#I spent more time than necessary drawing the stuff on his desk

[lulu2992]

John mending his shirt

After noticing that John's shirt looked like it had been mended several times, I imagined him sewing it up himself late at night in his bunker after a long day of work… so I drew this and I'm posting it now because I need to stop tweaking it :’)

#also I posted a WIP once so I'm legally obligated to post the finished product #I spent more time than necessary drawing the stuff on his desk #and that lamp #and that lighting oh my god #far cry 5 #john seed #those are 'my' tattoos we don't know what's canonically hiding under his clothes #my art #fan art #traditional art #digital coloring #did you notice that I didn't like to draw his glasses on his head?

[symphonicmetal101]

After watching some anime, can I request the brothers and Side characters with an MC that makes really great bentos in their aesthetic with their favorite meals? MC could make Lucifer a fancy dish of steak done to his favorite temperature, side dishes are organized neatly, and the bento is red and black to match his design or she made pink/pastel treats for Asmo is a very cute bento that matches his style. I think it would make their day when they receive something so cute from the human

ABSOFRICKINGLUTELY! ANON! I LOVE YOU! THANK YOU! However, I write gn! Whenever possible, so I hope you don't mind. Also, I've only made bento once, so I did a tinny bit of research. Most of them stray from traditional bento, however I tried to make sure I had the four components, (protien, carbs, salad/veggies, and fruit) (except Asmo), and different cooking methods for each. Some of them I forgot to explicitly say what colour the box was, so I'm sorry about that. I didn't do Luke because he had a role in Simeon's, and I blanked. (Sorry) Also, some of them have links bc I started to lose inspiration and motivation to write the same thing over and over again bc brain juice went bye. Hopefully I did this justice, I may have gotten a little carried away...sorry for rambling.

MC Makes Bento For The Boys

Lucifer

Lucifer had been working non-stop for the past few weeks

You had barely seen him, as he was so busy going back and forth from the castle, meetings, and he had banned everyone from his office. It had gotten so bad that he would "postpone" his meals, but nobody had seen him eat in a while.

You had a lot of spare time, so you did meal prep for the whole week just for Lucifer.

It was a little past noon by the time you finished, (and made Beel swear he wouldn't touch the food because you would treat him at Madam Scream's later), so you decided to make a bento box for Lucifer's lunch today with some leftover beef and rice you had.

With your protein and carbs taken care of, you prepared some roasted asparagus to add some colour to the box as well as a couple of carrots. You also added an umeboshi plum on top of the rice to match the colour of the box. (A/N I personally don't mind umeboshi on it's own, but if anyone wants to try it, I highly suggest you eat it with rice or have water on hand 😂)(oh yeah, umeboshi is a small, sour, pickled plum.)

In the final box you arranged a couple of orange slices, strawberries and grapes.

Satisfied, you brought the box and a glass of water up to his study. You didn't even bother knocking, knowing he would just send you away anyways.

You were greeted by a low growl. "Get out."

You rolled your eyes. "No. You need to eat Lucifer, and I'm not leaving until I know you've finished this."

"I don't have time for this MC. I have to-" he was cut off by his stomach rumbling.

He blushed slightly, and continued to busy himself with work.

"Please? I hate seeing you overwork yourself like this. Have you looked in the mirror lately? When was the last time you slept? Eaten? Had something other than coffee? Have you even gone to the bathroom in the past 48 hours?"

He sighed, folded his hands under his chin and looked up at you through disheveled raven locks.

"...you really aren't going anywhere until I eat." It wasn't a question, rather a statement with a trace of relief in it.

You extended the bento box out to him once more, though this time he accepted it.

"....thank you MC.....this is quite delicious. Perhaps once I'm done my work I can take you out to Ristorante Six to show my appreciation."

You pushed his hair back and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Once you're done your work, you're going to sleep. That's an order, sir."

He silently cursed himself as he felt himself blush again

You were planning to stay until he finished, but then you heard Mammon and Levi fighting.

"I'll take care of that love. Make sure you drink that water too. Also, I prepped meals for the rest of the week for you, so you have no excuse to not eat. I bribed Beel, so they should stay there, but as an extra precaution I got Satan to teach me a protection spell. I didn't tell him what it was for, so it should be fine."

He watched you close the door behind you and wondered what he did to deserve someone like you.

Mammon

He was complaining to you because his actions finally caught up with him, and tomorrow he had to go out and repay some witches with time and favours, (being a bagboy), instead of money

He started belly-aching even more when you told him you weren't interested in joining him.

Luckily you were on dinner duty tonight, so you had a legitimate excuse to leave his pity-party

However while you were making dinner, you decided to show Mammon a little bit of sympathy, and set some rice and pork cutlet aside that you could use later.

After dinner, Mammon followed Lucifer, trying to convince him to give him money.

So you had ample time to continue working on his bento.

He had a three compartment wooden box

You scooped the rice into the box, put the cutlet on top, and two thinly sliced pieces of lemon on top.

You cut up some yellow, red, and orange bell pepper to put in the top left corner of the box

In the last compartment, you cut up golden kiwi, pineapple chunks, and a couple blueberries

You were about to put it in the fridge, when Mammon came screaming into the kitchen.

"MC HELP ME LUCIFER'S MAD I DON'T WANNA GET STRUNG UP AGAIN AND- wait, what's that?"

You sighed. "It was supposed to be a surprise Mammon! I made lunch for you for tomorrow, because you're going to be doing some running around and who knows when you'll get a moment to yourself? I was going to cast a spell on it to keep Beel from eating it, so it would have lasted overnight too... I just want to make sure you have something healthy to eat and so you don't have to spend money on take out. If you don't want it though, I'll just give it to Beel..."

He blushed furiously. "Ya don't gotta worry bout me, silly human. The Great Mammon can take care of himself! But-uh, I'll probably end up taking it anyways, because it's umm, it's free food! And Mammon ain't about to pass that up!"

He tried to grab it, but you pulled it close to yourself and turned, blocking him.

"You only want it because it's free? Ok. Fine. You'll have to pay me if you want it." You teased

He whined a bit. "Aw come on, ya even said ya didn't want me spendin money tomorrow! And ya said it was for me! MC, this ain't fair!"

"I didn't say you had to use money."

The next day while Mammon was out and about, trying to carry multiple bags of stuff for the witches, he happily ate his food, a light blush on his cheeks as every bite reminded him of the way you felt against his lips yesterday.

Leviathan

Levi had lost out on another draw despite having spent copious amounts of money on the tickets

As such, he had locked himself in his room to temporarily drown in his sorrows

You decided to make Kyaraben, character bento, for him. (Kyaraben can also refer to animals, real life celebrities, or natural settings)

(I would do Ruri- Chan but I have no fricking clue, so here's a link to a recipe for Pikachu Kyaraben because that's what you did instead)

Hesitantly, you brought your creation to his room and lightly knocked on the door.

"...I don't wanna talk to anyone right now."

"Levi, it's me. I brought something to cheer you up! At least let me give it to you if you don't want me to stay."

You could hear some scuffling and mumbling from behind the door. "I highly doubt there's anything a normie like you can do to help."

You tried to brush that off, because, ouch, but you knew he was upset so you tried not to take it to heart.

He was pouty as he opened the door, his demon form on display.

His expression immediately changed when he saw the bento in your hands.

"WOOOOOAAAHHH!!! THIS IS FOR ME??!! YOU MADE ME BENTO??!! This is something straight out of anime!!! Uh...uhm...d-do you maybe w-want to share it?"

The last part of his sentence had him blushing furiously, and he refused to look you in the eye.

"Sure. Maybe we can watch that anime you texted me about a couple days ago too."

His eyes lit up with joy as he used his tail to gently grab your wrist and pull you excitedly to his couch.

Once he had arranged everything to his liking, he sat down and bashfully accepted the bento.

At some point, he asked if he could feed it to you, however, there was only one pair of chopsticks

Blushy otaku very much enjoyed the bento, not only because it was like his anime, but also because it was you who made it.

He also got a couple indirect kisses, and could not focus on anything but that for the next few days.

Satan

You and Satan had been spending a lot of time together lately because he was helping you study for a test

Thanks to Satan's tutoring, you had managed to get a much higher score on the test than you had imagined.

As thanks, you wanted to make a kitten Kyaraben

You found him in the library at a desk, hunched over a book, studying some foreign language.

He was so engrossed in his studies that he didn't notice you right away, so you tapped him gently on his shoulder.

"Ah, MC. I'm afraid I missed you coming in. Are you alright?"

You smiled and nodded. You brought the box out from behind your back with your test papers on top, the mark clearly visible.

"I couldn't have gotten that mark without your help, so I made you some bento as thanks. I hope you like it."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh MC, that wasn't necessary. Spending time with you was enough for me, but thank you."

He slid the lid off the bento and chuckled when he saw what you had done.

"That's quite clever kitten. Perhaps next time you can show me how to make it?"

His pet name made you blush a bit, but that didn't stop you from agreeing.

You two spent the next few hours discussing different meals you guys could learn to make together.

Asmodeus

Asmo had been taking you shopping lately, hyping you up and helping you destress with spa nights

In return, you decided to make a dessert bento box in a pretty pink container.

It was a square container split into nine compartments.

Across the top three compartments, you arranged a rainbow of mochi.

On the bottom three you arranged a rainbow of macaroons.

In the two outside compartments left, you put a mini Wicked cupcake in each

Finally in the middle, you arranged Hershey's kisses into a heart.

Satisfied, you made your way to his room and announced your presence at his door.

"Come in darling~ I'm just finishing up my nails!"

You let yourself in and settled across the table from Asmo.

"I brought you something. I just wanted to thank you for helping me out lately and show you how much I appreciate you!"

You placed the box next to him so he could see what you had done.

His squeal of excitement almost decimated your eardrums, however moments later you were enveloped in a very tight, heartfelt, "smooshy" hug, but his elated expression made up for your temporary loss of hearing.

"Ohh MC! You're so sweet!!!! These look delicious, let's share them!! Just let me take a picture first with my favourite snack!!"

You sat back and expected him to pick up a cupcake, but yelped as he pulled you into the frame.

"I said with my favourite snacc MC, and I meant it!!" (Yes, he still took a picture of the bento)

Beelzebub

You wanted to plan an outdoor date for the two of you that wouldn't require you to excersize.

So you decided to try and make Koraku Bento, or picnic bento, but even bigger in hopes you would be able to temporarily satiate Beel's hunger

Because you were making so much, you needed multiple boxes, and a couple days to prepare, so you asked Simeon if you could work at PH so Beel wouldn't get to it early.

Of course, he agreed

Day one, you prepared five different fillings for the Onigiri you were planning to make: sha-ke (salted salmon),umeboshi (Japanese pickled plum), okaka (bonito flakes moistened with soy sauce), kombu (simmered kombu seaweed), tuna mayo (canned tuna with Japanese mayonnaise)

Day two you prepared three large protiens, (chicken, beef, and pork), each enough to fill about two containers each. You cooked each of them differently. You also cut up/prepared vegetables you wanted to use for tempura.

Day three you woke up early in order to be ready to take Beel out after his game. You made rice and finished making the Onigiri, (which Luke was adamant you let him make with you).

And Simeon helped you make the tempura and a beautiful salad to accompany everything else.

However, now there was a lot of stuff to carry and you wanted to greet Beel out of his game.

So the angels took care of transporting the food to the roof while you went to get Beel

"Why are we going to Purgatory Hall? Are we having dinner with the angels?"

"Not quite. The date I wanted to take you on had a slight change of plans. We just need to get to the roof-"

"Do you want me to fly us up there?"

You considered it for a moment then agreed. If nothing else, you would be avoiding Solomon.

Once you landed, appreciation for the angels swelled as they had laid everything out so beautifully.

"...oh. It looks like someone else is doing something up here. It smells really good, so we should probably go. I don't want to eat someone else's food and ruin their night by accident....again." He tried to leave, but you pulled on him gently.

"I'm glad you think it smells good. This is for you! I made it for you, and the angels helped me bring it up here when I went to pick you up."

His eyes widened. "...All of that...you made it for me?"

You couldn't help but smile and nod at his bashful expression.

He hugged you gently. "Thank you MC. I know that took a lot."

"It was worth it! You haven't even tried it yet. Come on, I'm hungry!" You giggled.

Beel's stomach growled in response, causing a slight blush to light his cheeks. You're so good to him❤

Belphegor (this has a bit of crack energy, I'm sorry. So will Solomon's😅)

"MC....can you pass me my D.D.D?"

"MC....can you give me a massage?"

"MC....can you switch my laundry for me?"

"MC....can you pass me my pillow?"

"Belphie, I love you. I understand you're the Avatar of Sloth. But what the actual fuck? Your pillow is under your arm, just move it under your head. I've already gotten up, like six times to do stuff for you."

He groaned. "But it takes too much effort!" He smushed his cheek into his arm and attempted to give you puppy-dog eyes.

"Sorry, only Beel can pull that off. If you want your pillow moved less than a foot, you're going to do it yourself. You of all people should now how frustrating it is to get up as soon as you sit down."

He groaned again and grumbled as he moved his own damn pillow.

You tried to relax a bit. Normally your time with Belphie consisted of cuddles, movie nights, planeterium visits, or just plugging into some music and enjoying each other's company, like you were trying to do now.

Until you made eye contact with him again.

He was going to ask something-

"MC........... can you get me a snack?"

Dear God, he was not gonna like this.

"Of course Belphie. I'd love to."

You made your way to the kitchen with new found energy.

You were going to make Shikaeshi Bento (revenge lunchbox)

Basically, it's supposed to be inedible or embarrassing, and be used to convey anger or overall dissatisfaction

So you grabbed his bento box, dumped uncooked rice into it, cracked an egg and left the shell in the box. You used purple food colouring to make a heart.

You brought the box up to Belphie, who was surprisingly still awake

"That was quick."

