mouth. Then he’d seen the eyes, bulging and red. He hadn’t screamed, wasn’t even afraid. No point in wasting the energy on something like that. The real things worth fearing lived at home.

He never told anyone about Johnny Martin.

They found his body a little while after Hotch did. A group of twenty-somethings trampling through the woods with their artfully rolled joints wedged in cigarette cartons and the cheapest beer they could afford. He climbed up a tree, watched them call the cops, and take Johnny Martin away.

For a week, he watched everyone pretend like they gave a shit about Johnny Martin. Heard his English teacher profess some make-believe story and saw the tears glimmer in her eyes. In death, Johnny Martin became a whole person. For the first time in Johnny Martin’s entire life, he wasn’t a ghost, he was a boy. A living thing for which people felt remorse, for which people mourned.

When they’d never looked at him before.

Hotch wanted to know if that’s all it took. Is death really all he needed to become a whole person? For someone to notice the cigarette burns on his arms or to look at him? To notice him? Is absence the only way to be known?

He’s only told the general outline of that story twice. Once while drunk at a college party, one of the few places that sort of talk is welcome. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?” And they circle around to him. Expectant eyes filled with the reflection of the flames of the fire dancing. He’d been thinking about his father’s office. The sound of the gunshot filling the house. Walking slowly down the hall, still stepping around the weak points in the floor so that he wouldn’t make a sound. Standing there looking at the blood splattered on the roof.

They put heart attack on the official death certificate. Illegal, sure, but not as ugly as suicide. Besides, a man like Richard Hotchner’s reputation would be ruined by his final actions. That couldn’t happen. So he’d been given a hero’s goodbye. A veteran of the Korean war sent off to the sound of his widow’s sobs, his two sons standing like little soldiers.

But that sort of thing ruins the mood. Kills the vibe so artfully created by the warmth of the dying fire and the joints being passed around.

So he tells them about Johnny Martin.

They hang onto his every word.

When he tells Dave it’s a diversion.

He’s laying in a hospital bed, the morphine has him slurring a bit but he’s talking more than Dave’s ever heard out of him. The kid hardly makes a peep for the three months he’s been working with them and he gets tossed down a few sets of stairs and he’s suddenly impossible to shut up. Dave was just trying to fret over him, expressing some concern until Haley could get here to do the heavy lifting. He ends up with more than he bargained for.

“No, s’okay. I’ve seen dead bodies, sir. Promise.”

Hotch tells him about Johnny Martin, curates a similar story to the one he told that night around the fire.

He’s a good storyteller and, though Dave can tell which elements of the story have been shifted for his enjoyment there are truths in all lies. Dave wants to ask what Hotch means when he mumbles out that part about ghosts, he doesn’t catch the exact wording but the implication. His dismissiveness towards Johnny Martin “some people you never notice, they’re just ghosts and there’s nothing you can do to change, to be seen”. Dave doesn’t ask what Hotch means by that and he still manages to find his answer.

Hotch has this tendency to step back. All his manners and smiles are for flourish, Southern hospitality that allows him to nimbly work his way through a crowd. Secretly, he’s an introvert. He always finds his way to the corner of the room, back facing the wall and watching. It’s where he’s most relaxed, where he’s unnoticed.

A ghost.

But even ghosts can be found out.

Even ghosts give a little bump in the night.

Aaron Hotchner doesn’t actually believe in ghosts but for a week he thinks he might. It freaks him out so bad that he tells Derek but he’s lost so much sleep freaking out over this that he mostly just sounds a little crazy. The fact that he tells Derek speaks measures but before everyone else, Derek was who he relied on and Derek is who he falls back on.

There was a broken plate in the kitchen, a plate that he didn’t break because he’d only gone to the living room. He couldn’t tell what it was but there had been this strange scratching. Then the plate fell. Honestly, he tore off. Ran to his bedroom and to Haley and when she asked what that sound was he said he hadn’t heard anything. Though he didn’t tell Derek that part, he more or less crawled into Haley’s arms and laid there until he felt safe again. Until her half-conscious rubbing at his back lulled him back to sleep.

They didn’t die so at least it wasn’t a serial killer.

It’s a cat.

Hotch’s ghost is a cat.

An old mangy orange thing that Hotch reluctantly takes into the house, Haley names him Casper. Naturally, she can’t let it go. Her husband the bravely trained, frequently praised federal agent tucking and running because an elderly cat had managed to let itself into their home.

Derek asks her about it, the ghost, the next time they all go out for drinks and she makes him swear to secrecy but he tells the others.

Not that day, nearly a year or more later.

After New York.

Penelope Garcia stays up all night watching what she thinks is going to be her friend’s last hours. Watches Hotch get tossed like a rag doll by a car bomb, and land discarded out of the view of the cameras. Just gone and she’s torn between not wanting to know and knowing she has to look. No matter what she’s going to see, she has to go on. They sift through the recording, speeding up the time-lapse. She watches him slowly gain consciousness over a stretch of twenty minutes, all taking place in less than a minute for her. Sees him stumble as he tries to stand, sagging against a street lamp and gagging up nothing. His stomach was too empty.

He’s disoriented, limping around the road.

Then came Sam.

The kid who tried to kill Hotch standing over his shoulder, touching his arm, and so close, so dangerously close. She cries, sits there and cries as she urges Derek to be faster. What if he has to finish the job? Kate was moving around, they were both alive, but Hotch can’t protect her. He can hardly stand.

He screams himself hoarse.

As Derek runs up on them all he can smell is burning rubber and blood. He’s breathing oddly, too quickly and his ribs aren’t moving the right way but Derek can see Hotch. He’s right there coherently speaking, words clear. So it doesn’t matter, the blood-splattered out on the road and running down Hotch’s collar.

And then Sam…

And the ambulance.

And Kate.

Reid, Prentiss, and Rossi are waiting for Hotch when he steps away from Kate. Reid had seen how immobile Hotch’s right shoulder had been, how stiffly it had moved as Hotch struggled into his kevlar. Rossi had seen his poor coloring, the bruises under his eyes from his lack of sleep. The way the cuts looked against his face. Prentiss had been behind him. She always is, creepily just a step behind. She’d seen how awkwardly his right leg had taken his weight. She even rolled her eyes when she noticed he forced himself to stop limping once she saw.

But what they all knew, what they’d all seen was a clock.

Another timer dangerously close to zero.

You know what they say. The bigger the man, the harder the fall.

Emily can’t get the sound of his body hitting the ground out of her head.

Hotch gets a room, courtesy of the entire hospital still being cleared out, to sleep off the drugs they give him. Groggily he groans, wakes up enough to look around him and falls back to sleep.

JJ gets sick, it’s too early in the pregnancy to be morning sickness but they’ve all just had an awful night and she’s filled with this senseless guit. Can’t stop thinking about Hotch’s soft, sheepish congratulations. Why didn’t she just tell him? What did she think was going to happen?

9/11 left New York hypervigilant and even with the threat eliminated the team is asked to stay in one place. So they stay with Hotch, all crammed up on top of each other. Legs thrown over laps and blankets jerked like children, a group of adults afraid to fall asleep. It’s impossible to sleep so Derek tells them about Hotch’s ghost, filling the dark room with noise. Better than sitting here just watching Hotch breathe, waiting for each inhale. He exaggerates it, of course. Hotch is asleep and can't exactly defend himself. Not that there’s all that much he could say-- he spent three sleepless nights ghost-hunting a cat.

“He ever tell you about that ghost haunting him?”

The next morning, still groggy and his presence of mind making it impossible to not feel the pain but too heavy to really care, he doesn’t fight with Derek nearly as much as he should.

They take the case of The Angel Maker Part 2 and, for once, Hotch does what’s best for him. He takes time off, drives home to save his ears from the trouble of the jet climbing to proper altitude. He gets back on a Wednesday, the others are waiting (Garcia may or may not have tracked his phone). Climbs slowly out of the car, the shrapnel wound on his leg hasn’t healed yet, and doesn’t look nearly that scary standing in jeans he’s had to roll the bottoms of and a patchy beard.

Which is why he doesn’t wear jeans. Suit pants he can have tailored to fit both his waist and the length of his legs. The problem with Levi's or a pair of Wranglers is that one of those measurements is always wrong. So the waist is small enough but the length isn’t long enough. He has to compromise one of them and he typically caves in the length.

Garcia knits him a hat that winter. It’s black to match the rest of his clothes with a red little fuzzy ball at the top. He thinks he can accept the gift and forget it-- like the gloves Reid got him or the cigars from Rossi. That’s not the case. He wears the hat. In a mix-up, a crowd of suits, he’s much easier to catch with his little red fuzz ball sticking out over the crowd.

And he isn’t allowed to forget about Reid’s gloves. He’s guilted into those too and finds himself being ushered into cases where the weather will be chilly with his only access being that hat and a pair of gloves.

The parts of Aaron Hotchner that he gives without prompting aren’t necessarily not him. He is decently grumpy and a workaholic. The man can not take a compliment, a fact that Morgan and Prentiss love to exploit. He’s boring, repetitive. Anyone who has spent more than a week with him can testify to that. He just likes to eat the same foods over and over and isn’t too picky but he won’t touch uncooked cauliflower because it’s texture is weird. Like a bouncy ball. As far as spending time with him goes, another weird thing to learn is that he’s messy. Methodical, yes. Messy… at the same time. He does have a bookshelf and his books are organized but he’s also really bad for leaving his unfinished books out on tables like decorations.

The parts that don’t come readily, the parts that require reading or profiling or just generally bugging the shit out of him are decent too. He’s an optimist. He wants to believe everyone is good, redeemable. Partially because he needs himself to be and because he’s a hopeless romantic and an optimist and that’s an impossible thing to be in this line of work. But some people are just good and some people are worth a second chance (and a third and fourth). He thinks that one-day people will forget he exists-- what happens when the team doesn’t need him to be around? When there’s no reason he has to be invited out?

And then what?

Aaron Hotchner is afraid of becoming a ghost again.

#criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #derek morgan #david rossi #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jennifer jareua #spencer reid

[keepcalm-and-beyou]

Serial Killer Boyfriend

YoungFP x Reader

Werewolves howl, Phantoms prowl, where witches go riding and black cats are seen, the moon full and bright whispers tis Halloween. 

It feels like magic in the night when you see the pumpkins light. Time for the ghouls and ghost to seek goodies, for people hoping for treats not tricks. 