You grunted in response and walked out

"Hey why are you leaving?!"

A few seconds later, you heard, "MC! ...WHAT DID I DO??!! I JUST WANTED A SNACK!!...MC PLEASE COME BACK I DON'T WANNA GET UP!!"

Diavolo

So, usually Barbatos is in charge of making sure the Demon Prince eats

However, you told Barbatos that you wanted to make something special for Dia

"My Lord would thoroughly enjoy anything you made for him. He's been very busy lately, so I'm sure he would appreciate the kind gesture."

Barbatos graciously gave you precedence over the kitchen, giving you full access to everything you could ever need or want.

You decided to make him bento with your favourite protein

One compartment you filled with rice, using sesame seeds and an umeboshi for garnish

You arranged pieces of your favourite fruits in one of the smaller compartments

Then you made your favourite type of tempura, and prepared the sauce to go in the last two compartments

You asked Barbatos where Diavolo would be, and he escorted you to his office.

"My Lord, MC has come to speak with you."

Diavolo's head shot up and his face lit up with delight as he watched you walk through the door.

"MC! A welcome surprise. How are you? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine! I actually just wanted to give you something." You gave him the black box.

"I made bento with some of my favourite things...you mentioned wanting to get to know me a little bett-"

You were cut off by Diavolo crushing you in a hug

"...My Lord, MC needs to breathe."

"Ah, my apologies MC. This is the most wonderful, meaningful thing anyone has ever given me. How can I adequately express my gratitude? Simply name anything you want, and it shall be yours."

Once you had regained your breath, you gave him a small smile.

"Anything? Could I trouble you for your time?"

"MC, Lord Diavolo must finish his work in a timely matter. I can clear his schedule for afterwards."

"Barbatos, could they stay long enough for us to share the wonderful meal they've prepared?"

Usually Diavolo's begging and sad eyes™ would be powerless against him, however the soft spot he had for you and your much- less-seen sad expression were enough for him to bend this once.

"My Lord, I'll be back in an hour. I'm afraid that's all the time I can allow."

He stepped out, and allowed a small smile form on his face as he heard the two of you celebrate, also knowing that later on he would be listening to a very happy prince recount everything you two talked about and how much he loved you.

Barbatos

You, the brothers, and the other exchange students had been invited to the demon lord's castle for another event

It wasn't for another day, but you felt your chest tighten as you remembered Barbatos

Did he even get to eat those days when everyone was there?

You didn't want to take that chance, and decided to set up a small, filling bento box.

It only had three compartments, so you stuffed each one.

One had rice and meat.

You made some sushi and tamagoyaki to go on top.

For the last compartment, you made a simple chickpea salad.

The next day, Barbatos welcomed you all to the castle, as per usual.

However, this time he stuck around once the brothers and others had left.

"I...Well you already know, but this is for you!"

He nodded and graced you with a smile. "My knowing does not take away from my appreciation MC. Admittedly, nights like this are very demanding. I will repay you later. Thank you."

He tried to walk away, but you yelled after him, "You're not supposed to repay someone for a gift! Just take it!!"

He smiled to himself as he started to eat some food.

Perhaps this night would not be as taxing as he thought

Simeon

You had been experimenting new dinner recipes with Luke at Purgatory Hall; you were watching him while Simeon was away.

"If we leave these leftovers out, Solomon will get to them and ruin them."

"....why don't we make bento for Simeon? He's coming back tomorrow, isn't he?"

Luke beamed at you. "Okay!"

He went to get a small bento box divided into fifths (two large bottom compartments and three small top ones).

"Ok, so in one of the big ones, we can fit the rest of the rice."

Luke nodded. "Can I use this?" He held up a star-shaped cookie cutter.

"Of course!" You helped him mould the rice into a stable star shape.

He looked so happy designing stuff, you let him take the lead.

By the time you were finished, it was easily the most stunning dish you had seen.

"Wow MC! We should do this more often!" He was very proud of himself, and rightfully so. "I can't wait to give it to Simeon!....Is it ok if I give it to Simeon? It was your idea, so it's ok if you want to do it instead..."

You just smiled at him. "You can give it to him, you did most of the work anyways. For now though, you need to get to bed."

He pouted slightly, but complied.

The next morning you woke up to Luke speaking very animatedly to Simeon.

"Yeah! We tried a bunch of new things, and then MC suggested we make you a bento box with the leftovers, and it turned out really well so I can't wait for you to try it!!"

You leaned against the kitchen doorframe observing the interaction.

"Thank you Luke, it looks wonderful. Good morning MC. I hope you slept well. Thanks for ba- for helping Luke while I was away."

He smiled gently at you before Luke was trying to get him to try the bento again.

He took a bite and smiled at Luke.

"It's delicious. You guys must have put a lot of love into it, as always." He looked directly at you at that point, but Luke was too elated to notice the silent exchange between you too.

Solomon

"Don't get mad at me! You agreed to test spells with me!"

"You asked me when I was half asleep Solomon! I also meant later, not right away!"

"Well, you're not a frog anymore, so I don't see what the problem is."

.... No, you weren't a frog anymore

That didn't mean you were happy about being a frog in the first place.

You texted Simeon, 'Who's on lunch duty today?"

"Me. Why?"

"I'll make us bento. We can picnic, the exchange students, that is."

So you spent the next little bit making normal bento for the three of you.

"Simeon said we should probably leave in five minutes" you thanked Luke and started on Solomon's.

You made Shikaeshi bento; you cracked four eggs and aligned their yolks into a rather phallic shape, added way too much fish oil, and threw a few sesame seeds on top.

However, once you made it to the picnic grounds, Solomon opened his box and gasped.

"MC, you know me so well!" And proceeded to drink right out of the box, the rest of you looking on in horror.

"I thought you were mad at me and you were going to give me something disgusting like Mac and Cheese. I guess all is forgiven. Thank you!"

At that point you couldn't even stay mad, that was just disgusting.

Aye, I hope you liked it anon, not sure if this is quite what you meant but....yeah.

Love y'all!

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me thoughts #long post #i really liked this one

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 2

WC: 1728

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: mentions of sexual themes, alcohol consumption, past relationships

🧠

You and Laszlo had easily fallen back in your work routine during the first week back. His course load was almost identical to that of the previous semester, and so he didn't mandate that you come to classes like he had during the fall. Even so, you insisted on attending like usual.

Taking your seat at the back of the lecture hall you watched as he moved around the front while he spoke. You were supposed to be sorting through the information cards the students had filled out. Not much was actually getting done, as you were highly distracted. His right hand typically found home in his trouser pocket so as not to draw attention. But his left? You licked your lips. Of course you loved both of his hands, but with his favoring the left side you developed a certain affinity for the limb. Oh what his hand was capable of, you reminisced.

Your sigh must have been louder than you anticipated, as Laszlo’s eyes snapped in your direction. “Perhaps if you are bored you should keep your noises of displeasure to yourself,” he said with a quirk of his brow. His face held a look of annoyance, but his eyes told you otherwise. He knew exactly what you were thinking about based on the sound you made and it amused him to no end. You knew he meant nothing by the harsh statement. He did so to maintain his staunch reputation in front of the class.

Biting your lip you issued a “sorry, professor.” Even from across the room you could see the brief flicker of heat in his eyes at your 'apology'. To everyone else the encounter would probably leave them shitting themselves, but you knew better. Even a small success such as this was to be celebrated in your mind.

You had been hoping that you could push Laszlo to be a bit rougher with you sometimes. He would often restrain himself when you were intimate, but you had an inkling that underneath he was just itching to let go. By no means were you ever left unsatisfied, he made damn sure of that. You wanted to kick things up a notch; you wanted to see what he was capable of.

He cleared his throat. Picking up where he left off, he began “as you can see, within psychology there is no single truth. No one theory that can fully or definitively explain who we are, why we are, or what becomes of us. That is why we must always ask of ourselves the purpose of our nature and our choices. This term will be a glimpse of seeking answers to our questions. In the meantime - you have a quiz on Monday for the parts of the brain and their functions. Do not be late or come with excuses, I do not give makeups often, if ever. Have a nice weekend.”

With that the young underclassmen all shuffled out to go spend their weekend most likely partying, rather than studying. You really couldn’t blame them, as this section of Introductory Psychology was in the late afternoon. As an undergrad you would have probably done the same on a Friday night.

Both you and Laszlo packed up your things from your respective areas of the room. Once the last student was gone he called out to you. “Sara and John want to meet up this evening, would you like to accompany them or do you have plans?”

“Will you be there too, or are you too busy with paperwork and stuff?” He had been complaining of having a list to work through this week with some new documentation requirement the university put out on the professors. You trek down the stairs to meet him by the front desk.

“I think it would be odd of me to invite you out in the event that I would not be there myself,” he quips back. His hand comes to rest on your side.

You hum in response. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

He chuckles at you, “you’ve spent every day with me.”

“You know what I mean.” Peering around to ensure no one was present, you lean up to give him a quick kiss. “What time do they want us there?”

He checks his phone for the text from John. “In half an hour.”

“Then we better get going before he hogs all the pretzels,” you crack.

The two of you made your way from the university to the old pub a few blocks down the road. Students didn’t come here often, as it was geared towards the older and less rowdy crowd. It was perfect for the four of you though. You had even gotten on with the owner, Cyrus, and his niece Joanna, who often worked the bar.

You sat in the booth next to Laszlo; Sara and John opposite you. The first 45 minutes or so were spent going over the events of the past week back. Eventually, the conversation slowed.

“I think I should get us another round. What do you say?” Sara asked the table. You slid out from your side offering to give her a hand with collecting the new beverages. Laszlo watched as you walked alongside her to the bar, laughing at something Cyrus had said to you. You always looked so beautiful when you were laughing.

“So…” John began, getting his attention. Laszlo turned to face his friend. “I heard a rumor.”

“You know I don’t put credence into such things, out with it John.” Clearly whatever he wanted to discuss he didn’t wish to say in front of your presence. Despite his words Laszlo did have some trepidation about the upcoming conversation. Could it be about you? Maybe you two weren’t being delicate enough with keeping the relationship subtle?

John looks over to the bar where you and Sara are still procuring the drinks. “Karen is in town.”

He relaxed at the turn of events. “Ah, yes. She is guest lecturing at the university while she conducts research of some kind in the city.” Laszlo is matter-of-fact in his response.

John studies him for a minute. He looks concerned. “It’s been what, four years since you last saw her? Or have you seen her yet?”

“I have not. Why do you ask?” He brings the near empty glass to his lips to take a sip of the harsh liquid.

“Well, Laszlo, I just mean that you two were serious for a long time before you moved out here. In fact I had figured you would settle down with her. You left her in Austria to come here, after all,” he explains quietly.

Laszlo cocks his head in confusion. “I don’t see how that would be a concern. The dissolution of our relationship was mutual - she stayed in Vienna; I came to New York. We did not want the strain of attempting something long distance and we both came to the same conclusion on the matter. And it has been four years, John, as you so kindly reminded me. I have moved on and I am quite content now.” His tone was nonchalant.

He is happy. You were vibrant, and thoughtful, and he couldn’t say that he had felt this lighthearted in years. His years with Karen were wonderful, but in truth they didn’t compare to what he had now with you. For once he felt hopeful for what the future with you could bring. It wasn’t as strong a consideration with Karen.

John holds up his hands as if to defend his words. “I’m glad for that, truly. She’s wonderful for you and I can see that. I just worry that Karen’s presence might cause a resurgence of emotions or whatnot with you. Sara and I would hate to see things fall apart for the two of you after everything,” he gestures towards where you stand with her. “Are you going to tell her about Karen?”

Laszlo nods in understanding. “I appreciate the concern, John. But I assure you, I view Karen strictly in professional terms now. I look forward to hearing about her studies here as they could be illuminating for my courses.” He sees movement from you and Sara as you begin your return. “I do not see myself withholding information regarding my past with Karen, but I don’t know that I find it necessary to bring it up as of yet.” John’s nod is faint, as though he disagrees but isn't willing to say so. The conversation is cut short by you setting drinks on the table.

You all stay another hour at the bar. Laszlo’s thigh rests against you, his right hand atop your own leg. Occasionally you can feel the way his thumb lightly strokes you through your jeans. He makes it hard to pay attention to what Sara is saying to the group; little bolts of lightning shoot up your leg and to your core. When your legs clench Laszlo doesn’t seem to notice.

Aside from the growing arousal within you, the soft clink of the index finger of his left hand grabs your attention. A steady tap tap tap as he hits the side of his whisky glass. The movement brings you back to your thoughts during his lecture earlier, how the thick digits with their calloused tips drive you absolutely mad when they brush against your skin. You swallow.

This time Laszlo is aware of your state. His eyes shift to you from where he sits to your left. The two of you hadn’t had time or energy to be intimate since that night he took you to Delmonicos. The lack has taken its toll as you give him that look.

Abruptly Laszlo faces the others. “I would hate to cut our evening short, but I have more paperwork to fill out by Monday for the Dean. I would rather get it done so that I may enjoy my weekend. John, Sara.” He nods his farewell as he nudges for you to move out of the booth. You hold back your giggle at his insistent need to get home.

John looks slightly confused with the suddenness of your departure. A look of understanding comes over him with a whisper from a smirking Sara. With a wave the two of you leave into the cold January night.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks

#psychopathia sexualis #the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler fanfic #scuttle-buttle #daniel bruhl fanfiction

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 2: Roceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 2: There is a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate

Content warning: vague neglectful/bad home life mentions, liquor store mention (no drinking), implied past parental death.

Word count: 2.6k

When they first met, they didn’t like each other. Would they go so far as to say they hated each other? Probably not. But it was no secret that Roman and Janus didn’t get along, even if they traveled in a mutual friend group. If the two interacted at all, it was in snide remarks and gripes that had everyone else in the group groaning in annoyance. They just wanted five minutes of peace, that’s all. Just five minutes.