Halloween time in our town with pep. Everyone from school invited and some not invited to this years Spooktacular Party surely must be getting ready as i am. 

🎃Now I have a story that I'd like to tell About this guy you all know him, he had me scared as hell! He comes to me at night after I crawl into bed He's burnt up like a weenie and his name is Fred!🎃  

As A nightmare on my street song plays on my radio I apply my lipstick and smile when the song mentions the name Fred as it makes me think of my friend Fred Andrews, i also cant help but love the nightmare on elm street movie. Freddy Kruger what an intense killer to get you in your precious dreams i hope they make more movies like that. A noise interrupted my thoughts slightly making me jump. heading towards where it had come from i look out my window to the left then right side seeing some children running around on my street dressed up in their costumes trick or treating, the street lights shinned on my street sign that read ELM STREET. 

Thinking the noise must of been from those who are outside simply wanting candy i turn away from the half way open window i scream as i felt something grab my arm from where the window was i turn fast to face it seeing my boyfriend trying to climb through the window. I let a relived sigh leave my lips and step back in no mood to help him through my window but to watch his struggle he sure deserves it after that stunt. 

“Thank for the help babe” FP says sarcastically while finally getting him self through my window his eyes not yet even looking really at me until he stands up straight turning to fully face where i was standing by my bedroom wall. 

FP’s eyebrows raised in what looked like surprise “Wow babe, damn you look good not like that’s anything new” 

“Well i tried thank you, uh what are you suppose to be, some poor victim of a serial killer stabbing, some messed up boy with mommy issues and a daddy who just doesn't seem to love him the same these days who has a issue filled girlfriend that seems so awkward all the time who probably kills his own girlfriend because ya know always some bullshit reason to kill your girlfriend, he must of watched way to many movies” I ask him as he slowly creeps closer to where i have been standing. This is when i notice the knife in his hand. It sure don’t look like the typical cheap fake ones used for such things as Halloween costumes. That makes me raise an eyebrow at the sharp metal in his hand. Fps eyes caught my reaction to his choice in accessory for his costume and he smirks getting closer to me. 

“Nah babe this blood is of my victims” he smirks wider as his eyes seem to burn into mine “I’m the killer” he adds while he brings his knife up to his bottom lip resting it there. 

“Shit does that mean i’m the girlfriend you want to kill for some bullshit reason” i fake seriousness.

“Hmm I think ill keep you around you look to good to ruin that tight outfit” he smirks checking me out. 

“Thanks. Oh and next time use the front door you ass”

“Did i give you a fright” FP stalks even closer to just inches apart. Like he is  stalking his prey. I deny that he frightened me and i lightly push him backwards from my bubble of space done with his creepy killer vibes in my bedroom and wanting to get my party on. 

Walking out my front door like a normal none creepy person uses i turn to FP “Your not really gonna walk around with that legit knife are you, because that seems like big ole trouble to me” 

“You have no idea” FP says quietly but loud enough to hear him. I watch as he passes by me down my steps and put the knife into a holster on his jeans.

“Wait what?” I ask confused on his statement. only for him to act as if he never heard me. 

I spot a boy who looks like our friend a small ways down coming from his front lawn as we approach and it is indeed my best guy friend! 

“Oh my gosh Fred i love it i absolutely approve of this years choice in costume” I say excitedly going to hug him not caring for his eyes to slightly open wider at my revealing chest area. 

“You look.. uh wow yeah wow a good wow very good wow” Fred rambled 

“Watch it Fred” FP warned in what seemed to be a half joke half serious threat as he slaps Fred’s check lightly and they do a quick bro hug. 

“Awe my guys, my killer boyfriend and killer best friend, my Freddy as Freddy i love it, glad you didn’t go with a mask of Freddy Kruger though i prefer your pretty face” I smack Fred on the same cheek FP had done. 

“I knew you would” Fred smiles. 

“Okay i could use a drink and Hiram douche as rich as he is must have plenty at his party so hurry up move it along” FP says nodding his head ahead of us indicating for us to start walking that way. 

Hiram Lodge, rich and rude mostly describes him. someone who many of us don’t particularly like. Fred dislikes him for many reasons one being Hermione Gomez the girl Fred was into and thought she could be the one. Until she chose Hiram and his pearls over Fred and his heart. FP dislikes him for many of the same reasons Fred does but one being Me the ex girlfriend of Hiram, I thought he could be the one until our once fun filled relationship turned into a cold one into a distant one into me choosing FP over Hiram. But hey a party with free booze is our kind of party and we got the invite well me and Fred did anyways. 

Walking through the streets of Riverdale seeing all the Halloween decorations like the lights from jack-o lanterns and ghosts hanging from trees, feeling the chilling vibes of the magic that is Halloween night run through my body, the feel of a cold hand in mine making me smile at my serial killer looking boyfriend. 

I watch as few children pass us by seeing the looks shared by Fred and FP raising my eyebrow at what they could be thinking then suddenly the two teenagers yell and jump forward towards the little kids scaring them making the children scream and run off. Rolling my eyes at the two men in front of me laughing like hyenas. 

“Real mature boys” I say unimpressed at the child like behaviour 

“Its Halloween y/n lighten up” Fred laughs 

“Yeah babe its meant to be scary” FP adds

“True but no need to terrorise little kids” I shake my head at them. And continue our walk.

Nearing the house holding the Halloween party hosted by Hiram i notice some familiar faces as much as i can being with all the Halloween costumes. my eyes came upon sierra dressed as wonder woman, a perfect costume for her and her girl power woman on a mission thing she has going on. a short distance a way as well seeing tom Keller in a army costume, another typically perfect costume for the boy.

The outside of the house isn't much decorated i try to push through some of my fellow classmates with FP and Fred hot on my tail walking through the front doors. I’m impressed by what my eyes are seeing the many outstanding lights making the house look like a nightclub ready for teenagers to dance the night away, i see Halloween theme streamers and garland, hanging bats all over the roof of the house, your typical mini orange pumpkins and some painted black placed on tables, and my favourite of all the creepy images on the walls that change. 

“Boy Hiram of course with all the crap” FP looks around at all the decorations as i was. “Think he’s compensating for something Fred” FP chuckles looking to Fred who’s standing next to him. Fred laughs at his best friends remark. 

“No comment” I smirk barley looking towards FP to see his glare thrown my way. 

“Speak of the devil” Fred nods his head to where Hiram is walking towards us. Hiram lodge strolls head high nearing us wearing a medieval king costume, it makes me want to laugh at another super typical costume for the boy who think’s he is a real king, only kind of royal he happens to be is a royal pain in the ass. 

“Well well well a sight for sore eyes, in all her black beauty” Hiram steps closely in front of me with that stupid smirk and ignorant eyes. I simply fake a big smile as my only response. 

“Fred” Hiram greets in a major Hiram way that doesn't sound very greeting like. so Fred does the same. My eyes moves back and fourth between the two and landing on Hiram as his eyes land on my exposed chest thanks to my Elvira costume. This doesn't go unnoticed by my serial killer boyfriend who steps in front of me chest puffed out and eyes murdering the rich man who only smirks more at the exchange. 

“Ah FP Jones i do believe you were not sent an invite but by all means enjoy my humble adobe, oh but please don’t let your serpent behaviour disturb my gathering” 

“Hiram” is heard from behind him of course coming from Hermione. I roll my eyes at her presence dressed as a medieval queen. “Hello glad you guys can attend” she says playing the dutiful girlfriend.

“Mhm thanks” I say in the most super fake tone i can muster up and a smile to go with it as i move past them farther into the home of the devil incarnate. 

Pouring my self a much needed beverage as FP pushes some guy lightly out of his way to reach a bottle of whiskey taken the whole thing for him self.

“Are you really just gonna take the whole thing?” i chuckle

“What like he cant afford to lose out on one damn bottle y/n” 

“Okay then” i let out a small sigh hoping FP doesn't get to hammered. 

“Hey it saves me from having to stab someone to move out my way for a drink” FP pulls out his knife he had in his holster waving it around near our faces with a wide smile. I’m not sure if its because it Halloween that this whole dressed in blood serial killer thing is legit creepy, but hey its pretend right. 

“Stop waving that thing in my face before you make me lose an eye you psycho” I tell him half jokingly. he just stares at me for a moment like contemplating on something, maybe something i said. But finally after making a clicking noise with his tongue he puts the knife back into his holster. 

“Good boy” I teasingly say to him as i grab his chin giving him a kiss to his cheek. 

Hand in hand we walk around for a bit saying a few hellos to some friends of mine as FP stays silent drinking from his bottle and eyeing a few people dangerously creepy. We enter the dining room seeing people including Fred playing beer pong. 

“Y/n come be on my team I’m kicking Tom’s ass” Fred shouts to where i stand with FP by the entrance. FP looks annoyed at the thought but i don’t care he can brood and mood alone for 5 minutes well i kick some major Keller toosh. 

“Oh Keller boy its on” i challenge as Fred cheers at my comment. 

I stand tall and elegantly yet cockily toss the ping pong ball, it lands perfectly into a cup filled half way with beer in front of Tom. Tom of course drinks it. Fred and I throw a few more times ultimately winning which causes us much joy giving us the need to jump around cheering for our self’s along with others in the room, i jump into Fred’s arms smiling at our victory he spins me around laughing. 

“That was awesome y/n” Fred smiles as he put me down. 

“Tha-” I’m cut off by the dark voice of FP

“I thought i said watch it” he remarks dryly to Fred as Fred gives him an unsure look. 

“Wow okay babe laying on the crazy tonight real hard don’t you think” I tell FP furrowing my eyebrows at the bloody boy. FP scoffs and Fred backs away slowly to leave me to deal with my crazy boo. 

FP moves close to my ear and says “Nah what would be crazy is if someone losses a hand because they can’t keep them off you” and he tilts his head in that weird way like a challenging way. Then all of a sudden he’s laughing. I can’t help my face reacting as if he has gone mad. 

“Let’s keep checking out the place babe” FP says in his normal tone as if he wasn't just a crazy jealous boyfriend. And put’s his arm around my shoulders. 

We came across a room that seems like a second living room it looks like the teenagers in it are playing a game as they all sit in whats suppose to be a circle. 

“Oh look its Y/n, care to indulge us in a game of secrets and sins” Penelope’s voice rang out. she use to be a decent human being but it seems her adopted family the blossoms have really done a number on her after she accepted to be with Clifford her adopted brother. honestly I’m unsure if its even legal. 

“I don’t know about that one” I shrug not really in the mood to share a secret of any sorts. 

“Are you scared to tell us something” Clifford chimes in as he is sitting next to the red headed sister girlfriend of his. 

“Let’s go babe” FP grumbles in my ear. But i shake my head at his words. 

“No no i’ll stay” I smile and take a seat on one of the few couches in the room that have space. FP stay’s standing by the door.

“Well that makes it your turn y/n, any sinful secrets you might wanna share” Penelope asks with a wicked smirk plastered on her face as if she already knows any secrets i may have. 

“Hmm i cheated on a math test once, no that’s a lame one, uh i keyed Hiram’s car after we broke up” that last so called secret made FP chuckle. but Penelope rolled her eyes not amused by my choices of secrets. 

“I have a obsession with the movie the heather's i do as well imagine poisoning my classmates, I’m sure you’ll be able to relate” i tell Penelope with a small smile. She lets out a huff still not amused.  

“So that’s your big secrets? Really. I think not Elm Street girl” she says smiling at me. Causing me to raise my eyebrow. And she continues on. 

“You know who else lives on Elm Street, Fred Andrews right? Your friend, your boyfriends friend” she drags on

“So do you have a point or are you just obtuse” I laugh in my head at my own joke sense obtuse is opposite of something pointy. 

“Funny. You like to do a lot with that mouth of yours, like talk when know one cares to listen or make out with Fred Andrews when you think know ones looking” she smiles deviously as my eyes widen in shock. 

“What?!” is heard from the door FP in fit of rage.  

“Wait let me explain” I say to FP but he doesn't hear it he’s to busy pushing his way out of the bedroom door so i follow him. 

“FP can you slow down what are you doing let me explain” I yell for him to hear me but all i see is him on a hunt. oh no probably for Fred. Poor Fred. 

Fp reaches Fred who is in the big living room area where the drinks are and teenager’s dancing. FP grab’s Fred by his shirt throwing him into a wall swiftly reaching for his knife 

‘FP no” i shout as i near the two boys. 

“What the hell FP” Fred asks his best friend. 

“I outta kill you boy” FP barks in Fred face now holding his knife to his throat. 

“FP stop please its not what you think i swear” I plead with my now looking like a real serial killer boyfriend. 

“Y/n whats going on? Why do you have a knife? wait is that a real knife FP?!” Fred asks a bunch of questions in his nervous and scared state. We all barley notice the music had turned down a bit and people were gasping and whispering amongst them self's. 

“You touched my girl!” FP says lowly very low dangerously low. 

Fred looks beyond shocked at the news his best friend knew. He was speechless. 

“FP please let’s talk outside or in a quite room” i beg of him. 

“Screw this” FP says angrily and grab’s Fred again by the shirt only to throw him into the wall once more before backing away. “You better watch out boy” FP threatens Fred. FP disappear’s into the house and I tend to Fred. 

“Oh my gosh are you okay i cant believe he just went that psycho” I held onto Fred’s head looking over his neck and face for any injuries. Seeing a small cut from the knife on is neck, making me cringe at the fact my boyfriend did that. 

“I’m okay y/n how did he find out?” Fred asks looking guilty 

“Secrets and sins and one red headed bitch of a blossom” I remark coldly.

“I’m going to find the bathroom see if i need anything for my neck” Fred tells me as he starts to move towards the door way. 

I should look for FP to tell him the truth the whole truth to that secret. The fact that it was before i chose to be with FP, it was a drunk bad judgement call right after my break up with Hiram. 

Its been some time looking for FP i think its safe to say he left the party. Maybe that’s a good thing give him some space to calm down and when he wants to talk i’ll gladly talk to him. I haven't seen Fred in awhile either, if he ditched me i’m going to kill that athletic guitar playing boy. No sign of my best friend and the party has majorly died down with only a few students i barley know from school and the few i do know decently well like Sierra, Tom, Penelope and Clifford, Marty Mantle and Darryl Doiley and of course the host him self and his little girlfriend Heromine. 

I look around some more for Fred so we can leave, i check anywhere i can including upstairs. I come across a room at the very end of the hall and open the door slowly “Hello anyone in here?” I ask not wanting to intrude on anyone's personal business. There’s no answer. I cant make much of what’s in the room it’s very dark until i find the nearest light switch flicking it on my eyes instantly see a body on the ground. 

“Oh my god Fred?!” I move fast towards the body now seeing the crimson colour seeping through his shirt as if he has been stabbed. I couldn't control it my mouth had i mind of its own as it let out a screeching sound of horror at the sight of my best friend bleeding not a single movement made on the floor. 

I stood in shock for a moment after my scream rang through the walls catching the attention of a few of my fellow classmates as they run into the room. 

I hear gasps and what happened and omgs come from a few mouths as i stare eyes wide open at Fred on the ground. I see Tom get closer to Fred’s body when i snap out of my trance of horror. 

“Wait don’t touch his body!” i spit out before anyone can lay a finger on the boy. 

Everyone looks at me as i’m insane. 

“Finger prints and moving a body is like what tampering with a crime scene and if you have your finger prints on him guess who’s a suspect of murder” I tell everyone sternly. 

“We need to see if he is breathing!” Tom says freaked out. 

I move closer to Fred’s unconscious body not enough to touch and tell everyone to shut the hell up so i can listen for his breathing, I hear nothing. I then put my hand in front of his nose and mouth to see if i can feel air coming from his bloody body, I can not. 

“He’s not breathing guys.. he’s dead” i cry out covering my mouth in more shock. I hear little cries from the girls Heromine and Sierra. 

“This can’t be happening my parents will kill me if i through a party and there happens to be a dead body laying around” Hiram sighs

“My dad is probably gonna kick my ass” I hear Marty say in a fearful tone.

“We need to call the cop’s” Tom says

“I don’t know about that” Clifford chimes in. 

“What are you talking about that’s what your suppose to do, unless you killed him?” Tom shouts back at Clifford. as Clifford scoffs

“This could ruin our life’s what colleges are wanting to accept people involved in a murder” Penelope say’s. 

“Was that a confession?” Darryl Doiley ask’s The red head rolls her eye’s

“Who would do this” I let tear slip from my eyes. 

Everyone looks around at one another eyes scanning each other with possible thoughts that one of us killed Fred Andrews. 

“Hiram. I bet it was Hiram” Penelope says smugly as always these days. 

“And why would I do that?” Hiram asks in almost to good to be true calm manner. Everyone turns their heads to Penelope so she can further explain her accusations.

“Oh please you never did like the boy so much you even stole his girlfriend” she replies nodding towards Hermione who still have many tears on her face. 

“Please you strike me for the killing type both you Blossom’s and your weird family” Hiram spits back to the red headed girl. 

“This is so not cool guys we need to do something” Sierra says. 

“Yeah like the cops’” Tom says again 

“No, no cop’s, not until we figure who might have done it” Hiram speaks.

“We can all point fingers at each other but nothing proves either of us did it” I tell them hoping their madness would stop i haven't even had time to really wrap my head around the dead body of my best friend. 

“What about FP” Darryl Doiley speaks up from the corner of the room he’s been hiding in sense he came in after my scream. Everyone turns to look at the Doiley boy at the same time with looks that say what about him. 

“He had a knife right he held it to Fred’s throat and went all psycho doesn't that prove anything” Darryl continued 

“This is true, FP did have a weapon and is well crazy” Hiram says as a matter of fact. I roll my eyes at him. 

“No way he wouldn't .. I don’t think he would, oh my no no he couldn't” i say unsure in my own words that my boyfriend and Fred’s best friend would commit such a crime. 

“I don’t know the look in his eyes sure showed insanity” Penelope spoke

“Y/n it might be true look at the facts he was mad at Fred, he held Fred at knife point, and threatened him. It doesn’t look good for FP” Tom states

“What doesn't look good for me” FP appears in the door way of the room giving us all a fright many of us jumping at his voice. Some of our eyes wide in fear to see him in front of us hearing us talk about him. The girls Heromine, Sierra and Penelope move further away from him as they practically huddle together, Darryl and Marty look terrified, while Hiram and Tom have no expressions on their faces, then there’s me standing in the middle of everyone beside Fred’s body not knowing what to say and trying hard to keep my face a normal looking way. 

“Say hey what happened here” FP says what almost seems like a question but more of a taunt, he takes a step inside the room with his head tiled in that creepy way he does.

“Get away from us you murderer” Penelope shouts at him. 

“Hmm that’s not very nice” FP smirks deviously at her as he pulls out his knife pointing it at her “You are not very nice” he tell’s her. He looks at everyone in the room ‘In fact none of you really are. Not to me that’s for damn sure” he clicks his tongue. 

“Hey man we no what you did and its cool we wont say anything to anyone” Marty tells FP in hopes to get out of a killer situation. FP just laughs at the boys attempts. 

“FP tell them you didn't hurt Fred i know you didn't right?” i ask my own hopes rising

“We know you killed him FP” Hiram says to him

“How do we know your not the killer? huh? you like scary movies maybe your movie freak mind lost its reality button ever think of that” FP says challenging Hiram's words. Hiram scoffs. 

“Okay well if FP didn't do it and none of us did lets just call the cops” Tom says starting to walk towards the door when FP’s knife ends up nearing his face

“Na na na Keller get back” FP demands so Tom goes back to his spot by Fred’s body and near me. I look to Fred’s dead body and to FP, feeling a wave of sadness wash over me finally seeing it feeling it , that FP killed him. My eyes water as i take small slow step to FP who bares his knife still in front of him. 

“Why FP.. please tell me why” I cry slowly moving toward my killer boyfriend. 

“Why y/n! why!” he shouts manically making me jump. He turns to face the door he had just shut then back to me. 

Suddenly FP steps to me grabbing me by my throat facing me to everyone has his grip is tight on my neck keeping me in place close to him. 

“Listen FP” Sierra says trying to defuse the ticking bomb 

“No you listen you little bitch! Anyone moves and ill be happy to see what your insides look like. Takes the strength of a man to gut someone ya know” FP barks

“You all and your privileged life’s, you northsiders think your so better then everyone else!” FP shouts and his grip gets even tighter on my throat making me whimper. “Not anymore” FP drags his knife on my face as he speaks but not hard enough to cut into my skin. 