Roman was too preppy, Janus said. He was loud and abrasive and presumptuous and arrogant, an annoying theatre boy with too much energy. Other’s feelings came second to his dramatic and overplayed grievances. 

Janus was too self centered, Roman retorted. He was untrustworthy and creepy and a compulsive liar, a loner with a mysterious backstory. Everything about him was kept hidden under a mask of indifference.

These things were true to some extent, but the group still loved them both too much to reject either one. So they both stayed, bothered by the other’s presence and unwilling to admit that maybe they disliked the other because they were so similar. They were both extravagant and theatrical and burdened with concealed insecurities, points that all of the rest of the group brought up regularly and they both vehemently denied. 

It all changed one morning during school, on a regular Wednesday with average weather after an uneventful English class, when Roman got overly excited at the cast list for the newest show being put up and dropped his art bag. Without a second of hesitation, Janus crouched to help him collect the supplies that had flown across the hallway. That was when Roman’s sleeve slid up, as he was reaching for a paint pen that had rolled up against a locker, and Janus nearly choked.

00:00

He blurted out his accusation before he could stop himself.

“You said you haven’t met your soulmate! And you call me secretive?”

Roman snarled almost animalistically, covering his completed timer back up and grabbing the now full bag off the ground.

“If you must know, my timer’s always been like that. I don’t know when it ran out; too young to remember. I don’t even know if it was ever counting down in the first place. Defective.” He flicked the numbers on his wrist.

“Does anyone else know?”

Roman narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic sympathy in Janus’ voice. “Just Remus.”

“Why haven’t you told them?”

“Why all the questions, Fibber on the Roof? Since when do you care about anything I do?”

Janus was quiet, breathing out a frustrated breath before folding down the bottom of his gloves, the same gloves that Roman taunted daily for making him look like every single Disney villain, the same gloves that made Roman turn to the rest of the group and insist that the guy was hiding something. Turns out he was right.

“My timer’s out too. I was too young to remember as well.”

Roman wasn’t able to respond, and Janus was surprisingly relieved. The silent solidarity in the other’s eyes was enough of an olive branch, just another thing they had in common. It was a pain the others didn’t understand, a frustration that couldn’t be fixed. So if from that point on, the bickering lessened and they finally allowed their shared interests to overlap, they surely wouldn’t be the ones to bring it up.  

That’s how they found themselves, almost half a year later, sitting on the swings of a musty playground near Janus’ house, watching the sunset in an unspoken agreement to put off going back until absolutely necessary. It was just another thing they had in common; shitty home life. They didn’t talk about it much, because they knew how much it sucked to discuss, so they let the facts stand at the forefront and the nitty gritty emotions and smaller mental repercussions stay healthily buried. What did it matter? Their parents were awful, ‘nuff said. 

“I just think it’s ridiculous, the amount of time he spent writing it.”

“He wrote and composed an entire play single handedly, J! Not a single word of it is dialogue, and it all rhymes! You try doing that in seven years.”

“I’m just saying, doesn’t it come to the point where you have to admit it’s too much work? Did he even know for a fact it would be successful?”

“He made it work, didn’t he? That’s what faith is for.”

“I wouldn’t have done it.”

“That’s what makes Lin Manuel Miranda a god, and you, a worm.” 

Janus gasped and raised a mock hand to his chest, drawing a loud laugh from Roman. While the shorter of the two still wore his gloves daily, the other had slowly gained the confidence to wear short sleeves and display his empty timer, though god help the fool who asked him anything about it. The conversation with the group had gone well, though Jan hadn’t admitted that his situation was the same. They hadn’t known him as long, and they both agreed that it was a sensitive topic. Roman didn’t push him. 

“The sun’s setting.”

“I had no idea,” Janus smirked, although the implications of the fast approaching darkness made a pit settle in his stomach.

“We don’t have to leave yet. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I don’t really get in trouble that often,” The shorter murmured, kicking his feet in the dust under him, “She’s more just... forgetful. Ignorant. I’m not even sure she fully knows I exist all the time.”

Roman raised an eyebrow at the first bit of information he’d learned about Janus’ home life, besides knowing it was just ‘bad’. He was debating between quietly prodding him to continue or to just let it sit when Janus made the choice for him.

“The other day she asked me to go to the liquor store for her and literally didn’t believe me when I said I’m only eighteen. Then again, she’s forgotten my birthday for the last, what, ten years? So I guess she just lost track, got ahead of herself. I don’t know.”

“When’s your birthday?” It was the only response Roman could think of. 

“August seventh,” He whispered, almost like it was a dark secret he was scared to admit.

“Wait, actually?”

Janus turned to him, eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah?”

“You’re joking. This is a joke, right?”

“I can probably find my birth certificate if you need proof. Why are you losing your shit?”

“That’s my birthday too!” 

Janus matched Roman’s face splitting grin with one of his own, his worries slipping away. They’d all been irrational anyways, so good riddance. He quickly settled his face into a more neutral one, the unusual expression hurting his cheeks. A calm air settled between them as their eyes locked, almost in a trance, before Janus snapped out of it and turned his attention to the pink hues of the dimming sky.

“What are the chances?”

There was a lot Roman didn’t know about the newest member of the friend group, he realized after dropping Janus off at home and starting the walk back to his. Usually he’d pop in his earbuds, taking the longest back roads and detours to put off arriving even more, but today his head was lost in his thoughts. What else didn’t he know about the blond boy he was so infatuated with?

Two weeks later, Janus edged the front door of his house open, calling out a tentative “Mom?” before pushing it open all the way and pulling Roman in. There was no answer through the empty halls so he yanked the taller boy upstairs, praying that his mom wasn’t home instead of just ignoring his call. It wasn’t until he shut his bedroom door and leaned heavily against it did he remember to breathe, meeting Roman’s eyes shakily.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it. Parent’s are…”

“Yeah. It’s better if she doesn’t know you’re here.”

Roman nodded, finally looking around the room. One wall was completely adorned with old records, some cracked in places or missing pieces entirely. He found himself drawn to it, running a finger down the closest one to him as Janus collapsed on his bed, ruffling the yellow blanket beneath him. He took a moment to pull off his gloves, revealing his soulmark, a secret that only Roman had the honor of seeing. An old jukebox stood proudly in the corner, covered in a fine layer of dust.

“You definitely have an aesthetic,” Roman hummed, taking notes on the implications of the dust and not approaching the old machine. If Janus didn’t touch it, neither should he. Instead he sat down at the other’s desk, spinning himself lazily in the chair.

“It was all my dad’s old stuff. He loved music and antiques a lot. The record player was his, too.” 

He followed Janus’ gaze and nodded, overly tempted to take one of the records from the wall and trying to play it, but knowing that would only end badly. The record player was covered in the same thin sheet of dust. 

“Holy Hera, is that a baby picture of you?” His mind, apparently unable to stay on one topic for more than ten seconds, had decided to focus on the framed picture on the bedside table. He crossed the room and sat next to Janus on the bed, leaning closer to the photo but not daring to touch it. He inspected the woman, who could only be Janus’ mother, holding the tiny bundle and smiling weakly at the camera, her eyes tired and hair tied in a messy bun.

“Yeah,” Janus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “That’s the only picture I have with her. She hates cameras, always said she was self conscious and shit. It sucks that the only one I have, I don’t even remember taking.”

Roman knew he should respond to the surprisingly vulnerable statement, but his eyes had zeroed onto the still slightly slimy, wrinkly baby in the photo. Its little fists were tucked against his face, eyes closed peacefully, a moment of bliss that time forgot. That’s not what caught his attention, though. He squinted, edging just that much closer to the photo.

“You were born at Jacob Banks Memorial Hospital? I thought you lived in Chicago before you moved out here.” The tiny golden embroidery in the edge of the blanket was just focused enough to make out, as if he didn’t have an identical blanket at home, stashed under his bed in a box of other memories that were too special to throw away. He’d run his finger over the stitching a hundred times, reread the words and committed the blanket to memory, just for that high of simple childhood. And now, here was Janus as a baby, swaddled in the same blanket.

From the same hospital.

From the same day.

“Yeah. My parents were visiting relatives in town when my mom went into early labor. We didn’t end up actually moving here until a couple years ago.” Janus didn’t seem to notice the gears turning in Roman’s head as he reached forward, plucking the picture off the table and bringing it closer to his face. He tapped the glass, just above baby Janus’ arms.

“Right there, my timer. It’s just a few minutes left. I met my soulmate as a baby and no one cared enough to check who it was.”

“Janus.”

“I called the hospital as soon as I was old enough to comprehend, but they said they couldn’t help me. Didn’t have a record of anything to do with soulmates. Some help, huh.”

“Janus!”

“What? I’m trying to be melodramatic, Roman.”

“That’s the same hospital I was born in.”

“Okay? It’s the only one in town, I’m not overly surprised-” The lightbulb went off, and his head jerked up. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

They both were quiet for a moment, like the whole house was holding it’s breath, before Janus finally spoke, his voice a choked whisper. “Imagine with me, if you will,” he murmured, taking the picture and inspecting it closely. Not so much for sake of searching for details he wouldn’t have missed the hundreds of hours he spent inspecting the photo, more so just to avoid looking at the person beside him. “Two babies, born in the same place on the same day, put into the same small hospital nursery. They see each other, and click, their timers are out. Except both their parents don’t give a flying rat’s ass-”

“And so they never realize they met, and live their entire lives shrouded in mystery,” Roman finished quietly, suddenly terrified of the new ice they were walking on. 

“Hypothetically, of course.”

His head snapped up and the spell was broken, meeting Janus’ pale eyes and jumping to his feet, flapping his hands to dispel his nervous energy. “Okay. Okay! That could… that could make sense! All signs point that way, right?” He began to pace the length of Janus’ room, head tilted towards the ceiling, “And I mean, god, I’ve liked you for how long now? So I’m definitely not upset!”

“You’ve what?”

“Alright, so we can call the hospital, or go there, or something! I’m sure they can tell us how many babies were born that day, that doesn’t seem like confidential information, right? And if it was just us three, you, me, and Remus, then that’ll settle it!”

“Wait, no, Roman, stop!”

Janus launched himself at Roman before he could click the call button on the Google search of the hospital, already dedicated to his plan. He ripped the phone from his grasp and tossed it onto the bed after pressing the power button, grabbing Roman’s hands tightly.

“Jan, what the hell? That’s the only way we’re going to know for sure if we’re-”

“But what if we’re not?!”

The two settled into silence after the outburst, searching each other’s faces intently. They both shared scared expressions, eyes wide with excitement and nervousness, the possibility of years worth of questions finally being answered. The promise that their two soulmarks weren’t dysfunctional, weren’t broken, and fate that had led them together one way or another. 

But what if they weren’t?

“What if it’s a coincidence? What if you find out that your mom checked out before mine even got there, or our paths never could have crossed, or there were twenty babies born that day and there’s no sure way to know that we are each other’s soulmates? What if you find out that your soulmark said two years and mine ran out with someone else completely?”

“You’re starting to sound like Virgil,” Roman said quietly, almost fondly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“Roman, if you’re my soulmate, I’d be elated,” Janus’ hushed tone matched his, “But I don’t know what I’ll do if I build my hope and then find out it’s not true.” They were quiet again, and Janus was suddenly hyper aware that he was still holding Roman’s hands, a furious blush rising to his cheeks. He fought the urge to look away, look anywhere other than Roman’s bright eyes, because this was the closest they’d ever been and he was scared one flinch might break the charm they were in. 

“We don’t have to check,” the taller whispered, “If you are, I’m content just… believing it.”

“You always were a cheesy romantic.” The phrase was meant to be cutting, but the uncontainable grin across his face greatly lessened its impact.

“I’m a Disney lover, what can I say?”

Janus snorted, dropping his head on to Roman’s shoulder, his heart nearly stopping altogether when the taller boy wrapped his arms around him and pulled them a step closer together. “So we’re agreeing on this? That we’re soulmates?” His voice was muffled against Roman’s shirt.

“As far as I’m concerned, yes. Fuck the system, right?”

“Overthrow the government. Commit arson in the name of anarchy. Society is a prison.”

“Dramatic, and that’s coming from me,” Roman drawled, rocking them back and forth slowly, dancing to unheard music, “Hey, Janus?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

#tsshipmonth2020 #lywrites #roceit #roman sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #ts soulmate au #soulmate september #soulmateseptember #tw abuse #tw neglect

[neonthewrite]

Sleepover at Adrian's

It's time for the final prize from the 2021 Trust Contest! This is set in the A Little Bit of Family AU (DA) (Ao3), also known as the Adopt Oscar AU. It's just full of good feels and happy moments for itty bitty Oscar.

Charlie, Sawyer, and Elisabeth belong to @creatorofuniverses and she was consulted in the making of this story!

Reading time ~10mins

~~~

Oscar had a list. Lists helped him keep calm about otherwise stressful things, things with too many steps to count on his hand. Even exciting things could be overwhelming. His list was meant for one of the more exciting things.

"Hey bud, whatcha got there?" Sawyer's voice broke Oscar from his thoughts.

Osar held up the paper so Sawyer could see it. “Hi dad! It's my, it's my list for the sleepover! I gotta make sure I bring everything I need when I go visit Adrian!"

Sawyer scanned it, humming thoughtfully. “Looks good, kiddo, but you forgot one thing.”

"Huh?" Before Oscar could check his list again, Sawyer swept him up into a squeezing hug and planted a kiss on his cheek. Instead of concern, Oscar overflowed with giggles.

"Now you have everything," Sawyer announced.

Oscar had to calm down from his giggles to retort. "I didn't forget! I'm gопnа give hugs an’ kisses before I head out! Th- the list is for what I need in my bag!"

Sawyer gasped, playing up his realization. “Ohhhh, I gotcha. Then I guess this-" he kissed Oscar's cheek again, really smushing his face with the action, "-is just for fun. I gotta take what I can get before you head off with your auntie."

Oscar squirmed so he could wrap his arms around Sawyer's neck in an earnest little hug. As he did, Charlie returned from the storage room, where he'd been working off some nervous energy by tidying. Oscar waved at him.

"Mom! I finished makin' my list! Dad looked at it. I'm gonna have all the stuff for my sleepover!"

"Very good, love," Charlie said, making his way over. In some wordless communication, Sawyer handed Oscar off and gave Charlie's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Charlie grinned at Oscar. "You've gotten so good with your lists. Very responsible."

“I like having ‘em, just in case,” Oscar agreed. “Maybe I’ll have an idea for a list to make while I’m visitin’ Adrian.”

Charlie chuckled. “If you do, remember you can ask Adrian or your auntie for help with the spelling,” he reminded him.

“What am I spelling?” Elisabeth chimed in, causing both Charlie and Oscar to jolt in surprise. When Charlie turned, they found Elisabeth had come in via the storage room entrance, and she wore a teasing grin. Her bag, slung over her shoulder, was just as full as Oscar’s, no doubt due to her own list of necessary sleepover supplies.

Oscar giggled again as Charlie set him down. “My list! If I make a new one,” he explained. Then, he pointed at Elisabeth’s bag. “Did you make a list for your stuff too?”

Elisabeth shifted the bag on her shoulder. “I didn’t,” she admitted. “Guess I’ll need your help remembering everything tomorrow. Are you ready to go?”

Oscar looked over at his bag, which sat by the hacky sack chair. It bulged with a spare set of clothes, his pajamas, and some toys. His trusty teddy bear leaned against it, guarding his things. “My bag’s full,” Oscar assessed. “An’ my list is all checked.”

“It’s a start, poppet,” Elisabeth chuckled.

Oscar nodded, then turned to Charlie and Sawyer. “I promise to be good, an’ I’ll write you a letter, just like when I stay at auntie’s, okay?”

Charlie and Sawyer grinned, endeared as ever by their son’s dutiful insistence. Even with Charlie’s quiet worry about him being away for a night, they trusted Adrian and Elisabeth to look after him. They knelt down to pull him into a squeezing hug anyway, Charlie planting a kiss atop Oscar’s head. “We can’t wait to read it, love.”

“Have fun, kiddo,” Sawyer added, giving them both a squeeze.

Oscar giggled, but soon enough he’d gathered up his bag and his teddy bear, stuffing his folded up list in with the rest of his things. He took Elisabeth’s hand and they shared a grin before heading out.

His grip tightened on her hand as they left, nervous excitement settling in. He’d stayed at Elisabeth’s a couple times. He had fun in spite of his nerves for being away from home - he missed his bed and the familiar rooms that he’d helped his parents build.

This time, the plan was to spend some time with Adrian, their human (the friendliest human ever, if Oscar were to decide). Oscar hadn’t taken much convincing. He had fun with his art lessons with Adrian.

Still. He couldn’t have worked up the nerve to ask if Elisabeth hadn’t volunteered to come along.

“I-I wonder if we’ll surprise him,” Oscar mused; they were on the way to the living room entrance above the human’s desk. “Dad still surprises him sometimes.”

Elisabeth snickered. “Well we can certainly try,” she suggested. She gave him a playful grin and a light squeeze of his hand. “We’re quite sneaky, aren’t we, poppet?”

Oscar giggled and squeezed her hand right back. “Yeah,” he whispered. “W-we’ll try!”

At length, they found their way to a door leading onto a shelf above Adrian’s desk. Oscar and Elisabeth peeked out with the door open only a crack to survey the room. Even with a friendly human, they couldn’t ignore those habits. Humans were dangerous to them and the viri couldn’t forget that.

With a couple major exceptions, one of which sat at the desk absorbed in a sketchbook.

Adrian never paid much attention to the door up on the shelf - he had a cup of pencils in the way, and made an effort not to bother the viris' entrances. It made the perfect spot to catch him by surprise. Even after all this time, Sawyer could still sneak up on him.

Oscar reminded himself of those stories as he crept out into the open. He sent Elisabeth a conspiratorial grin over his shoulder, squeezed his teddy bear close for a beat, and then stepped around the pencil cup. "Hi, Adrian!"

Adrian tensed and his gaze whipped up to the shelf. A smile broke over his face. "Hey, you made it! Didn't even hear you come in!"

Oscar giggled. "Yeah! Me an’ auntie are sneaky just like dad. It's time for our sleepover to start! Whatcha drawing? A building?" He sat at the edge of the shelf and leaned forward for an upside down view of the sketchbook.

Adrian chuckled and turned the book around, angling it up so the viri could see it. A few pencil drawings of regular old household objects adorned the page. "No buildings today," he admitted. "It's good to practice all kinds of subjects."

Elisabeth joined Oscar on the edge of the shelf. “Those are lovely. Oscar's been practicing drawing all kinds of things too, haven't you, poppet?"

"Uh huh, I've been drawing made up flowers, an’ um, some animals, and I, I drew some clothes, too!" Oscar announced proudly.

Adrian nodded, everything in his expression encouraging. “That sounds great, Oscar. We should draw more tonight too. I’d like to see how your practice is going.”

Oscar grinned. He’d been counting on Adrian wanting to do an impromptu art session. His lessons were some of the most fun Oscar had. Adrian had all kinds of art supplies. “Yeah! We’ll make lots of fun pictures!” he declared.

Elisabeth chuckled. “What else do you plan to get up to?” she asked, leaning into Oscar to nudge him. “Does your list have an agenda on it?”

“Oh, um,” Oscar stammered. “I didn’t wanna, I didn’t think we needed to plan too much, auntie,” he admitted, some warmth growing in his cheeks. Truth be told, Oscar wasn’t fully sure what the options were. It would surely be different from the times he spent the night at his aunt’s.

Adrian came to his rescue. “That’s alright, we don’t need to worry about that like we do with lessons.” He turned his sketchbook around and closed it up as he spoke. “You’re here to hang out for the whole night, and that’s a lot more time to fill than just one art lesson. We’ll make it up as we go along,okay?”

“That sounds fun,” Oscar agreed. He looked up at Elisabeth hopefully. “Is that okay?”

Elisabeth laughed, then abruptly wrapped Oscar up in a hug. “Of course it’s okay, poppet, I was only teasing,” she assured him. “We’ll go with the flow, it’ll be fun! You just have to decide what you want to do first!”

Even with some of the pink lingering in his cheeks, Oscar laughed along with her. “I was, I was thinkin’, I did have an idea,” he stammered out. Looking at Adrian, he asked, “Could we, could we try hide and seek? I mean, out in the rooms instead of in the walls where I usually play? Auntie an’ mom used to play it when their humans were gone, but maybe it’d be fun to play hide and seek with our human!”

Adrian raised his eyebrows. “I bet it would be very different from your usual games,” he agreed. “We can definitely give it a try, so long as we all know the rules first.”

~~~

It didn’t take too much time for the three of them to work out the ground rules of their game. Adrian would wait in his bedroom for five minutes. Oscar and Elisabeth had that time to find a place somewhere in the living room to hide - they wouldn’t go into the hallway or the kitchen. After some thought, Oscar determined that he and Elisabeth would hide together. His teddy bear would keep watch from the shelf up on the desk; Oscar didn’t want to drop him out in the middle of the floor in all the excitement.

With their rules decided on, Adrian retreated to the other room, his phone ready with a timer. He promised he’d call out every minute that passed so they knew how much time they had left. Oscar practically buzzed with excitement.

“Careful, poppet,” Elisabeth warned, though there was an endeared chuckle coloring her voice as she hooked her climbing string to the edge of the desk. “Don’t get too antsy to climb your string!”

“I won’t,” Oscar promised, preparing his own hook and string with the yellow button tied to the end. “I’m just excited!”

True to his word, he was careful as they made their way down from the desk. The wide open room might make them nervous in any other apartment. Here, it was a safe expanse where the resident human would be mindful of them.

It was also full of good places to hide. Oscar scanned the whole room avidly as soon as his feet touched the carpeted floor. “Maybe the couch? O-or the bookshelf? What about the curtains?”

Elisabeth grinned. “All very good places,” she agreed. “It’s too bad we aren’t hiding in the kitchen, hmm? I could show you my trick with opening the drawer!”

Oscar nodded. He loved the stories of Elisabeth’s antics with Charlie when they were kids. It was a glimpse of a family history that Oscar was grateful every day to be a part of. “Maybe, um, maybe after this one,” he mused.

“Four minutes left!” echoed down the hallway from the bedroom, and Oscar jolted.

“Come on, auntie!” he insisted, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go hide under the couch!”

Elisabeth laughed and let him lead her across the floor. Oscar sent her a few glances over his shoulder, always sporting a mildly mischievous grin. They were going to make Adrian work hard to find them in their hiding spot for certain; Oscar could hardly wait for the reaction they would surely earn. Adrian hadn’t even called out the three minute mark before they ducked out of sight under the colossal furniture.

While Oscar had been content to merely hide under the couch, Elisabeth, slightly stooped under the low clearance, pointed up at one of the thin support struts that kept the whole thing more sturdy. It was in easy reach for her, and there was a narrow space between it and the lining under the couch. The two of them could easily slip into that space if they stayed lying down.

Oscar’s eyes widened and he nodded, silent even though the human was rooms away and couldn’t possibly hear them. He let Elisabeth hoist him up under his arms so he could reach, and soon had scrambled his way up onto the board. Elisabeth was close behind, wriggling into place . “Don’t let your legs hang over the side,” she teased, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Oscar snickered, keeping his voice as low as he could. “He’s gonna be so confused!”

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Adrian’s voice stopped any further whispers. Soon enough, his gentle but unmistakable footsteps returned down the hall, slowing as he reached the living room. Adrian tended to move carefully even without knowing a pair of viri hid somewhere around, waiting for him to seek them out.

“You guys have a lot of options in here,” Adrian mused aloud, his voice somewhere overhead and muffled by the couch. Oscar heard the smile in his tone. “I might be looking for you all night. Past dinnertime, even!”

Oscar gasped, scandalized. Beside him, Elisabeth put her finger to her lips, though she looked like she wanted to giggle herself.

Adrian meandered around the room, occasionally moving a few things around on the shelf or coffee table. He took his time with it, and Oscar’s grin only grew. By the time the human crouched down to peer under furniture, Oscar had a hand over his mouth to hold back any giggles. He shared a glance with Elisabeth as Adrian’s gaze scanned under the couch, right past their hiding spot.

When Adrian was about to push himself back off the floor, Oscar finally gave in and released a giggle. Then, he squeaked when the human’s gaze returned, this time zeroing in on them. “Oh!” Oscar blurted, trying to duck back out of sight.

Elisabeth laughed too. “Ah, he found us, poppet! Guess we won’t miss dinner after all!”

Only half of Adrian’s face could really be seen from under the couch, but his amusement was clear. “I wouldn’t have let you miss dinner, Oscar, promise,” he said. “This is a very good hiding spot, though, I never would have noticed.”

“I got too many laughs in me,” Oscar admitted. Beside him, Elisabeth wriggled free of the support strut and hopped down. He let her help him down to the floor too. “But next time I’ll keep quiet! I got all my laughs out now.”

Adrian snickered. “I don’t mind if you laugh, it makes my job a lot easier,” he teased. “But we can get through plenty of games either way, and we won’t even miss out on dinner. Wanna try again?”

Oscar nodded eagerly. “We have time for at least a little more hiding and seeking.”

Elisabeth ruffled Oscar’s hair as the pair of them made their way back out from under the couch. “We have all the time in the world, poppet.”

#oscar #oscar the oc #adrian kennet #mywriting #guest characters #g/t #gt #g/t fluff #trust au

[chiropteracupola]

So I’ve been asked “HOW DO YOU EVEN. DO THAT. GOD.”  and other questions approximately in that area.  Well, you can find out, through the power of the ridiculous number of progress photos I took while making these!  I’m pretty much self-taught, so some of these steps might be a bit weird and convoluted, I’m just out here trying my best.

Alright, let’s start out with materials.  Most of the construction is done in Super Sculpey Living Doll, which is the creepiest possible name they could have given this clay.  It ends up slightly translucent when baked, and it’s surprisingly durable as well, which is excellent if you are like me and drop it on the floor constantly.

First step, schematics.  I was intending these as scale drawings, but then I decided not to go through with the larger size and more complicated joint system.  Having a sense of the shapes you’re going for does make it a lot easier later on.  I ended up leaving out the double-jointed knees, as well as changing the shoulder and ankle joints somewhat as well.

For the rest of the materials, I’ve got superglue, something to spread the superglue with, pliers, pencil and eraser, sewing pins, felting needle, pipecleaner wire, ruler, acrylic paint, matte varnish, watercolor pencils, paintbrush, purple marker, aluminum foil, non-serrated knife, fork, and permanent markers.  You can use something closer to actual sculpting tools, or more paint, but this is just the stuff I had lying around the house.

I bought a couple of kind of sketchy molds off I’m not even sure where on the internet anymore.  They are not intended for doll-making, they are intended for those little sugar figurines you put on cake.  Do I care?  No.  I mostly hand-sculpted these guys anyway, and here are the major shapes I ended up constructing.  Particularly for Jack, some of the pieces are sculpted around an aluminum-foil core.

Here’s a view of my desk, partway through the sculpting process.  This posture is not recommended for sculpting, but I had found a hat and wanted to feel like I was some kind of noir detective.  

Heads are a pretty simple shape.  Sculpting the face basically consists of sticking on a triangle for a nose, then smoothing in the edges and poking it around a little bit to create the vague idea of cheekbones, eye sockets, and so on and so forth.  Sculpt in some collarbones if you are, like me, very emotionally invested in collarbones.  This is perfectly normal.  