“We are sorry i’m sorry we all are sorry!” Sierra shouts

“You don’t have to do this FP let y/n go” Tom says calmly reaching his hand out

“Let her go FP” Hiram says more demanding

“Please FP you don’t have to hurt anyone” Heromine chimes in

“Oh my ” Penelope mumbles 

“Dude come on please” Darryl cries out 

“We’re sorry dude” Marty says but not enough meaning to believe it.

“If any of us made you feel less then us we are sorry if any of us picked on you we are sorry or if we made fun of you FP” Sierra speaks again apologising for everyone. And everyone’s voice rings out say yes and yeah’s agreeing to what she had said in fear for their life’s. 

“Nah” FP says then quickly spins me to face him and send’s his knife into my stomach instantly my hands go to the wound i feel the wet substance and my knees hit the floor as horror painful sounds escape my lips everyone runs to me as i turn around best i can hands red and dripping, the girls faces wet with tears the guys faces filled with horror i take one last look at my stomach hand covering it again.

“Gotcha” my head snaps up to everyone as i smile wide

“Really I’m dead no one calls the cop’s ” Fred says from the floor with his face looking towards us all. 

“What?!” everyone shouts with wide eyes and still horrified yet shocked faces all around. 

“Good job FP” Fred smiles getting up from the floor. “Man that’s tough playing dead for that long so glad no one saw me breathing when i needed to” 

“You did great man” FP smiles 

“But the blood” Hermione asks

“Corn syrup” I reply with a smile

“You are all seriously insane” Sierra says 

“That was not funny” Hiram adds sternly 

“Holy heck thank god” Tom sighs of relief 

“I can’t believe you guys” Heromine says shaking her head in dismay.

“Not cool” Marty adds 

“You had us all going” Penelope says in boredom

“Yeah” Clifford adds not making eye contact with anyone probably embarrassed that he got fooled. 

“Well can’t say you guys didn’t deserve it” FP smiles a normal smile not a creepy one at last. 

“Happy Halloween guys” Fred smiles 

“I got me one hot serial killer boyfriend” I put my arm around FP’s waist as his arm goes around my shoulder. 

“Happy Halloween” FP and i say at the same time to everyone. 

#Halloween #halloween imagine #riverdale #riverdale imagines #fp jones #fp jones x reader #fp x reader #riverdale halloween imagine #fred andrews #hiram lodge #young fp jones #midnight club #the midnight club riverdale #Skeet Ulrich #jughead jones #archie andrews #veronica lodge #betty cooper #cheryl blossom #southside serpents

[handwrittenhello]

where the road then takes me

Prompt: Law of Surprise Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Renfri, Geralt/Renfri, Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier & Renfri Rating: T Warnings: None Summary: When Jaskier runs into a pack of wild dogs while searching for his lost hen, he's lucky that Geralt is nearby to save him. But he has nothing to repay the witcher with except the Law of Surprise, and who do they find upon returning to the farm, but Jaskier's sister, Renfri, back early from marauding?

For @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo!

(ao3 link in reblog)

--

Jaskier, eighteen, had grand dreams.

They were little more than dreams, unfortunately, because seeing as how he and Renfri had grown up fending for themselves, stuck in a tiny village on the border of Creyden, he didn’t have much opportunity to go to school or learn to play the lute or anything, really, besides tending to the farm while Renfri got… freelance work elsewhere. That was all he cared to know about it—she would leave, and return home every couple of weeks with a decent bag of coin and blood-spattered clothes, which Jaskier would bitch about cleaning. She made enough for them to live, though not comfortably—Renfri had kept him fairly sheltered, but he knew that they were one of the poorer households in town.

Which was why Jaskier only dreamed of traveling the Continent, singing songs and weaving grand tales for the commonfolk. Instead, he was stuck here chasing down their old hen again, after the coop had blown down in the storm for the fourth time. Henrietta was a sneaky fucker, already gone by the time he woke up in the morning. He cursed but pulled on his boots and stumbled out into the cold morning air to look for her.

He cursed all the way to the edge of the forest, where she’d apparently disappeared into, judging by the tracks and the few scattered feathers he found. “Damned hen. Ought to just eat you and be done with it,” he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him before heading into the forest.

He followed her trail as the sun slowly rose, stopping when he heard barking in the distance. Fuck, he hoped that was the hunters’ dogs—he hadn’t thought to bring a knife to defend himself with. Whatever it was, he trudged onwards, because they couldn’t afford to lose a hen. Renfri would kill him if—when—she found out.

And then he heard it—familiar squawking, accompanied by those same barks, louder. He crept closer and saw exactly what he’d feared—a pack of wild dogs circled Henrietta, one of them darting in every so often to snap at her slashing claws. She was fending them off pretty handily, actually—Jaskier knew how vicious she could be firsthand.

But the dogs would no doubt attack in force soon, and then she’d have no chance. Without thinking, Jaskier picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest one, hitting it square in the nose. It recoiled and turned its attention away from Henrietta, which was exactly what he wanted.

Unfortunately, it turned its attention towards him, which was exactly what he didn’t want. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, and turned tail as the pack gave chase.

He dashed over tree roots and fallen logs, blind stupid terror coursing through his veins. He had no plan beyond don’t get caught—and he could only run for so long before tiring. He threw a glance backward and saw that they were gaining on him—and fast.

Not looking where was going, he was taken completely by surprise when he slammed into something hard, bouncing off it and landing with an oof on the mossy ground.

Dazed and still half-blind with fear, he didn’t even notice that he’d slammed into a person until they moved, stepping over him and taking on the dogs with an easy confidence, sword swinging with preternatural force.

Two swords, armor, incredible speed and fighting skills? As the man finished dispatching the last of the pack and turned around to reveal mutated cat eyes set in a heavily scarred face, Jaskier realized who the man was. He sucked in a sharp breath.

The witcher sheathed his sword, holding out a hand as if to calm Jaskier. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, voice full of gravel. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Jaskier picked his jaw up from where it had dropped. “I know that,” he answered, getting to his feet and half-heartedly brushing the dirt off himself. “You’re a witcher.”

“I am. Usually fight more dangerous things than wild dogs, though. Also don’t usually see unaccompanied kids running around being chased by them.”

“I had to get their attention somehow. Henrietta was—wait, Henrietta!” Jaskier, remembered, abruptly spinning on his heel and dashing back to where the pack had cornered her.

“Wait!” the witcher called from behind him, but Jaskier paid him no heed.

He was gratified to see that while he’d been running for his life, Henrietta had seen fit to begin making herself a nest right in the same spot. “Oh, aren’t we cozy?” he grumbled, creeping closer in an attempt to grab her. He was almost upon her when the witcher ruined it, crashing through the underbrush behind him and sending her clucking away just as Jaskier pounced.

Jaskier sighed and turned to face the witcher, who at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. The guilt soon disappeared, though, when Jaskier rounded on him and began to lecture. “Now look what you’ve done. It’ll take me ages to catch her,” he complained, watching as the witcher’s eyes grew incredulous.

“You risked your life for that scrawny thing?” the witcher asked, amused disbelief coloring his tone.

“That scrawny thing is probably the most valuable thing we own, so yes,” Jaskier snapped. He couldn’t stand it when out-of-towners looked at him like that, like he was a stupid farm boy who knew little more than dirt and chickens. Which, to be fair, he didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he wanted it that way.

The witcher’s face cleared to something more akin to understanding—thank the gods it wasn’t pity. “Then I suppose I owe it to you to help catch her,” he said, and in the blink of an eye he’d snatched Henrietta up. Jaskier accepted her into his arms somewhat stunned.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed to stammer. The witcher said nothing in return, and they stood there for a long, awkward moment, before Jaskier realized he was probably waiting for something. “Oh! I don’t—I don’t have anything to pay you with…” he trailed off, recalling all the old adages, that witchers never worked for free. Fuck. Renfri wouldn’t be home for days if not weeks still, and the only coin he had he needed to save for the market day after tomorrow.

The witcher began to speak—what it was he was going to say, Jaskier didn’t know, but he interrupted as an idea struck him. “But I can offer you the Law of Surprise!” he suggested, recalling the ballads of children promised to witchmen. “We’ve a bitch due for pups soon—perhaps we’ll return home and you’ll find yourself with a companion to warm the long nights on the road!”

“Hmm,” the witcher replied, but it wasn’t a no, so he figured that it probably meant he wasn’t about to be forced into the witcher’s debt. Humming, he led the way back to the farmstead, the witcher a silent, hulking protector at his back.

Once they arrived, Jaskier was quick to secure Henrietta in the barn, where normally there would be pigs, but now, after sickness had taken their only sow, there was only dust and hay and the occasional mouse. He left Henrietta to her mouse hunting and led the witcher to the cottage, throwing open the door, excited to see what surprise he might find.

“Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought a witcher home?” asked Renfri, perched on the table and cleaning underneath her fingernails with one of her many knives.

Jaskier paled. “Renfri! You’re—you’re not meant to be home yet,” he choked out.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she drawled, eyebrows knitting together. Jaskier, helpless, threw a glance back at the witcher, who was wearing a thunderous expression. Shit.

“I—not in this case, no,” Jaskier said tersely. “Fuck.”

“Some welcome,” she said faux-calmly, hopping down off the table. Jaskier recognized the tenseness in her form that spoke of a predator preparing to pounce. Sure enough, she lunged a moment later, her knife held a half-inch away from the witcher’s throat. Jaskier yelped. “Did he hurt you, Julek?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the witcher’s face.

“No, nothing of the sort, now put that down,” Jaskier hissed, tugging ineffectually at her arm. “He saved me, in fact, and…”

“And?” Renfri asked lowly.

“…and I may have promised him the Law of Surprise in return,” Jaskier finished all in a rush, wincing. “I swear, Ren, if I’d known…”

“That’s the thing about surprises,” the witcher interjected. “But you needn’t worry. I have no plans to claim your—sister?” Jaskier nodded. “As I said before, I need no payment.”

Renfri lowered her knife, and Jaskier breathed a bit easier for it. Renfri was a formidable fighter, but Jaskier doubted even her strength against a witcher. If a fight had broken out, he’d have had to—well, not help, because he was rather useless in a fight, but it was the principle of the matter.

“I suppose I could do worse for myself,” Renfri mused, looking Geralt over critically.

“Wait you’re—Renfri, he said he wouldn’t claim you, you don’t have to.”

“And what if I want to?” Renfri answered. “He seems a decent sort. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”

The witcher, looking uncomfortable, stood there and said nothing.