Before baking the clay, make sure to poke a hole in all the joints to glue in wire later.  The first diagram shows where these need to go.  DO NOT FORGET TO DO THIS.  (I forgot to do this.)  This is a cross-section of how the wiring for the neck will sit eventually.  (Except in the case of Stephen, because I forgot to do this.  If you also forget, this situation could probably be fixed by drilling a hole with a very small drill, but I’m very afraid of power tools and instead spent an inordinate amount of time doing foolish things with knives, and his head still won’t stay on.  Be better than me.)

Another view of my desk.  Craft pipecleaner wire is fairly sturdy, and I haven’t yet found an alternative to removing the fluff with pliers and using that.  It is very tiring and time-consuming, make sure you have snacks and maybe a video to watch.  Stay hydrated, nutritioned, and entertained, and remain calm.  This is a long and torturous process, do not torture yourself more if you don’t have to.  Also, you’ll live if you get superglue on your fingers, but be careful anyway.  If possibly, work in a ventilated area as well.

The process of joint creation went largely un-photographed, as I was engaged in the more attention-consuming process of cursing at tangles of wire and cloth tape for hours upon hours.

I wrapped the wire connections and the ends of the clay pieces in some sort of cloth tape I found in a closet, and where necessary, filled in some gaps with wool and pieces of craft foam.  (Very Small Jack is about 30% craft foam, which means he is Huggable and Pleasantly Squishy.  Tiny Stephen only has these adjustments around the knees, and he is, in comparison, Stiff and About As Huggable As A Desk Lamp.)

The process for shoulders is slightly different.  Instead of a wire connecting the two clay pieces, the arms have wire hooks connected directly through the torso by a tiny rubber band.  (Dental rubber bands are truly fantastic and I don’t know what I would do without them.)  I’ve added some cloth tape wrapping here as well, for added stability.  

Next up, hair and faces.  I’ve added some color around the joints in watercolor pencil, added eyes and so forth in permanent marker, and painted in the hairline and eyebrows with dubious paint I got from my neighbor.  A little bit of color on the cheeks in watercolor as well, particularly for Jack, and scars in white watercolor pencil.  I added a little bit of matte varnish on the fingernails for some contrast.  (I had leftover clay, so I also ended up making a tiny dragon, which shows up in a couple of the photos.)

The hair is made of brushed yarn (I’ll make a separate post to talk through that, as it’s a bit of a process in its own right.)  I’m gluing on longer pieces in a spiraling pattern.

Gluing on hair, bit by bit.  He looks a bit like Henry Le Vesconte and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

After some trimming and styling, he’s looking good!

Now, my favorite trick here is what can be done with a lavender marker.  This is just a fairly light-colored standard purple felt-tip, but in combination with the slightly translucent clay, it makes really nice false shadows that add a lot of depth to the faces.  Go crazy with it, it’s fun. 

So yeah!  That’s how I do what I do!  This got quite long, so I think I’ll do the the rest of the explaining (clothing, shoes, etc.) in a separate post sometime later.  Hope this was helpful, and thank you so much for all the love and kind words, it means a lot to me!

#em makes stuff #crafts #adventures of tiny aubrey and maturin #long post

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke smut: Mouth

Some plotless feelsy smut, because sometimes a girl just has to write Fenris going down on Hawke. Or is that just me? Okay [goes to sit in the smut corner like a smut goblin]

~1800 words; read here on AO3 instead.

************************

Rynne Hawke spent a lot of time thinking about Fenris’s mouth. 

He had the perfect mouth, in her opinion. His lips weren’t so plump as to be the first feature of his face to draw the eye, but her eye was drawn to them all the same. She lovingly studied the delicate bow of his lips, and she admired the way that bow became more exaggerated when he was sneering at a slaver or scowling at something Anders had said. She contemplated the perfect dusky-rose colour of his lips, and when she leaned away from him after a kiss, she silently cursed the smudges of her raspberry-red lip stain that dared to spoil the natural hue of his lips. Sure, there might be other mouths in Thedas that were more lush or more rosy or more attractively shaped, but to Rynne, no one else’s mouth held nearly the same appeal. 

It wasn’t just the shape of Fenris’s lips that was so thoroughly preoccupying, though. It was the way they moved. It was the way they twisted in disgust when Fenris smelled fish down at the docks. It was the way they parted on a weary sigh when Rynne stumbled haplessly into the next late-night Lowtown fight. It was the way his lips pressed into a thin line when she said something foolish, and the way they stretched and curled into a smile when she said something foolish that he thought was funny. His lips were expressive, moving and shifting in time with his emotions and pulling at her heart like a puppet on strings. Rynne watched the evocative movements of his lips, and she thought to herself that she could spend a lifetime watching his perfect mouth and never get bored.

And then, of course, there was the way Fenris used that lovely mouth of his. 

He used it for all the normal stuff, of course — talking and breathing and eating and all. But even those mundane acts were enough to drive her to distraction. When Fenris talked, Rynne watched the way his lips shifted around the baritone sound of his bone-melting voice, and she admired the way he slowly wet his lips when he was thinking about what to say next. When Fenris breathed, panting heavily after a fight or drawing a gasp of air when she dragged her tongue across his lyrium-lined abs, Rynne thought about the air that passed through those perfect lips, feeding into his lungs only to come back out shaped into a dryly humorous remark or a low-pitched chuckle or a pleasured groan. When Fenris ate, he hid his mouth sometimes behind one hand while he chewed, and Rynne treasured the moments when she glimpsed the tip of his tongue flicking out across his lip to catch a stray crumb or a precious drop of juice. 

Fenris talking, Fenris breathing, Fenris eating and sipping elegantly from a glass of wine: Rynne watched with unabashed appreciation as his mouth did all of that fine and necessary work. But all of that was nothing compared to the way he used his gorgeous mouth to kiss.

His lips parted slightly as he drew her close, and Rynne happily gave herself to the perfect slightly-parted pressure of his lips. His kisses always started this way, a firm press as though he was anchoring himself to her before deciding whether to deepen the kiss or to draw away, and she was always delighted to let him be the one to decide which direction their kisses would go. In a life where Rynne Hawke was the one in charge, the one who led their merry little band of misfits from one madcap adventure to the next, she was more than happy to let Fenris lead the way in this slow and tantalizing dance of pleasure: this dance where his perfect mouth slid carefully and smoothly over hers, his lips coaxing hers apart and his sleek tongue stroking her own, his teeth pressing delicately into her lower lip until she gasped, his lips brushing over the corner of her parted lips with the delicacy of a butterfly’s wing…

Fenris leaned away from her, leaving her panting for air, and still she couldn’t look away from his mouth. His lips were plumper than usual from the firm pressure of their kiss and their colour had deepened to a tempting rosy hue, and she just couldn’t stop fucking staring at how beautiful they were.   

“Hawke,” he said.

She forced herself to stop staring at his mouth. “Yes?”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“You are staring at me,” he said.

“I’m always staring at you,” she replied. “You are gorgeous, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He gave her a chiding little smile. “You’re staring more than usual, then.”

She tilted her head. “Did you know that you have the nicest mouth in all of Thedas?”

He scoffed and rubbed the lovely mouth in question. “Kaffas, Hawke. You will make me blush.”

“I certainly hope so,” she said cheerfully. “Your ears turn such a charming shade of red.”

He huffed a laugh, then lifted her chin with his thumb. “A nice mouth, you say,” he mused. “Is there something you want me to do with my mouth?”

His voice was a low and playful purr, and it triggered a pulse of lust between her legs. She let out a throaty laugh. “Why Fenris, what a naughty suggestion.”

“It isn’t naughty,” he said. “Not unless you make it so.”

She coyly nibbled her lip. “Well, if you’re offering…”

“I could offer,” he said. “But perhaps you should ask if there is something specific that you want.”

He was smiling faintly, and she nearly swooned at the treasured sight. She curled her fingers in the fabric of his tunic. “I’ll tell you what I want,” she said. “I want you to put that gorgeous mouth between my legs and do something useful with it.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I could do that,” he said, and he abruptly picked her up. The next thing she knew, she was sitting on the desk in the study while Fenris slid her silky skirt up her thighs.

She panted eagerly and leaned her weight back on her palms. Fenris sat in the desk chair and traced his thumb over her cleft through the barrier of her smalls, and Rynne jolted and lifted her hips. 

He shook his head and smiled — Maker’s balls, that smile, the curl of mirth on that perfectly sculpted mouth! — then brushed his knuckle between her legs. “Your smallclothes are soaked through. How long have you been thinking about this?”

“All day,” she said promptly. 

He paused in his petting and looked up at her with wide eyes. “All day? Hawke, it is past midnight.”

“It’s been a long day, believe me,” she said wryly. “Will you lick me now with your lovely tongue?”

He tsked. “You and your endless compliments,” he drawled. He pushed her skirt a little higher and carefully pulled the crotch of her smalls to the side, and when his tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip, Rynne stared at his mouth with rising desperation. 

She wiggled her hips on the desk. “Fenris, please…”

He didn’t reply; instead, he lowered his mouth between her legs. His lips sealed over her pussy and the flat of his tongue pressed against her clit, and Rynne dragged in a tremulous gasp of air.

Maker’s balls, fuck, his mouth on her pussy… This was what made her come undone. This was the thing that distracted her the most during the day and kept her mind thrumming at night. The feeling of his lips caressing the slick folds of her flesh, giving her a gentle sort of bliss that complemented the more intense pulse of pleasure that his tongue was fostering in the swollen little bud of her clit: this was something that Fenris’s mouth did exceedingly well. 

He pushed her legs further apart and kissed her sex, and Rynne stared shamelessly at his handsome white-haired head as he smoothed his tongue along the length of her cleft up to her clit. He graced her with an open-mouthed kiss and swirled his tongue slowly over her clit, and she clenched her nails on the desk with a gasp. 

“Fenris…” she mewled. 

He hummed into her flesh, a growly sound of affirmation that thrummed through her body and straight into her blood, and Rynne curled her hips toward him with rising desperation. She was spiralling toward her rapture, spiralling higher and closer in time with the gentle motion of Fenris’s tongue as it teased its way around her swollen little bud, and despite her playful jokes from a moment ago, she truly couldn’t stop staring. Fenris’s elegant fingers were holding her legs apart, and his hair half-obscured his eyes without hiding the tantalizing sight of his mouth moving at the juncture of her thighs, and the sight of him — Maker, the look of him, the sound of his hungry breaths ghosting across her sex, the sheer tangible reality of this incredible man gracing her humble body with the perfection of his mouth: it was almost more than she could bear. 

He caressed her thighs with his palms and lapped carefully at her clit and kissed her with his beautiful mouth, and a heart-pounding moment later, Rynne found her bliss. It fanned out through her body and rippled all the way down to her calves and her toes, and she gasped and bucked her hips and cried out his name. He gripped her hips and continued to kiss her, his tongue sliding over her sex in perfect time with the frantic pulsing in her core, and when the ecstatic crescendo of her pleasure began to wane, she slid her fingers through his snowy hair in a gentle caress.

He wiped his mouth on her thigh, then lifted his head to look at her, and another exquisite half-smile pulled at his lips. “Hawke, you’re staring again.”

She let out a breathless little laugh. “You can’t blame me. You just have such a talented mouth.”

He huffed in amusement, then stood up and cradled her neck in his palm. “As it turns out, I am not the only one here with a talented mouth.”

She grinned and reached for his belt. “Is that so?

“It is,” he said. He pressed his forehead gently to hers. “And you are not the only one who has been thinking about this all day.”

His voice was husky and tender, and her heart flipped happily in her chest. “You smooth talker,” she whispered, and she tilted her chin up to lure him into a kiss – yet another perfect kiss from the most gorgeous mouth in Thedas. 

Rynne spent a lot of time thinking about Fenris’s mouth. She thought about its shape and the way it moved, the curve of his smile and the way it curled around his Tevene-accented speech. But there was one reason and one reason alone that Fenris’s mouth was so thoroughly preoccupying to Rynne Hawke: it was the mouth of the man she loved.

Fenris was the man she loved, and his mouth was the only one she would ever want to kiss again for the rest of her life.

#fenris #fenris smut #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #f!hawris #fhawris #fenrynne #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #pikapeppa writes

[cheeriecherry]

Birds Of A Feather [6/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, (badly written) smut, 18+ content, y’all virgin birds, my bff kinkshamed me when he read it

This chapter is not necessary to the plot of the story, so if smut makes you uncomfortable (or if you’re a minor) you don’t have to read this, or worry about missing anything important!

Part 6/7

Your bodies press together as your mouths meet hungrily. Keigo has his hands under your shirt, rucking it up so he can unabashedly paw at your chest, plucking and pinching at your nipples until they come to hardened peaks.

You can feel him against you, hard length pressing into your thigh. You trail a hand down his torso, nails scraping him lightly through his shirt, and grip at the outline of his cock.

He groans when you give him a few experimental squeezes, pressing himself further into your touch. “It’s all for you, sweetheart,” he says, desperation dripping in his voice.

You smirk, and give him a few strokes. “For me? I wonder how many times you’ve thought about this, then. You’re so hard, Kei, it can’t possibly be the first time.”

You toy with the drawstrings on his shorts, slowly pulling them undone. Keigo swears a little at the loss of contact, seeking out friction by rutting against your thigh.

You sink your teeth into his neck, and his subsequent moan trails off into a whine when you soothe the bite with your tongue.

“Well?” you prompt, “have you thought about taking me before? Thought about my body beneath yours, as you fuck yourself in your own hand?” You push his shorts down, just enough to get your hands on him, and stroke him slowly from base to tip.

“Yes, fuck, yes. So many times. As much as I could get away with.” His head lolls onto your shoulder, hot breath tickling your neck. “Sometimes, before you came up for lunch, I’d have to get it out of my system. I couldn’t help it, you just looked so good, and sometimes your wings would fluff up when I said the right thing, and I- fuck!”