Jaskier threw his hands up. “You’re insane. And you!” he said, turning to the witcher. “Are you agreeing to this?”

“The life of a witcher isn’t well suited to… companionship,” the witcher replied, face twisted. “Walking the Path is difficult.”

“And if I promise that I can handle myself?” Renfri asked, twirling her knife in one of the many tricks she was proud of. “I’m no stranger to the road. It’s Jaskier you’d have to watch out for.”

“I resent that,” Jaskier said mildly, mostly out of principle. But the prospect was too exciting to dwell on it for long—was Renfri truly proposing that they set out with a witcher? “Ren, do you mean it?”

“If your witcher is fine with it, then I don’t see why not,” she replied. “What do you say, witcher?”

“Geralt,” the witcher corrected her. “If we’re to travel together, you ought to at least know my name.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. It rolled off the tongue wonderfully. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to write so many songs, just wait,” he gushed. “The Witcher and the Shrike—I can hear it now.”

Renfri pulled him out of his thoughts with a cuff to the shoulder. “Ow,” he said mildly. “Wait—you are planning on sharing, right?” he interjected. “Because, I mean, look at him.”

“Am I a toy to be shared among siblings?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that a no, you don’t want to sleep with both of us? Because I’ll respect that, I will, but also, not to objectify you or whatever, but dear gods please, I think my poor heart might break if I didn’t get to fuck you at least once.”

“Jaskier! Leave my Husband Surprise alone,” Renfri said, shoving him away. “Go get packed. Essentials only!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jaskier placated, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone, you lovebirds.”

As he left, Geralt turned to Renfri. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah, he’s chronically stupid. Gets it from our father.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late now. You’re stuck with us, witcher,” Renfri replied, looping an arm around Geralt’s.

Geralt made a show of sighing, but in truth, he wasn’t annoyed as all that. At least it would make life more interesting.

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt/renfri #geralt/jaskier/renfri #geralt/jaskier #witcher rarepair summer bingo #wrsb #geralt #renfri #jaskier

[sugarcubetikki]

#PleaseLeaveMarinetteAlone

Marinette has made some mistakes in the past. But I'm so sick and tired of people constantly hating on her. People say she never faces the consequences of her actions, but literally, look at where she is now...

As of NY, Marinette is still in a very difficult position:

She's facing heartbreak over Adrien. She's so confused about her feelings. She CAN'T pursue them. She CAN'T just be friends right now either, because her feelings keep coming back. She CAN'T avoid him. She's in a crazy position.

She's a guardian. And she didn't even ask for this. I mean, she can't escape from it either. Because giving up the box means losing your memories forever. It's now her responsibility. And she's not very well-trained either. She lost her mentor?

Since all of the superhero identities have been revealed, where to go on next, is literally all in Marinette's hands now, as the guardian, she has to decide. Another responsibility.

I'm pretty sure she's still babysitting, doing commissions for Jagged and Kitty Section. On top of her schoolwork and Ladybug and guardian duties, that's also a lot in her normal life.

Is she getting a good night sleep? I doubt it.

Has she been able to organize her schedule? I doubt that too because her favours, commissions and responsibilities aren't exactly things that can be scheduled. They just pop out of nowhere.

Still probably suffering from all the implications and issues the Cat Blanc scenario brought. How do we know that it still doesn't bother her?

Not to mention, she nearly lost her partner in NY.

Also, how is any of her behaviour in NY Special any normal? She's internally suffering with the conflict between her feelings? I mean, she was dying on the inside that special, because she's soo confused with her feelings. Like, that sad look at the end when she says "I don't know" is just pure confusion. Everything that special was a huge façade of Marinette going "justfriendsjustfriends". The only times she was genuine was when she chased after the car and the "I don't know". She's clearly very confused. She wasn't acting normal in the NY special, she was internally crumbling with her feelings. Unfortunately, the most genuine faces in that special were when she was sad, proves she's going through too much... 

One more thing. STOP BLAMING MARINETTE FOR BEING HYPOCRITICAL IN NY. People say that it was hypocritical of her to leave all the responsibility on CN's shoulders, when she shouldn't have gone to NY in the first place, and then continues to blame him. First of all, Marinette didn't leave all the responsibility on Cat's shoulders, she was counting on him to defend Paris and alert her because since she was in a different place, there are chances that she could be late due to a number of reasons: time difference, her phone could die so she wouldn't be able to access the akuma news app, etc. So, the emergency kitten is useful in situations like that. Second of all, she has to go back anyways since she's the only who can capture the akuma, she probably does have the magic macarons on her somewhere for her to transform into her space suit or she might've secretly brought the horse miraculous too. Third of all, she wasn't mad at CN for being in NY, she was mad because he was there without telling her. If he told her, she could've made her way around it, and made some last-minute adjustments, I doubt she would've been mad. He basically left Paris without alerting her. Which I can see why she'd be mad, it's reasonable. Fourth of all, it's not hypocritical, it's not like Ladybug said "It's ALL your fault that this entire thing happened." She didn't rub it in his face that Paris was in ruins because he LEFT. I mean, she could've seeing how mad she was previously but she didn't because she knew he was feeling guilty because of what happened with Uncanny Valley already, and I doubt the thought even crossed her mind, she seemed more upset about the situation, rather than being mad at Cat himself.

Moreover, when you're in difficult positions, you tend to act...not like yourself. And that was Marinette in S3. Her crazy behaviour was merely the outcome of the situation she was in.

Dealing with Lila: this girl basically threatened to take all her friends away and declared war. Not to mention, she lies with every breath and all her friends (except a few) believe her. 

Overwhelming responsibilities: Gamer 2.0 makes that clear enough.

Feelings for Adrien: This is so overlooked. But one thing to point out...In Frozer, Adrien basically confessed he's attracted to Kagami. And we know that Adrien is not ready, but Marinette doesn't. Marinette knows Adrien likes Kagami. She had that mindset for the entire season: and due to misunderstandings between her and Kagami in Frozer. Marinette didn't know how to view Kagami, I mean, until Ikari Gozen, she had to deal with her jealousy. Marinette's jealousy is very specific: it's only there when she's suspicious over the girl, or thinks she's mean, a liar, or just unpleasant somehow. Since Kagami is just as bad as Adrien with social cues and skills, maybe even worse, she might've come off quite rude and prissy in Frozer to Marinette. There's not only that. Marinette does know that Adrien could be attracted to more people in the future and then she could be too late soon, she's never going to be able to confess. Which is why, Marinette probably has that frantic way of trying to confess her feelings. She was panicking. She felt like she couldn't go by her own pace anymore...and since she's rushing and still very bad at expressing her feelings. She keeps failing. Not to mention, Alya is probably sick of Marinette being a lovesick puppy for this long and keeps pushing her to do it: Reflekdoll, Puppeteer 2. Besides, there's always Luka, who's calming presence also confuses her feelings. Since her feelings are such a bundle of confusion, she's definitely getting sick of them staying within her, and since she's in no stage of healthy communication, she's resorted to exaggerating her unhealthy methods even more. Mainly because she's too overwhelmed with everything. She needs to breathe.

That's it. For now.

#MarinetteNeedsABreak #LeaveMarinetteAlone

She's in no position to be receiving this hate, she's a mess, she's overwhelmed. She needs to sort her life out. That doesn't make her a bad character. It shows that people can be in difficult positions at times and can resort to doing crazy things...but they'll always have a chance to get back up again.

I’m not asking you to like her. It’s fine if you don’t like her that much. Just stop the insane hate. 

*EDIT: Keep in mind that Marinette has to try her best to look and feel optimistic enough because of this crazy supervillain. She can't afford being sad. Even if she's internally suffering, she needs to keep a strong face...*

#miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #stopthehate #miraculous s3 #miraculous s4 #miraculous new york #ladynoir #adrienette #adrigami #lukanette

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.V

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A new chapter for my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with the amazing @gen-syz-art as my artist ✨

See the second art piece by @gen-syz-art right here

____________________________

After they finally leave the dining table, Jaskier takes the witcher on a tour of the gardens, telling him about all the trees and bushes and flowers he can think of, and by the time they reach the far end of the fence, the mansion is lost in the greenery. 

The last time Geralt was here he knew that the gardens are big but had no idea just how enormous they actually are. 

He wants to ask about how many people it takes to keep an estate like this in perfect condition but that feels impolite, so he doesn’t. 

On their way back, they take a different route, and at about a halfway point come across a small pond, just as perfect as everything else. Lucio’s ears perk up but Jaskier gives him a little glance and the dog stays by his side. 

“Washing them after they get wet is a nightmare,” Jaskier laughs. “That fur requires a lot of work.”

His eyes light up every time he talks about his dogs and most people would probably find that childish, Geralt assumes, but not him. He knows perfectly well that an animal can be so much more than a pet, so he listens with interest, following Jaskier half a step behind. 

He should probably go, he knows it. It’s been hours since he’d arrived and he wasn’t supposed to stay in the first place, but Jaskier doesn’t mention it, doesn't seem uncomfortable, and so Geralt allows himself just a little more self-indulgence, deciding that he’ll leave at sunset, so that he can be back in the little town before midnight. 

He doesn’t really have a plan, after this. 

He could head to Gelibol, look for a contract or two there, it’s only a few days away now, but when he thinks of it, he realises that on his way to the mansion, he didn’t think about his next destination at all. Like all that mattered during those days on the road was getting here, and what came after was mostly irrelevant. 

And that’s… not right. 

Not the way it’s supposed to be, not the way he’s used to it being. He’s a witcher, not a simple wayfarer that can afford not knowing his next destination. A life on the Path is a life that has to have all the next steps planned out, drawn on a mental map. In late autumn, he’ll have to head to Kaer Morhen and if he’s not careful enough, if he allows himself to get so involved in something that isn’t work, he might not get to the keep at all this winter. It’s only a matter of days that Kaer Morhen gets completely cut off from the rest of Kaedwen by snow. 

No, he shouldn’t do this anymore. Shouldn’t concentrate on anything other than the monsters that need to be killed. 

He will stay until sunset and then leave. Leave for good this time, if he wants it or not. Making connections is just too much for him to afford. In the end, he will always only bring pain, he knows it a little too well, because what else can a witcher give someone? 

Jaskier seems to notice that he’s gone quiet, because Geralt is pulled back into reality by the feeling of the younger man’s warm fingers on his wrist.  