You swirl your thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing beads of precome down his shaft.

“Naughty,” you tease, “I bet you liked the idea that I could catch you, huh? Liked that I could walk in on you at any time?”

He moans. Loud.

“Yes,” he whimpers, “Sometimes I...I…”

“You what, baby?”

“Sometimes I came to the thought of you walking in, and sticking around to help me out. The thought of your mouth on me always pushed me over the edge.”

Your lips curl upwards at his confession, and you drop to your knees. He trembles and has to lean into the counter when you kiss the head of his cock, your tongue poking out slightly.

“Just my mouth though, huh?” You glide your tongue up and down his shaft, supplying him some of the stimulation he needs, but not quite enough to bring him closer to the edge. Right before you take him in your mouth, you look coyly up at him and say, “I can only imagine what my pussy would make you do.”

You swallow him down in one go.

His moan is obscene, and he leans heavily against the counter as you bob your head up and down. In truth, you didn’t really know what you were doing, but you’ve heard enough stories to get the gist of it. In any case, Keigo seemed to be enjoying himself.

You silently slip your hand into your shorts and panties, and start rubbing small circles on your clit. He must catch the change in your moans, because he looks down at you with a hazy expression and ask, “you touching yourself, chickadee?”

You nod around his cock, and he continues to ramble.

“God, I bet you taste amazing, so warm and wet. That’s another thought that always got me off; bending you over my desk and eating you out until you were a squirming, moaning, squirting mess.”

Your walls clench around your fingers, the idea entirely too enticing.

You pull off him completely, continuing to pump him with your free hand. “You think you’d be good enough to make me squirt, huh? I dunno, only a handful of toys have made me do that~”

He swears again, and reaches down suddenly to haul you to your feet.

He kicks his pants off on the way to the bedroom, and once you arrive he pushes you down on the mattress. You bounce a couple times with a giggle, and sink back into the plush blankets. The room is wide enough that you can spread your wings out fully, instead of laying on them.

You maneuver your shirt off your body, while Keigo all but rips your shorts off, wasting no time in spreading your legs so he can get a good view of you.

He peppers soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, golden eyes connecting with yours. “Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad. Can I sweetheart? Can I taste this sweet, soaked pussy?”

“Yes, god, yes!”

He dives in eagerly, his tongue circling your swollen clit a few times before dipping into your drenched hole. He repeats it a few times, earning several shameless moans from you, until he deems you wet enough to slide two of his fingers in.

He crooks his fingers just how you need him to, pressing up against that soft spongey spot inside you. You tremble beneath him, his actions driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Keigo,” you whine, “baby, I’m gonna come! Fuck, you’re gonna make me come, if you keep doing that I’m gonna make a mess-”

“Fuck yeah, gonna squirt all over my face, chickadee?”

“Keigo-”

He closes his lips around your clit and sucks, and you lose yourself. With a broken cry, you clench around his fingers, hot juices gushing out of you and over his palm.

He doesn’t relent, continuing to pulse his fingers in and out of you, milking out every last drop you can give him. Only when you start to squirm away from overstimulation, does he release you.

“How’s that for ‘good enough’?” he quips, and you break into breathless giggles.

Keigo shucks his shirt and climbs over you, mindful of your wings.

You shamelessly check him out, admiring his toned body. “I’m suddenly a little jealous of all the girls you’ve bedded before me,” you admit, smiling softly.

He strokes your cheek and presses a kiss to your lips. “The media isn’t so kind to me, huh? Making me out to be some kind of womanizer.”

“Surely you’ve been with at least a few people?”

“Nah,” he says, “nothing more than heavy petting, at least. I’m usually too busy for relationships. But you? You can keep up.” He kisses you again, “and you get me.”

Your lips meet a few more times after that, slowly but surely stirring the arousal back into your body. Keigo gently rocks his hips against you, his cock dragging between your thighs and sliding over your clit.

“You’ll -ngh!- you’ll be my first, you know. First all-the-way, at least.” You peek at him through your eyelashes, “is that okay?”

He lines his cock up with your entrance.

“As long as you don’t mind being my official first, either.”

He pushes in slowly, allowing you the time to adjust to the wider stretch. You tremble as he fills you, never having felt so full as with him inside you. It’s...strange. But good. So good.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he mutters as he bottoms out inside you, “my daydreams didn’t do you any justice.”

“Lucky you, then. You get to have me whenever -and wherever- you want, now.”

He groans, trying not to rut senselessly into you.

“Chickadee, you can’t say things like that when I’m literally on the edge of coming.”

“Awh,” you play innocent, “does my pussy feel that good?”

“Y/N…” he warns.

“What? You wanna stuff your fat cock into my tight pussy? Pound it ‘til it’s all nice and sloppy? Bet you could get me to squirt again, fuck me until I’m stupid and can’t move-”

You squeak in surprise when he suddenly flips you onto your stomach, nearly catching him in the face with a wing.

“The mouth on you,” he scolds lowly, making you clench around him, “when you’re sore later, remember that you’re the one who asked for it!”

You barely have any time to gasp before he’s pounding you into the bed, hard and fast. The obscene sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room, and soon you’re moaning in earnest, hands fisting into the once-tidy sheets.

Keigo is all but laying on top of you, pressing you firmly into the mattress while he slides roughly in and out of you. You’re so close already, and with the way you’re convulsing around him, you’re sure he knows it, too. You reach down to rub at your clit, but he slaps your hand away and pins your wrists beside your head.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart,” he nips at your bare shoulder, “if you wanna come, you come on my cock. Understood?”

You quake and tremble beneath him, the onslaught of pleasure driving you wild. You babble mindlessly against the sheets, bucking your hips back to meet his every thrust.

“Please!” you beg, “please, Keigo, please make me come! Touch me, please, please, I wanna come again, I need-”

He relents finally, his desire to watch you lose control greater than his desire to watch you squirm. He snakes a hand beneath you, fingers gliding easily over your dripping pussy. He rubs quick circles onto your clit, and you keen, tumbling over the edge.

His own thrusts only last a few more seconds before he’s following you into bliss, emptying out inside you. He grinds against you for a while, drawing your orgasms out as long as he can, and eventually stills.

You’re both breathing hard, sweaty bodies sticking together. You can feel the wetness on the bed where you came (twice) but you’re too spent to care. All you care about are the gentle kisses Keigo is littering across your back and shoulders, and the soft praises he whispers.

“You’re gonna need to get a cloth,” you sigh happily, once you can breathe easier, “because I don’t think I can walk.”

You both laugh a little, still dazed with bliss, and he kisses the side of your head.

“On it, chickadee.”

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #winged reader au #yall get nasty in this one

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Magic Circle

A JSE Fanfic

Hey, who’s excited for my first non-AU piece in a long time? Who’s excited for my first one-shot in like forever? If you’re excited for either of those things, then this is the piece for you :D I took some inspiration from Marvin’s video on Halloween to come up with this. Here, Marvin meets a magic group for the first time. Let’s see what happens :)

It’s a bright summer day outside. The sun is still high in the sky, despite it being almost five o’clock. There are people walking around the city streets, either going somewhere or even just taking a walk. Birds are chirping on top of the power lines and in the trees planted along the sidewalk. And Marvin was locked inside his room trying not to break something in frustration.

“Oh my goooood.” He puts his head down on the desk surface with a bit more force than necessary. It hurts, but he doesn’t mind. “Fuuuuuck offffff.” The desk before him is lit up with a lamp, despite there being sufficient light coming from the window. The lamp shines down on a laptop, open to a Google Docs document, and a leatherbound book, open to blank pages. Marvin drops his pen down on the desk. “Fuck it.” And with that, he pushes his chair back and heads over to the room’s door, unlocking it and heading outside.

He goes down the hall to the stairs, then down to the first floor. For a moment, he stops and blinks. His eyes feel...weird. Well, it makes sense. He’s spent almost all day staring at a computer screen or a blank page. The only time he wasn’t was when he was going to the bathroom. That probably wasn’t good for his eyes.

According to the wall clock in the downstairs hallway, he’s been trying for nearly five hours. That explains why he’s so hungry. Marvin heads into the kitchen and starts looking through the cabinets for something quick but filling.

Someone knocks on the doorframe behind him. Marvin jumps, and spins around. JJ is standing there. He waves. Hello, Marvin. Did you finish?

Marvin snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I wish. I’ve done like...three pages. God. Fuck.”

Oh dear...JJ frowns. What’s wrong?

“I dunno.” Marvin rubs his eyes. “I just keep getting distracted. Opening up YouTube and stuff. God, it’s just so boring. Why do I even need to write it all down in a book? All my spells and shit are saved online.”

Some people are sticklers for tradition, JJ points out. But anyway, maybe you should take a break. You haven’t eaten anything, have you?

“Uh...no. That’s why I’m here.” Marvin resumes rummaging through the cabinets. “Do we have any crisps? I’m thinking of making nachos.”

You’re not just going to eat nachos, you haven’t had anything since you woke up at ten. JJ walks over and slowly pushes the door to the cabinet closed. Here, go sit down in the dining room. I’ll make you something.

“C’mon, JJ, you don’t have to. You were probably doing something else, don’t stop that for me.”

I was going to make dinner anyway, JJ shrugs. I know you don’t eat until later, usually, but please make an exception. You can’t work on that grimoire if you collapse from hunger.

Marvin sighs. “Yeah. Thanks.” He bumps his shoulder against JJ’s—a sign of affection that could easily be mistaken for clumsiness—and heads into the dining room.

He wishes he’d never found out about the greater magical community. Ever since he had, all it meant were problems. He had to learn all about the structure of this community, about how this organization called the ABIM made laws, about how certain spells were supposed to be regulated, about how things like wands, crystal balls, and other magical aides were supposed to be made certain ways. Marvin had always done his own thing. He didn’t exactly think he was the only person in the world with magic—after all, if that was the case, who wrote down all the spells he found online? But it hadn’t exactly registered that they were probably organized somehow, and that he should probably go look for others. Thanks to his total lack of searching for other magicians, the ABIM hadn’t realized he existed until about two months ago.

But now they know. And Marvin has to learn and keep up with a bunch of rules and regulations. The one that’s giving him the most trouble is the existence of a “grimoire.” Apparently, magicians are required to write down all the spells they know, and keep them in one place. And no, the document where Marvin had copy-pasted all the spells he’d found online doesn’t count. So now he’s spent the last week or so struggling to transcribe the online document into the book he’d purchased. Progress is...slow. Marvin just can’t focus on something as unstimulating as copying words down. There’s not even any new information to process.

Luckily, eating dinner helped him get some energy back. But when it’s all said and done, and he pushes away his plate, he’s dreading going back upstairs to try and ultimately fail some more. “Thanks, JJ,” he says.

You already said so, and you’re still welcome, JJ says. Then he pauses. Is there anyone who could help you with this? Other magicians lately?

Marvin groans. “Yeah, I guess I know some, but...I don’t wanna.”

Yes, we know, you’re very stubborn, JJ signs patiently.

“I can figure this out,” Marvin insists. “I can do things on my own!”

Except for making dinner, apparently.

Marvin can’t help but laugh. “Ah, ya got me there.” He sighs, and stares absently out the window. “Look, all the magicians I’ve met so far are part of this government group. And I don’t like them.”

Well, if you ask them for help, perhaps your opinion on that would change, JJ suggests.

“Well I wouldn’t be doing this in the first place if it wasn’t for their stupid fucking law!” Marvin snaps. Then he winces. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just...tired.”

JJ nods. Maybe you should stop for the night. It could be easier in the morning.

“Maybe.”

And also, if you keep getting distracted, have you tried putting on music? Or perhaps doing something with your spare hand while you write? That helps me.

“Maybe.” Marvin’s still uncertain.

JJ pushes his chair back and stands up. Also, can you please do the dishes?

“What?! But you cooked!”

Exactly, and we both ate it, so it’s only fair we both do something about it.

“Oh come on, I’m all tired, please?”

JJ merely folds his arms and stares at Marvin.

“Alright, fine,” Marvin relents. “I’ve been sitting all day, might as well do something a bit active.”

Oh thank you! JJ says, beaming.

“Heh, act like you didn’t twist my arm,” Marvin mutters, shaking his head affectionately.

———————

Later that night, Marvin finds he’s having trouble going to sleep. He keeps thinking about JJ’s suggestion, the one about asking other magicians for help. Sure, he isn’t exactly fond of the ABIM magicians he’s met so far. But maybe someone else...then again, perhaps the problem with transcribing his spells is just with him, and not with the actual subject matter.

Still, it can’t hurt to get a second opinion, right? But how to find the magicians?

An idea starts to form in his mind. Marvin gets out of bed and walks over to the desk. His laptop is still set up from that day. He powers it on. The time on the computer clock reads 11:20pm. Wow, he’d only been trying to get to sleep for an hour, he thought it was longer. Anyway, he goes back to the document of his spells, searching through them for one specific spell.

Yes, there it is. The title is “Magic Minds,” a tracking spell he’d recently picked up. It’s supposed to be able to guide a magician to other magicians. Marvin hasn’t used it yet, since he had no real reason to. He didn’t want to run into magicians before, but why not now?

Marvin grabs his phone from where it was charging, and quickly changes out of pajamas and into regular clothes. He pauses, then also grabs his cape from his closet. There’s no real reason to wear it, but it would make him feel a bit better. And with all this, he heads downstairs and outside.

The spell is easy enough to cast. He’s done tracking spells before, and they all require the same basic steps. An incantation or a few gestures, then you follow whatever visual cue the spell uses to find your target.

He turns his wand over in his hands, flicking it upward, downward, side to side. Green sparks left behind by the movements make a cross, +, hovering in the air. Technically he could have used his hands, but he likes the wand. And with the cross sign hovering there, Marvin whispers a word, and blows on the middle of the cross. A wisp of green light dances out from the breath, and hits the cross. From the spot of impact, the cross turns from green to white, and falls down to be horizontal, parallel to the ground. It spins, reorienting itself, then one leg of the cross turns red as the cross settles, pointing somewhere. Marvin heads in that direction.

The cross acts as a compass, pointing in one direction. He hopes it’s not too far away. People would think it’s weird, seeing one guy with a magic compass in a cape wandering around the city at night. But unfortunately, it turns out to be far enough that he regrets not taking the bus. Then he remembers that the buses don’t run this late at night, and regrets not doing this in the daytime. How is he simultaneously the most impulsive and least impulsive person he knows?

He makes his way to a section of the city full of identical, red-bricked terrace houses. The compass starts glowing brighter. That must mean he’s getting closer. Though, looking around and seeing nothing but residential buildings around, he’s not sure he wants to break in to someone’s house. This situation doesn’t exactly call for it. He’ll probably just write down the address.

The compass flickers, drawing him out of his train of thought. It locks onto one direction, flares brightly, and then dies. Marvin growls, frustrated. This isn’t the time for the spell to fail!

“You couldn’t have waited to put it on?”

Marvin jumps a bit at the voice, and ducks into the nearest alley way. He glances around, and sees a pair of people on the other side of the street, walking. Oddly enough, one of them is wearing a black cloak. No...it can’t be this easy...

“Oh, who’s out to see it?” a different voice says. “It’s late.”

“It’s a busy city, you’re just lucky no one’s out in this section,” the first voice snaps.

The pair walks up to one of the houses, standing on the doorstep. They continue to whisper to each other, too quiet for Marvin to hear on the other side of the street. After a while, the door opens, and the two of them disappear inside.

Strange...Marvin walks out of the alleyway, staring at the house on the other side of the street. What’s this all about? He glances around, making sure there are no cars or people coming, then runs across the street, stopping outside the house. He pauses, then glances into the window quickly. The inside doesn’t look any different from an average house, but he’s not sure since he ducks away quickly so nobody inside will notice him. Though strangely, there aren’t any people inside, even though there must have been at least three. He glances back in, just to make sure they aren’t anywhere.

It’s then that he notices something strange. The image through the window is...shimmering. Like a heat wave in the air. But the glass isn’t warped or anything that would cause that effect. On a whim, Marvin presses a finger to the window pane.

And surprisingly, the window appears to shiver. A wave of warm yellow light ripples out from the point of contact, just like water across the surface of a still pond. Slowly, the effect ends, and once it does, Marvin can see people gathered in the living room. And they’re all wearing black cloaks.

What was this? A magic gathering? Marvin’s curiosity grabs a hold of him. He has to get inside. But how?

He gets out his phone, looking through the spells he has gathered again. There should be an invisibility one here somewhere. He hadn’t used it since his days as a stage magician, but he must still have it. Though it takes a while of scrolling, he does eventually find it. It’s just an incantation, but it requires the magician to use absolute focus as long as they want to remain invisible. He always had trouble with that part, which is why he gave up on using it as soon as his career ended. Until now, he thought it was only good for escape tricks.

Scanning the incantation a couple times to make sure he knows it, Marvin takes a deep breath. He puts his phone back, then rings the doorbell and quickly whispers the incantation. A rush of cool flows over him, like suddenly walking out of a heated building into a cold outside, and when he next looks down, he can’t see his own body. He gasps in triumph, but then he sees his body flicker, and returns to concentrating on staying invisible.

The door opens, and a man in a cloak looks around. Marvin ducks past him, and luckily just barely avoids brushing against him. “Hello?” the man calls. A few moments pass, and the man shakes his head and closes the door.

Marvin finds himself standing in a living room, decorated in warm colors. At least ten people are gathered, all wearing black cloaks, though it appears they’re wearing regular street clothes under them. There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room, with a few various desserts lined up on it. A low buzz of chatter fills the air.

“What was it, Callisto?” a woman asks.

The man who opened the door shakes his head. “Nobody was there. Probably some kids’ prank.”

“In the middle of the night?” the woman asks doubtfully.

“You don’t know this neighborhood,” the man—Castillo—grumbles.

“You should have taken the cloak off before answering!” Someone else says.

“Shut up Basil, nobody would’ve cared,” Castillo snaps.

Marvin walks closer into the gathering, trying not to be distracted by the various conversations. It was difficult. Words kept sneaking into his awareness despite his best efforts. No, stay invisible. Stay invisible. Complete focus.

“Why does everyone keep bringing desserts to the meeting?” A woman nearby complains.

“Because it tastes fucking good, duh,” another woman next to her says.

“Can we get started already?” asks a man. “Hey Castillo! Everyone’s here, right? Can we get started?”

“Jeez, who lit the fire under your pants, Leo?” Someone mutters.

“Hey, I’m only pointing out that it’s almost midnight, Lily,” Leo says. “We’re running out of time!”

“Alright, Leo’s right, we’re getting close to the time,” Castillo sighs. “Alright, listen up everyone! We’re heading down to the basement to get started!”

A wave of chatter breaks out, and everyone files out of the room. Marvin rushes to the side in order to avoid anyone bumping into him. He watches silently as they all move into the hall and then down a set of stairs. What are they doing? He hesitates, then follows cautiously. A bunch of people in cloaks heading down to a basement for some sort of ritual? Every movie, book, and game ever says that’s a shady thing and should not be checked out. Yet he’s so curious. Is this what other magicians do?

The staircase isn’t too long, and it opens up into a large, wide room. Marvin was expecting a concrete floor and visible rafters, but it looks more like an entertainment room. The walls were painted a pale yellow, the floor was mostly carpeted, there were sofas and chairs and even one of those huge beanbags. It’s lit up by lightbulbs mounted directly into the ceiling, which makes it look just like any other household room. The only thing different is a square section of dark hardwood floor with a circle drawn on it in, well, what looks like salt. A few tall candles sit around the edges of the circle, in alternating purple and orange colors.

Marvin walks closer to the circle. There are some symbols drawn around its edge, also in salt. He’s surprised to realize he doesn’t recognize any of them. They’re not part of any runes he knows. But he does feel like he’s seen them before, somewhere else. Maybe it’s a different runic alphabet? But what does this mean?

“Hey, did you see that?” someone asks.

“See what?”

“I dunno, I thought...nevermind.”

“C’mon, Morgana.”

“Well, I just thought it looked like a person out of the corner of my eye.”

Marvin inhales sharply and goes back to concentrating on staying invisible. This is the last place he wants that to wear off.

“It’s five minutes to midnight!” Castillo calls. “Everyone in position!”

There’s a bit of awkward shuffling as the group moves to stand around the circle. A few people whisper about watching the edge of the salt to make sure it doesn’t get knocked out of place. “Someone get the lights,” Castillo says.

“Uh, shouldn’t we light the candles first so it’s not dark?” Basil points out.

“Oh, I have a lighter!” Morgana volunteers.

“Oh yeah.” Castillo nods. “Mor, you light the candles. Uh, James, you’re closest to the lights, knock them out, will you?”

“Everyone watch their hems,” Morgana says as she starts going around the edge of the circle and lighting the candles. Once they’re all lit, a man dashes over to the wall and hits the light switch, plunging the room into darkness except for the candlelight.

“Hands, everyone,” Castillo instructs. Everyone grabs their neighbors’ hands, forming a connected circle. “Two minutes to midnight. Time to start. Make sure you chime in at the right time.”

Silence falls. Marvin holds his breath, waiting for something to happen. And soon, the circle starts murmuring. No, it’s not just that, they’re actually chanting, all in a low, quiet voice. More voices join in, and they all get louder. Harmonies break off as different strings of words jump in, until the group is singing, their voices echoing off the walls.

Lines appear on the floor inside the circle. Lines of orange light, each one starting at the feet of one of the magicians, then ending at the feet of another. There were so many, connecting each magician to every other member of the group. The light coming from them grew brighter, and then—

SNAP!

Sparks flew into the air in the center of the circle. Quicker than what should be possible, they grow into a fire, hovering about three feet off the ground. The flames start orange, and then flicker between different colors—red, yellow, green, purple, blue, pink, white, and everything in between. It was as if a firework had gone off in the room, completely contained within a small part of the air. Marvin couldn’t help but gasp. And, as he stared closer into the fire, he realized there weren’t just colors...there were images as well. Shapes of people and objects forming scenes. They pass by too quickly for him to fully make out.

The chanting reaches a crescendo, and the fire breaks down into small balls of flame. Each one shoots toward one of the magicians, disappearing into their chests. For a moment, all the magicians glow with the colors of the fire. And then it fades. The lines on the floor disappear, and the magicians slowly stop their chants.

There’s a brief moment of quiet, like the heavy sort of silence one hears after having finished a good book and absorbing the story it contained. And then: “James, can you get the lights again?”

The man from before walks over to turn on the light switch. Everyone gasps and blinks in the suddenly bright room. Idle chatter starts up.

“Hey wait a minute, who’s that?!”

Marvin gasps as one of the magicians points at him. They all turn to look, and he realizes too late that he’d forgotten to concentrate on the invisibility spell.

“Who are you?!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“How’d you get in?!”

And Marvin panics. He turns and runs up the stairs, hearing the magicians shout behind him. Skipping the last step, he bursts out into the first floor hallway and starts to sprint for the front door.

Someone shouts something, and there’s a burst of red light. Then only blackness.

———————

Marvin only realizes he lost consciousness once he starts regaining it. He groans, feeling a headache spike in his temples, and opens his eyes.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” A man is sitting next to him, wearing a black cloak. It takes Marvin a moment to recognize him as the Castillo guy. But upon recognition, he bolts upright. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down!” Castillo holds his hands up, slightly pushing Marvin back down. “You’re not in any trouble. Persephone hit you with a blackout spell, but she’s sorry about that.” He glares to the side. “Riiight?”

Every other cloaked magician is standing nearby. They’re all back in the living room from before, with Marvin lying on one of the sofas. “Uh, yeah, really sorry,” a woman says. “I freaked out and acted on instinct.”

“How are you feeling?” Castillo asks, turning back to Marvin. “Some people have allergic reactions to blackout spells. Are you having any trouble breathing?”

Marvin doesn’t answer, looking wide-eyed at the people around him. Now that he’s actively facing the prospect of talking to other magicians, his throat has closed up. It’s probably made worse by the fact that he technically broke into their secret meeting.

“Uh, sir?” Castillo reaches out and makes to grab Marvin’s arm.

“Don’t!” Marvin flinches away. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Oh, okay, sorry!” Castillo sharply withdraws. “Just wanted to be sure you were breathing.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine, so don’t touch me,” Marvin grumbles. He shifts awkwardly, glancing around at the others. They’re starting to mutter among themselves. He can’t tell what they’re saying, and that makes him nervous. Are they mad at him? It would be understandable. But he’s terrible with tone of voice, so he can’t even tell, and the uncertainty makes him even more worried.

“I got it, no worries.” Castillo gives a friendly smile, no doubt meant to reassure Marvin. “But you are okay, right?”

“Yeah, fine,” Marvin mutters.

“That’s good,” Castillo nods. “Um...do you mind if I ask how you got here? This house is warded from any teleportations.”

“Yeah, if you guys tell me who you are first,” Marvin countered.

“We’re the Magic Circle, duh,” one of the other magicians says.

“Well I’ve never fucking heard of the Magic Circle, so excuse me for not knowing!” Marvin sits up on the sofa, scooting away from Castillo.

“Huh? Really?” Castillo looks puzzled. “Well, specifically, we’re the Mirygale chapter of the Magic Circle, it’s a nationwide organization.”

“Are you guys like a coven or something?” Marvin asks.

“We’re just a group, man,” another magician says. “We meet up, cast spells together, not that hard to grasp.”

“I’ve never heard of magic groups,” Marvin says warily.

Castillo blinks. “Seriously?”

“Well, I know the ABIM guys,” Marvin admits. “But that’s it.”

“ABIM is different,” Castillo says dismissively. “They’re like a government, and a loose one at that.” He pauses. “Are you...self-taught?”

“Yeah. Why the fuck does that matter?” Marvin demands.

It must have mattered significantly, because a chorus of “ohhhhhh” passed through the group. “Ah, that explains why you don’t know about magic groups,” Castillo says. “You’re a bit old for being self-taught, though. Most magicians from outside a magical family find—”

“—find out about the greater magic community when they’re in college, yeah, I know, I’ve heard that speech before,” Marvin says through clenched teeth. “So I’m a few years late, I was busy. Anyway, what are magic groups? Just like, magicians gathered together? Is that allowed? What do the ABIM think?”

Castillo laughs. “The Magic Circle is much older than the Association, they couldn’t get rid of us if they wanted to.” He shrugs. “Well, magic groups aren’t too hard to figure out. It’s just a bunch of magicians gathered together.” He sweeps his arm around the room. “Spells cast by a group are more powerful than just a single magician alone. We share spells with each other, come to each others’ aid in times of magical crisis, study magic together...they say two heads are better than one, you know? Stronger in numbers.”

Marvin nods slowly. “So...what were you doing in the basement?”

“That? That was a combination divination and prosperity spell,” Castillo explains. “Something like that you can only get in a group. It shows us significant events in the next year, then gives us good luck.”

“Never heard of a good luck spell...” Marvin mutters.

“Well, you’ve been practicing on your own, and doing luck spells on your own is a tricky business,” Castillo says. “So now it’s our turn. How’d you get inside?”

Marvin shifts uncomfortably, then reluctantly explains the whole thing with the Magic Minds spell and the invisibility.

“Ohhh, I know that spell!” One of the magicians says excitedly. “But you’re supposed to include your target’s full name in the incantation, otherwise it’ll just lead you to the nearest magician.”