“What are you daydreaming about?” he smiles, suddenly standing very close. 

Geralt blinks, shaking his thoughts off, and for a second just stares at Jaskier’s hand on his wrist. He’d taken his gloves off when they were in the library, and now the feeling of skin on skin almost startles him. 

“Nothing,” he finally makes himself say. “I was just thinking about how useful some of these plants could be when making elixirs.”

That seems to light another little fire in Jaskier’s eyes, because he asks almost immediately:

“Do all Schools use the same elixirs? Or do they wary, like armour and swords?”

It looks like it’s Geralt’s time to talk now, and, well, he’s not opposed to satisfying Jaskier’s appetite for knowledge. 

“It’s all the same,” he says, almost tripping over his words when Jaskier’s fingers slip down from his wrist and brush over the back of his hand. It’s just a heartbeat, how long it lasts, and then they’re walking again. “Different Schools could have a different reaction, though, because the Trials and mutations differ.”

He tells Jaskier about the most predictable elixirs - such as Swallow or White Honey - and the most unpredictable ones, like Thunder. Tells him about the way Cat works, allowing him to see in complete darkness, and about the way Black Blood helps fight vampires, though it tastes worse than most of the elixirs combined. 

Jaskier listens without interrupting, just wrinkles his nose when Geralt tells him that some elixirs call for components like nekker hearts. 

He walks closer to the witcher than before, and though they’re still separated by Lucio, who partially has Jaskier’s attention, Geralt can almost feel his warmth and that makes him think about what would happen if he was the one to reach out and touch. Would Jaskier flinch away, like all people always do? Or would he allow for it, even though Geralt has no right?

By the time they get back to the mansion the witcher manages to drive himself half-insane with those thoughts.

“It will take us the entire rest of the day to make our way through the mansion, but if you want to, I’ll show you around,” Jaskier says when the front door closes behind them. 

Geralt hesitates for a moment. 

If he agrees, he’s going to have to leave right after go through all the floors, but if he doesn’t, they’ll settle down somewhere and he’ll have to do something with this itch under his skin that makes him long for just one more touch. It doesn’t go away when they walk, but it’s easier to ignore. 

And, after all, he does want to see the mansion. 

“Well,” he says, smiling just a little. “I was wondering how do you not get lost in these labyrinths.”

Jaskier laughs, ruffling his chestnut hair, and the sleeves of his chemise shimmer in the light that pours in through the windows. 

“I do, actually,” he says, adjusting the cuffs that wrap tightly around his wrists. “Sometimes.”

***

Geralt counts twenty-six empty bedrooms as they make their way through the five floors of the mansion. There are also music rooms, study rooms, balconies, three more libraries, though much smaller than the one on the ground floor, a studio with canvases and paints, a ballroom, a little in-door garden filled with light from a glass ceiling, and a separate room with everything one might need to take care of Asra and Lucio. Aside from all that, there are dozens of other rooms that Geralt can’t find the right name for or simply can’t keep track of. 

All the rooms are impeccable, not a single cobweb or even the thinnest layer of dust, and Geralt can’t even imagine how many people must work here to keep it that way. 

Geralt tries to keep count of all the paintings and other pieces of art that he sees but loses track somewhere on the fourth floor. They’re all beautiful, though, he can’t deny Jaskier that. 

The mansion doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore, at least not in the way it used to, and by the way they get back to the library which seems to be Jaskier’s favourite room of the entire estate, Geralt feels like some sort of weight has been taken off his shoulders. 

It is, however, just a little before sunset, and the room is painted in bright golden light that makes it seem, though for only a few short minutes, like the time has stopped. Jaskier’s eyes, when they catch the light, are even brighter than usual, and Geralt catches himself looking at that cornflower-blue for a little too long. 

He wonders what Jaskier would say if he were to tell him that he looks beautiful like this, but instead if being thrilling, the uncertainty feels terrifying, so Geralt bites his tongue and keeps his thoughts to himself. 

He does, after all, have to leave. 

“It’s getting late,” he says carefully. “I think it’s best if I get to the inn in town before minding, so I should--” 

Jaskier doesn’t quite let him finish, turning around from where he’d been basking in the sunlight by one of the windows. 

“Oh, don’t you start with that again,” he says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You can stay here. Arthur had arranged for the room that you chose last time to be prepared hours ago.”

Geralt falters. 

He shouldn’t stay. He shouldn’t allow himself to stay again, to go back to that room, to that bed with its silks and velvets and cushions. He shouldn’t allow himself to stay here with Jaskier because this is not what he’s meant to do. 

He’s a witcher, his life is destined for the Path and the monsters that he comes across while travelling it, not mansions and this aching, suffocating feeling somewhere deep in his chest, like he belongs. Like there could be more to life than just hunting and contempt. 

His emotions must show, because Jaskier takes a step closer. 

“Oh, come on,” he persuades. “There is a wyvern in the nearby forests, I’ve told you. It’s already getting dark, if you leave now, I’m gonna be worried about you.”

Geralt wants to tell him that wyverns aren’t nighttime predators. That he’s going to be perfectly safe on his way back to the town and that even if the creature was to strike, he knows very well how to deal with one of those. 

He wants to tell Jaskier that he shouldn’t stay because he’s not meant for any of this, but before he can, Jaskier takes another two steps towards him. 

“Stay,” he asks, reaching out to take the witcher’s hands into his own.

And against that, Geralt is powerless. 

He looks down at their hands, Jaskier’s perfect skin standing out against his own, rough and covered with thin, barely visible scars. The warmth of the younger man’s touch radiates through his entire body, now that there is no leather of gloves to separate them. 

He shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t allow himself this but he can’t bring himself to take his hands away and turn towards the door, not with that gleam of hope in Jaskier’s eyes. 

“Alright,” he nods, finally. “Wouldn’t want you to worry for me, would I?”

***

It’s only after midnight that Geralt finally bids Jaskier goodnight and makes his way to the same bedroom that he’d stayed in the last time. 

He undresses and quickly slips under the fur blankets, escaping the night cold. Now that he doesn’t feel like an intruder in the mansion, the bed seems even more comfortable.

Geralt settles among the pillows and cushions, listening to the trees behind the large windows rustle and whisper in the breeze. 

It feels both right and wrong, being here. 

Jaskier is so… kind to him, but whatever he does, Geralt can’t figure out why. 

After he’d agreed to stay for the night, they stayed in the library until nightfall, just talking and keeping themselves warm with the sweet herbal tea that Arthur had brought them, and then, when the moon was already high in the sky, went out to check on Roach and other horses. Geralt supposed that they’ll go back indoors as soon as they leave the stables, but instead, Jaskier chose the porch of one of the garden-facing doors to settle down on, and pulled Geralt onto the wooden steps alongside him. 

The gardens held some special kind of beauty to them at night, and for a few long minutes, they just sat in comfortable silence, not close enough to touch but enough for Geralt to feel the warmth radiating off Jaskier. 

He wondered then, in the very back of his mind, what would happen if he was the one to reach his hand out, feel that warmth closer, but of course, he couldn’t. Whatever the younger man’s motives were for all of this, Geralt was still a witcher, and Jaskier didn’t need touches from him. 

But it was nice, just sitting there together, looking up into the dark sky, filled with shimmering stars, and not thinking about anything else, if only for a few moments.

Geralt sighs, turning to lay on his side and pulling the covers up to his shoulders, the furs pleasantly warm against his bare skin. 

It’s quiet, like the mansion is entirely separated from the outside world, and it’s such a contrast to the noisy inns and taverns, or the forests where everything comes alive at night, that Geralt, for once, almost feels peaceful. 

Peaceful, if just a little lonely. 

After spending the entire day with Jaskier and his seemingly constant attention, being alone again, in such a big room, almost feels… cold, somehow. 

Geralt knows he shouldn’t think about it, shouldn’t even entertain the thought, but he still wonders if he’ll ever return to this room again, if he’ll ever spend another night in this bed. 

He should leave in the morning and not come back anymore, because being here makes him feel in a way he’s not supposed to. In a way that probably wasn’t even close to reality. 

Jaskier had told him that he’s interested in witchers, that it’s been that way ever since the Academy - which, Geralt assumed, was about eight or ten years ago - so this is probably all he was to him - an academic interest. 

What other reason would he have to invite Geralt into his home not once but twice? Why else would he insist that he stays until morning? 

But even as Geralt thinks that, he still knows - somewhere in the back of his mind - that that’s not true. Not entirely, at least.  

Jaskier barely asked him any questions about his training or anything else that could provide him some insight into the life of a witcher. He didn’t even ask about his hair, just looked, and Geralt answered the unspoken questions on his own volition. Because Jaskier looked at him with genuine curiosity rather than contempt. And it wasn’t because Geralt is a witcher, but rather because he simply… looked different. 

Silver, Jaskier said, my dogs are white and your hair is silver. 

No one has ever said anything like that to him before. 

Silver, he supposed, was a beautiful colour. Certainly more beautiful than grey, which he’d heard his hair referred to much more than once. 

It wasn’t that he cared that much about the colour of his hair, for he’d grown to accept it as it was decades ago, it was that Jaskier saw it differently than everyone else. Saw him differently.

Silver. 

Like one of his swords. Like the medallion on his neck. 

Geralt turns to lie on his other side, his thoughts making him restless in a way that he can’t call unpleasant. 

He thinks back on all of those little touches and smiles that Jaskier had given him, thinks back on the blush on his cheeks when Jaskier asked him whether or not his shoulder is healed yet and Geralt, for reasons still not entirely known to him, had decided to tease him about his choice of words. And even then, Jaskier had won that little battle.

“You had me half-naked in this very chair half an hour after meeting me last time, and now it’s inappropriate to talk about my physique?”

“It’s not like I was looking! I’ll let you know that I’m a very responsible man and I was only focused on the task at hand.”

“Of course. Very focused on me and my built shoulders.”

“Well, if that’s what you want to believe.”

Oh, Geralt thinks, sitting up on the bed with the force of the sudden realisation, Was he flirting with me?

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier big bang #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the drug the dark the light the flame #my writing #calton writes

[maxwell-grant]

So that ask about a Doc Savage/The Shadow crossover (which as an aside, I agree that Doc is probably the worst of the archetype he is functionally the Ur-Example of that isn’t an intentional deconstruction focusing on his worst eugenicist/borderline-fascist aspects to create a villain) has me thinking: what exactly would be the boundaries for a good, well-written crossover between the Shadow and different genres or eras of what we all collectively call pulp? Could someone do a crossover between the Shadow and Indiana Jones that didn’t rely on one or the other being little more than a glorified cameo in a small portion of what was essentially the other’s story, or reducing the former to his lamest two-dimensional “gun-toting homicidal maniac” interpretations? Could the Shadow ever functionally exist in a universe shared with a space opera setting like the Lensman series? It seems like one could theoretically do a crossover between the Shadow and a character of the same era like Nero Wolfe or Sam Spade, but would it strain credulity to attempt it with characters from an updated form of the private detective archetype like Thomas Magnum’s Hawaiian noir or Rick Deckard’s cyberpunk dystopia? Obviously not expecting answers to each of these hypotheticals specifically, just as examples of the kind of thing I’m wondering now.

I will be going through some of your hypotheticals though, you clearly gave a lot of thought to this and it's only fair I respond in turn. I am always eager to respond anyone who wants to ask specifics about writing The Shadow, because much of what I strive to do through this blog is to just inform people about the many, many things that made The Shadow great, the things that have been neglected, and to provide paths anyone who wishes to write the character may take. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to write The Shadow someday, but the least I can do is spread knowledge as I work my way there. I'd like to think I've done allright so far.

It's a fairly big question though so we're gonna through it by pieces...

...not THAT way

what exactly would be the boundaries for a good, well-written crossover between the Shadow and different genres or eras of what we all collectively call pulp?

Part of the reason why I did a post yesterday on The Shadow's influences is because looking at them, looking at a character's influences and history, I think are always essential to the prospect of tackling them. And in that regard, The Shadow doesn't actually have much, if any, boundaries stopping him from crossing over with just about anything. The most that's stopping the pulp heroes currently is, besides legal issues, their time periods and obscurity, but The Shadow is the most famous of them all, and a lot of stories have already worked with the idea that he's immortal (which I have my misgivings with, but for better or worse is clearly not going anywhere, and it's not a unworkable concept).

Right from the start, The Shadow was designed to be a long-running, versatile character that could partake in whatever adventures they felt like telling, and part of this is due not just to an incredibly strong personality not afforded to most pulp heroes or characters in general, even those who tried imitating him, but also the fact that he often takes a narrative backseat to the agents and proxy heroes, which means he doesn't have to carry a narrative by his own (and is in fact best suited not to), can blend in to just about anyone's story, and still stand out and be the center of sprawling mysteries. Actually, I'm gonna let Walter Gibson answer this one for you:

While his major missions were to stamp out mobs or smash spy rings, he often tabled such routines in order to find a missing heir, uncover buried treasure, banish a ghost from a haunted house or oust a dictator from a mythical republic.

There was no limitation to the story themes as long as they came within the standards of credibility--which proved easy, since The Shadow was such an incredible character in his own right that almost anything he encountered was accepted by his ardent followers.

Widespread surveys taken while the magazine was appearing monthly showed that a large majority of newsstands sold nearly all their copies within the first two weeks of issue. While other character magazines might show an early flurry, their sales were either spread evenly over the entire period or gained their impetus about the middle of the mouth and sometimes not until the third or even the fourth week.

From the writing standpoint, this made it advisable to adhere more closely to the Cranston guise and to emphasize the parts played by The Shadow's well-established agents, since regular readers evidently liked them. Also, it meant "keeping ahead" of those regulars, with new surprises, double twists in "whodunit" plots, and most exacting of all a succession of villains who necessarily grew mightier and more monstrous as The Shadow disposed of their predecessors.

Always, his traits and purposes were defined through the observations and reactions of persons with whom he came in contact, which meant that the reader formed his opinion from theirs.

This gave The Shadow a marked advantage over mystery characters forced to maintain fixed patterns and made it easy to write about him. There was never need for lengthy debate regarding what The Shadow should do next, or what course he should follow to keep in character. He could meet any exigency on the spur of the moment, and if he suddenly acted in a manner opposed to his usual custom, it could always be explained later.

The Shadow’s very versatility opened a vast vista of story prospects from the start of the series onward. In the earlier stories, he was described as a “phantom,” an “avenger,”, and a “superman,” so he could play any such parts and still be quite in character. In fact, all three of those terms were borrowed by other writers to serve as titles for other characters.

Almost any situation involving crime could be adapted to The Shadow’s purposes

The final rule was this: put The Shadow anywhere, in any locale, among friends or associates, even in a place of absolute security, and almost immediately crime, menace or mystery would begin to swirl about him, either threatening him personally or gathering him in its vortex to carry him off to fields where antagonists awaited.

That was his forte throughout all his adventures. Always, his escapes were worked out beforehand, so that they would never exceed the bounds of plausibility when detailed in narrative form. And that was the great secret of The Shadow.”

In some regards, The Shadow is a mirror. He presents himself to people the way that's best suited to them, the way they'd like him to be, the way he needs to be to affect them. They want money, he has it. They want honor, glory and purpose, he gives them that. They want to fight and turn around social systems for the better, he funds their dreams. Gangsters want the underworld's greatest hitman on their side, he becomes that and lets it be their doom. The story calls for a rich aristocrat who can rub elbows with politicians and kings and presidents, he can do that as long as it suits him. Kent Allard can be a world famous celebrity in one story and a disfigured, broke and faceless nobody in the next. You want a kind janitor with unexpected fighting skill to spy on police and assist the homeless, he has a little someone named Fritz for the occasion. You want an evil monster to be defeated, bring out Ying Ko. Hell, James Patterson's upcoming Shadow novel, which by all reviews seems to be pretty lousy, apparently features The Shadow transforming into a cat. Why? Screw you, that's why! But you'd never see James Bond or Batman spontaneously transforming into a cat without outside interference. He's The Shadow, he's got a face for everything.

(Okay to be clear I don't actually want the Shadow to literally transform into animals, at least not without a good explanation which the book clearly doesn't provide, but I do think it illustrates my point about how generally weird he is)

He is a shapeshifter who can be just about any character in any given narrative who only reveals himself when it's time to materialize into a cloaked terror or a familiar face (whether it's Cranston or Allard or Arnaud and so on). War stories, romance stories, sci-fi stories, globetrotting stories, parody stories, he's done all of them and then some. He doesn't need to be the protagonist of a story, he doesn't need to be invincible, and he doesn't really have any set rules regarding powerset. Gibson stressed credibility a lot, but for over 70 years now, that's clearly gone by the window of the character's writing. By design, he was always meant to be able to smoothly integrate into any existing narrative. Frankly, the only thing that's really holding him back (or saving him, depending on how you look at it) is the fact that he's not public domain (yet).

I think for a start, it's not so much boundaries, because in make believe land boundaries are just things to be overcome on the way to telling a story, so much as it's a good working knowledge of the character and of how far you are willing to stretch your storytelling limitations to include him, because he can account for just about all of them. Now, obviously there's stuff that works for the character better than others, a lot of Shadow fans don't like it when they take the character too much into fantasy, there's debates on how superpowered should he be if at all, and so forth. I have my own preferences, but one of the bigger tests of long-running characters is how can they succeed and thrive when placed outside of their element, and The Shadow can do that.

Could someone do a crossover between the Shadow and Indiana Jones that didn’t rely on one or the other being little more than a glorified cameo in a small portion of what was essentially the other’s story, or reducing the former to his lamest two-dimensional “gun-toting homicidal maniac” interpretations?

would it strain credulity to attempt it with characters from an updated form of the private detective archetype like Thomas Magnum’s Hawaiian noir

Well regarding the first question, the latter portion I think is very easy to do. Just, don't write him like that. Just be aware of why that's a mischaracterization, why the character doesn't need that to work, why he works better without it, and so on. It shouldn't be that hard.

Regarding Indiana Jones and Thomas Magnum, I think these two actually lend themselves very easily to crossovers with The Shadow. On Indy's case, he already is a Pulp Hero operating in the same time period, who's got a heavily contrasting niche and personality to build a fun dynamic around. Indy is more story-driven, in the sense that the Indiana Jones moves are all centered around his experiences and point of view and growth as a person, compared to The Shadow's stories, which are not really about "his" story as much as they are about the stories of the people he comes in contact with. Indy is a blockbuster superstar while The Shadow lurks and slithers through the edges and cracks of a story until it's time to strike. But if anything that just makes even more of a case as to why they could team up without issue, since there's a further built-in complimentary contrast to work with.

I have never watched Magnum P.I so there's definitely stuff I might be missing, but looking him up, past the necessary explanation as to why The Shadow's hanging around the 80s, it wouldn't strain credulity at all for the two to team up. The Shadow has had Caribbean/beach-themed adventures and one unrecorded adventure in Honolulu, he has a beach bum secret identity called Portuguese Joe that he could use for this occasion, and Magnum seems like exactly the kind of character who could star as the proxy hero of a Shadow novel. He's lively and friendly and can look after himself, he has a job that leads him to trouble and puts him on contact with criminals as well as victims, he's got secrets and a dark past and a laundry list of character flaws, he's perfectly capable of carrying a story by himself but can be out of his depth in the schemes that he gets caught up in.

Could the Shadow ever functionally exist in a universe shared with a space opera setting like the Lensman series? Or Rick Deckard’s cyberpunk dystopia?

I'm going to tackle parts of this question more throughly when I answer one in my query that's asking me "How would you do The Shadow in modern day?", which I still haven't gotten around to answering because it's a tricky one. I won't go into the specifics for the two examples you listed because I've never read the Lensman books and googling about them hasn't helped much very much, and Deckard's a fairly standard P.I character mostly elevated by the movie he's in, there's not really much to discuss regarding him specifically interacting with The Shadow. The question you're asking me here seems to generally be: Could The Shadow functionally exist in settings so radically apart from the 30s Depression era he was made for?

My answer for this is a maybe leaning towards yes. Starting with the fact that the concept of The Shadow is more suited for allegorical fantasy along the lines of space operas and cyberpunk, than the gritty realism he's been saddled with for decades, which I'll get into another time. For some reason, a lot of people seem to harp on about how the Shadow's costume is impractical and unworkable for modern times, and said James Patterson novel mentioned above ditched it all together, which as you can guess was a massively unpopular decision. Matt Wagner talked once about how cities don't have shadows and men wearing hats anymore and that's part of why you can't have The Shadow in modern times (as if The Shadow was always supposed to be dressing like an average guy, and not cowboy Dracula). But nobody seems to have a problem with characters dressing up exactly like The Shadow showing up all the time in dystopian future cities with fashion senses where they stick out like a sore thumb (and really, they should stick out, otherwise what's the point of being all weird and dark and mysterious?)

Although The Shadow is specifically suited for urban settings, is conceptually rooted in 1930s America, and there are important facets of his characterization related to history like the Great War, there are not the be-all end-all of The Shadow. It's part of the character. Other parts integral to the character are, as mentioned above, the versatility and metamorphous nature he was always intended to have. His nature as a character who exists to thrive in narratives not about him and not centered around him. His roots on Dracula and King Arthur and Oz and Lupin which are concepts that have had so, so many drastical revisions and turnabouts that still stuck to the basic principles of the icon.

Besides, The Shadow's already been there. He's already been to space, he's already been in alternate dimensions, he's already reawakened in modern/future times several times now (when he doesn't just live to them unchanged). He's been a cyborg twice, and between those, El Sombra, Vendata, X-9, the Shadow-referencing robot henchmen from Bob Morane and Yu-Gi-Oh's Jinzo referencing the movie's bridge scene, it's enough to constitute a weird pattern of The Shadow and Shadow-adjacent characters turning into robots. Perhaps one positive side effect of The Shadow's decades-long submersion in fantasy is that it's opened the character for just about anything, and I think this could be a good thing if it was married to an adherence to the things that made him such a juggernaut of an icon in the 30s and 40s.

Really, The Shadow partially works on Predator rules. And by that I mean, the big secret of the Predator that filmmakers don't seem to get is that the best way to make a Predator film is to just put the Predator somewhere he's not supposed to be, and let that play out. Because the Predator is, by design, a trespasser who invades narratives and turns the power dynamics around, and that works for any narrative you put it into.

The first movie is all about setting you up for a jungle action movie with Schwarzenegger's Sexual Tyrannosaurus Crew as the biggest baddest death squad around, only for the Predator to appear, turn the tables on these shitheads and pick them off one by one until Arnie scrapes a victory by beating it at it's own game. The 2nd movie is about a drug war between cops and gangs in L.A, until the Predator shows up and suddenly he's the big problem again that's gotta be put down. All the other movies fail because they try to be "about" the Predator, but the Predator doesn't work that way. He's a ugly motherfucker who's here to fight and kill things in cool ways for the sake of it's warrior game, who already has a specific structure to how his story's meant to play out, and that's all he needs to be. What you do is just take that character, take the structure he carries around, and throw it somewhere that works by different rules, and let the contrast play out the story.

Obviously there's a lot more to The Shadow than this, I write a billion essays on the guy after all, but much of what makes The Shadow work, much of what made The Shadow such an icon at the decade of his debut and such an interesting character to revolve any kinds of stories around, was because of the great contrast he posed to everything surrounding him, and the ways he can both be at the forefront as well as the backseat of any story.

Going back to what Gibson said:

Almost any situation involving crime could be adapted to The Shadow’s purposes. He could meet any exigency on the spur of the moment, and if he suddenly acted in a manner opposed to his usual custom, it could always be explained later.

The Shadow was such an incredible character in his own right that almost anything he encountered was accepted by his ardent followers.

advisable to emphasize the parts played by The Shadow's well-established agents, since regular readers evidently liked them.

The keyword here isn't that the Shadow should be realistic, frankly that's always been a lost cause. He was never really that realistic, and it's unfair to expect writers to keep pace with Gibson who had lifelong experience with the in and outs of magic and daring escapes and whatnot. The keywords I want to stress here is "accepted by his ardent followers".

Make a good explanation, an explanation that fits the character, an explanation that works, and the rest will follow. And if you can't, make us like the character. Make us accept that he can do and be all these things. Give us something to be invested in. And if that can't be The Shadow himself because he has to stay at arms length constantly to be mysterious, Gibson cracked the code almost a century ago through the agents. Make us invested in them, and through them, we will become invested in The Shadow.

The pulp Shadow would get tired, get injured, need rescuing, need to stop and rest and catch his breath, would need to think and plan and make split decisions on the spot and sometimes would make the wrong ones only to reverse them in the nick of time, and it made the fact that he was achieving all these things all the more impressive. The pulp Shadow was a creature of fantasy grounded in the history of the world he was a part of.

If you can make people care about The Shadow, be truly, genuinely invested in him and his world and the people he comes in contact with, be as invested in those as audiences were back then, you can and maybe should put him anywhere, doing anything, as long as you know what you're doing. As long as you understand what makes The Shadow tick, what makes him work and what doesn't, and whatnot.

Which is a lot of words for "do whatever you want, just don't fuck it up"

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #the shadow #lamont cranston #kent allard #the predator #indiana jones #thomas magnum

[xenolithium]

For the ship meme I’m curious to know what you think RusIta would be like <:

Who reaches out to new neighbors?

I mean, Ivan attempts to reach out to the neighbors all the time. Are his attempts successful? Well, that's another story entirely. He does look particularly intimidating afterall. Luckily though, his boyfriend is the sweetest, happiest little bean anyone could ever ask for. So through Feliciano, he's able to talk to people and get to know them a bit better. There's just something about Feli's presence that calms people's nerves. Maybe it's his ever happy-go-lucky attitude or that cute face, we'll never know.

Who remembers to buy healthy food?

Feliciano loves and I mean, loves to cook. So he's probably doing all the grocery shopping. Not that Ivan doesn't ever get time in the kitchen. They help each other all the time and Ivan's particularly good at assisting in chopping vegetables or washing the dishes. He's very helpful when he wants to be. They'll both somehow end up humming while they cook or swaying to whatever tune they conjure up. Suffice to say, they are very happy together in the kitchen.

Who remembers to buy junk food?

Ivan, he has a pretty big sweet tooth and sometimes when shopping at the grocery store he can't resist the cute packaging and the delicious treats laying in wait, just inside. Feliciano also likes sweet things, but more likely than not, he just makes it himself.

Who fixes the oven when it breaks?

Ivan, because 99% of the time, Feli somehow makes it worse. Not that he can't fix things, but he'll add something more which ends up conjuring another problem. Ivan gets straight to the point when he's tasked with doing something, on the other hand.

Who waters the plants/feeds their pets?

Ivan has a lot of plants, more plants than anyone would think possible for one person to have. Which he takes amazing care of; Feli has a cat, which he forgets to feed. So in the end, Ivan does that too, even though Gattino kinda hates him.

Who wakes up earlier?

Ivan, since Feliciano likes to sleep in. Plus Ivan can't make him breakfast in bed every morning if Feli is up first. He also needs to water the plants, feed the cat and then watch his boyfriend sleep. Wait, you didn't see that last one.

Who makes the bed?

Neither really bother making the bed unless guests are over or they just washed the sheets. But usually that entails them cuddling together naked under warm, clean sheets so it's not made for very long.

Who makes the coffee?

Ivan will make the first cup and then Feli will make the second, third and fourth. Depending on what kind of day it is, like a meeting early in the morning. But Ivan always makes breakfast and that includes coffee.

Who burns breakfast?

Neither of them, they're both good cooks who know what they're doing in the kitchen. Even a normally easily distracted Feli remembers not to turn away from the stove when in the middle of cooking.

How do they let each other know they're leaving the house?

Feliciano will announce it loudly, even if it's only for a couple minutes like leaving to take out the trash. For longer trips he'll always pepper a few kisses on Ivan's face, tugging him to bend down so he can do so. But most of the time, these longer trips aren't as long as one would think because Ivan somehow always ends up finding an excuse to be next to him again.

Ivan gets very pouty, sort of like a child that isn't getting his way. He doesn't want to go and he'll pull every card in the book, not to. But eventually he'd relent and give Feliciano lots of cuddles and kisses like he'll never see him again, even if that couldn't be further from the truth. He's a little over dramatic.

How do they greet each other when one of them comes home?

It depends on how long the outing was for Feliciano. Just half a day? Then he'll be pretty casual about it. He'll keep cooking, or doing whatever he was doing prior to when Ivan showed up and wait for him to walk into the room, before giving him a friendly smile and waving him over for a kiss. Which will cause Ivan to pout because that wasn't what he wanted, sitting there like a big sad dog, begging for attention until Feli puts down his cooking utensils and turns to give him it. If it was a longer trip, then Feli would greet him at the door and kiss him in greeting right away.

Ivan is always happy to see him, no matter how long he took. He'll give him the biggest bone crushing, teddy bear hug and hang off of him to get some much needed affection.

Who brings home little gifts more often?

Ivan, he buys him whatever cute things he can find and afford. It gets to a point where Feli has to reassure him that he loves him regardless of how many things he brings him, because he realizes it's done out of Ivan's own insecurities that he keeps going to such an extreme.

Who picks the movie for movie night?

Usually Feliciano will pick it since Ivan says he doesn't care what movie they watch. But then he'll make comments throughout the movie about why it sucks, especially if it's a Hollywood movie. And Feli will begin to question his choice, but when asked, Ivan will insist it's perfectly fine.

Their favorite kind of movie to watch?

Romance for sure, Ivan likes animated movies a lot though as well like Disney.

Who first suggests a pillow fort?

They're both just as likely as the other to suggest doing this. It's a perfect opportunity to cuddle and talk while doing something cute and cozy. Usually they'll have a star projector underneath the covers as well.

Who falls asleep first?

Feliciano, usually because Ivan doesn't want to fall asleep first. He likes to listen to the sound of his boyfriend's soft and slow breathing. Thinking about how happy he is now with someone in his life and how great it is to actually fall asleep next to someone. He'd snuggle up against Feli's back, take in the scent of his hair, the feeling of his body and let the knowledge that he's there lull him to sleep.

Who is the big spoon/little spoon?

Ivan is the big spoon, mostly because it'd be awkward the other way around due to their size difference. But also because he likes being the big spoon. Feli tries to switch it up but either Ivan denies him or crushes his arm with his weight and they end up switching back again.

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Yay! Another done! Hopefully you like it! :D @canadiatuxedo

Wanna see me do your ship? Feel free to throw in an ask!

#hetalia #rusita #aph italy #aph russia #hws italy #hws russia #itarus #aph veneziano #hws veneziano #aph north italy #hws north italy #aph #hws #feliciano vargas #ivan braginsky #rarepair #hetalia headcanon #hetalia headcanons #headcanons #hc