“Why were you looking for magicians?” Another one asks.

Marvin looks down. Now that the time has come for it, he’s kind of embarrassed. “I dunno, I...sort of wanted help with this grimoire thing. But it’s stupid. Nevermind.”

“Huh? What kind of help?” Castillo asks. “You know the Magic Minds spell and an invisibility spell, you seem pretty knowledgeable.”

Marvin scowls. “Well, apparently, it needs to be in a book, not online at all. Which is fucking dumb. Why do I have to copy it all over?! It’s all already there!”

“Have you tried listening to a podcast while doing it?” One of the magicians suggests. “It gives you something to focus on.”

Castillo chuckles. “Well, if it’s a problem with focus, I don’t know if magicians specifically could help.”

“Shut up,” Marvin mutters. “Maybe there’s a spell to copy it all over for me—”

“If you found one, let me know, will you?” Castillo jokes.

Marvin glares at him, then stands up. “Well, I’m sorry for interrupting your Magic Circle shit, I’ll just go now, because clearly this was a stupid fucking idea—”

“Hey wait!” Castillo stands up as well. “What’s your name, bro?”

“Don’t call me bro!” Marvin growls. “But it’s Marvin. Marvin Moore.”

“Wait holy shit like Marvin the Magnificent?!” A magician says excitedly. Marvin recognizes him as the James one. “You had real magic the whole time?! No wonder people couldn’t figure out your tricks!”

Marvin can’t help but smile proudly at that. “Hell yeah, people loved it.”

“Well, Mr. Moore, you have some powerful magic in you,” Castillo says admirably. “You bypassed all the wards I set up here without even trying.” He walks over to a table with drawers, pulling one open and taking out a pen and notebook. After scribbling something down, he tears out the page, and walks back over to hand it to Marvin. “This is all our information, and my personal phone number. If you ever have a group you want to join, call us, okay?”

“Oh! Do it!” James encourages. “Then we’ll be thirteen, it’ll be the ideal number for most spells! And we’ll have a famous guy in our chapter!”

“Hey, let him make his own decision,” a nearby magician says.

Marvin scans the information from the paper. There could be benefits to joining a magic group...one of which being that he’ll finally have more than five people to talk to. And were these spells cast by groups really more powerful? A familiar feeling starts to grow inside him, a feeling of wanting to know, of wanting to be the best. That feeling led him astray in the past, got him mixed up in branches of magic he probably shouldn’t have been involved in. But if he’s with other people, it’ll be different, right? He hesitates for just one moment longer, then asks, “Hey, so uh, what if I’ve already made my decision?”

———————

The next day, Marvin finds himself sitting at his desk once more, with his laptop and his unfinished grimoire before him. But there were also a couple other things as well. A slim book, its cover decorated with the same sort of symbols he’d seen written in that circle of salt, and a sphere of black crystal. “Consider these your entrance-level gifts,” Castillo had said. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the types of magic the Circle likes to use, so this’ll be your beginner’s course.”

Marvin actually isn’t familiar with these branches of magic at all. And that makes this book all the more fascinating. It contains a guide to the symbols they use, the principles of the magic, and a few basic spells. Interestingly, it seems to be derived from alchemy. Or maybe it is alchemy, Marvin doesn’t know. He’d never had any reason to look up what alchemy was before this.

He sets the book down, taking a moment to pick up his new crystal ball and look it over. He can already think of several uses for this, but that might have to wait until later. For now, he really needs to at least make some progress on the grimoire.

And where better to start than with the new, interesting spells? It’s sure to keep his focus if he’s copying down information he’s never heard before. Marvin puts the crystal ball down and picks up his pen. But before he starts writing, he puts on his headphones. Listening to a podcast, huh? Maybe that will help.

He can feel that something new is in the air. Something is changing. Marvin had never worked with other magicians before. The prospect is both exciting and a little nerve-wracking. But however this ends, he knows now that things will be different from here on, in some way or another. And he’s certainly excited to find out.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #marvin the magnificent #brigid writes fanfiction

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 3: Caught

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 3. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 2 'Alone'. All alone in the middle of a forest covered by snow, Hiccup makes his escape during a trip. But what has lead up to this?

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo, Ryker

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 4 376

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Escape in the Snow”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: From this point on, it's going to be confusing as events will not be told in order just because of the order of the prompts. At least from Day 3 through 7. I've never done anything like this before either, so this was an interesting project to work on.

Anyway constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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

The Grimborn Empire is a company that focuses mostly on export and import. They have centers where trucks load and unload their wares and they have ships and containers to bring those wares to other countries overseas. There are many, many employees working under the Grimborn name.

But the headquarters, so to speak, is a tall building that stands in the city of New New Berk and that is where Viggo works.

His office is on the top floor and overlooking the city. Though quite sparse, the interior is as fancy as one would imagine and screams CEO. At the desk Viggo usually sits, his back facing the large, thick windows that make up the wall behind him.

At the moment, however, he's facing one and stands there as a slow afternoon passes. Hands clasped behind him, he watches the traffic down below.

With no work needing to be done, he's waiting for a meeting that is supposed to start in another hour or so. He has a particular disdain for waiting and doing nothing, he's just wasting precious time that could be spent on something useful.

If it wasn't so short, he would've used it alright. He would've gone by the house and see how his little pet project is doing, but alas!

So instead he has to think smaller and ponder if he should tell his assistant to grab him a coffee. He would go down to the local coffee shop he used to frequent, but the one barista he liked in that establishment is no longer working there. So he doesn't see the point in going himself.

Turning away from the view, Viggo decides that's what he's going to do. He approaches his desk with the intention to press a button on his phone to call his assistant in. She should come stumbling in seconds later like a hen without her head, rightfully in a hurry if she wants to keep her job.

But it's as he leans forward, index finger hovering over the little button of doom that she so dreads to have him use, that something on his computer screen draws his attention.

An alert? Of what? And how long has that been there?

It's a little black popup on the bottom right and it's barely noticeable. It certainly hasn't drawn his attention.

With urgency does he pull his expensive leather desk chair back. Viggo takes a seat and rolls back in, taking the mouse and clicking on it.

It appears to him that someone is on his home computer. That in itself wouldn't necessarily send an alert to his device at work, but when someone enters a certain password to gain access to a place they aren't supposed to be in, well, then Viggo likes to know who.

There is no one in the office but him, so he feels safe enough to open up an app and a different window pops up. This one allows him to see who's using his home computer. It takes him a little while to find the right one, but he finds it.

When he sees it's Hiccup, he's somehow not surprised.

A deep scowl appears on his face and Viggo growls. This isn't the first time he's caught Hiccup breaking a rule behind his back, but this is one of the worst he could've broken. That boy never learns.

How long has he been searching through his stuff? He wishes that alert came with a timestamp or something to help him see it. He isn't a tech genius, that's for sure. And does Hiccup even know what he's looking at?

He looks much too focussed, eyes quickly moving across the screen with the speed you'd expect from someone with his brain. Viggo would've been enamored if he wasn't so alarmed.

But then he's torn out of his thoughts as he sees Hiccup visibly react to something he must've found. His reaction is terrible as he visibly reels from something Viggo cannot see.

He doesn't know what it is that Hiccup's found, the feed has no sound either, but Viggo can see him quickly unravel on screen and it's a joy to see.

The quick jerk of the chair backward, the disbelief, the tears in his eyes, the telltale shaking of his shoulders as he begins to sob, following by his hand covering his mouth and then his face he folds in on himself.

It's all on-screen and that means Viggo can see him sink further and further in his breakdown.

All he does is hum thoughtfully.

"I have to say, Hiccup, whatever you must be looking at, I think you deserve it."

However, this does present him with a big problem. Hiccup isn't a fool and Viggo won't be able to tell what he's found, what he's been looking at. He doesn't have a good view of how well Hiccup is with electronics either, though that he's made it this far is certainly telling.

This is troubling. And worse is, he'll have to tell Ryker and he'll be expected to make his final decision about the boy. Because it's been much too long already and Hiccup still hasn't learned his place.

Viggo sighs in agitation and leans back in his chair, gaze still on the screen.

"Well, well, well, you've been especially troublesome, my Dear Hiccup. But now you've really forced my hand."

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

"A trip?" Hiccup cautiously asks, looking up at Viggo from his seat at the table.

There's a brochure that's been shoved into his hands. It looks like it's somewhere far away from where they live now, far away from civilization as a whole. It's of a place in the mountains, somewhere snowy. Clearly the perfect place to go when someone has a stump for a leg.

With how isolated it is, he'll still be stuck with just Viggo and Ryker. They might be counting on his leg to keep him inside and that Hiccup will know better than to wander through the woods in the freezing cold.

"Yes, a trip. It's the 20th, that means the holidays are fast approaching and I desire a break from work." Viggo tells him and Hiccup almost dares to raise an eyebrow.

Viggo? A break from work? Yeah, when pigs fly.

This just makes this whole sudden trip all the more suspicious, however. Here's the thing, this brochure isn't promoting some lodge or a resort or anything one would go to for a holiday getaway. It's one made of a fishing town by the name of Newport, using its beautiful sights as a way to lure people in.

This isn't the kind of place most people would go to when they think "vacation" and certainly not Viggo Grimborn. So what is the true purpose of this?

Maybe he should ask something first.

"So what'll happen to me?" Hiccup asks, assuming that he won't be left behind to starve.

He could order takeout, though. Make a quick getaway with the pizza courier, but that's the kind of stuff that will only happen in comedy movies. He wishes he can watch one again someday.

Hiccup wants to chuckle, but he chokes his amusement.

"You'll come along, of course. I realize you haven't been outside much," At that Hiccup can't help but give Viggo a glare. It's one that says 'you mean not at all?' But when he returns it just as strong in warning, Hiccup has to do his part and avert his gaze.

His jaw is still blue from the other day and his hand still painful and blistered from the boiling water that ended up spilling in that confrontation.

"What I was trying to tell you is that we both need new surroundings and this way I can spend more time with you." Viggo continues and Hiccup feels like what he's spouting is bull. Ryker is rolling his eyes in the background so loudly they can almost hear it.

Whenever Viggo is home, Hiccup is either one of two things; Completely neglected or clung to constantly, like he has a needy child that won't leave him alone. There is no in-between and it was particularly bad in the beginning three months of his stay.

"What happens to..." Hiccup hesitates, trying to find the right word to use. "The family cat?"

He hopes his choice of words will bring the cat in question some favor. The cat is a two-month-old kitten, one Viggo bought him as a gift when she was a month old.

Well, as a gift and as leverage.

"She'll go someplace where they can take care of her, don't worry," Viggo answers before he downs his drink. If he didn't know any better, Hiccup wouldn't have worried when he told him not to.

Hiccup looks back down at the brochure, brows knitting together in worry.

There is not one part of this that isn't suspicious and he fears what he may find on this "trip".

No, wait. Maybe this isn't as bad as he thinks.

"I... look forward to it." Hiccup tells him without a smile or anything that could possibly be mistaken for enthusiasm. He couldn't fake it even if he tried.

Viggo is displeased with this, but at least he doesn't see this as an excuse to 'discipline' him.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning. Get started on dinner and pack after." He orders him and leaves, walking away from the table.

Hiccup watches him go before his eyes move to the text on the brochure.

This trip might not be such a bad thing. Because even though he'll be spending even more time with his abusers, leaving the premise means the invisible fences keeping him in will be down. The plan he's been working on to get help from the outside is going to be ruined, but maybe that's not so bad. Maybe it's not even necessary and he can finally see an opportunity to escape.

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If you're as rich as Viggo Grimborn, chances are that you don't take any of the conventional means of travel.

Why take a public flight if you can use your personal boat to make the trip there? And unlike with a car, you don't need to stop at a restroom for gas, food, drinks, or a restroom.

And since the brothers are aware of his mother's dragon sanctuary and his affinity for dragons, the last thing they want is to energize him by putting him on a plane and bringing him the closest to flying that he's been since they picked him off the street that faithful night.

The joke's on them, however. The breeze blowing along the shore is enough to give him that high.

That's the thing with keeping someone like him confined to the house. The smallest gust of wind will invigorate him, the feeling the Grimborn Brothers wanted to suppress most.

Hiccup is leaning over the side of the boat, knees on some leather seats, trying to catch as much of the wind as he can. It combing through his hair feels like heaven to him and it's like it's telling him that it's missed him.

Viggo scowls deeply at the display.

"You know, if you want him to stop enjoying himself so much, you should tell him why we're really here," Ryker advises his younger brother from the steering wheel.

Viggo would tell him to keep his eye on where they're headed, but instead, he looks thoughtful.

They've already left, Hiccup can do no harm here. What's the worst he can do? Throw himself overboard and make things easier for them?

Besides, he doesn't have the heart to hurt someone, the cat has proven how soft he is. While packing, Viggo had to resort to smacking him just to quieten his endless questions about the place they were sending her to while they were away.

Frighteningly enough, a yet unbroken spirit caused Hiccup to glare back at him, Viggo remembers the look well. If it could kill, he'd be dead.

After everything that's been done to him, that will to fight that he's been carefully ripping out of him piece by piece is still there. The boy bounces back quickly, a concerning thing.

But cracks have formed, cracks that made him not lash back out after that smack.

They're almost there, they've almost broken him. That's why this getaway is so important.

So Viggo approaches.

"Henry." Hiccup is torn out of his thoughts of his Bud by a name that isn't his and he tenses up immensely.

It's a cover name because unusual names like his tend to be more memorable than one as simple and common as that.

For as much trouble as his birth name has given him growing up, he prefers it greatly over whatever name Viggo has given him.

Plus, he knows it's just another method. He's changed his clothing, his eating habits, everything down to what brand he brushes his teeth and washes his hair with. So what is a name change?

"... Yes?" Still Hiccup responds, not feeling like getting hit again. The bruise on his jaw is still far from fading and there are many more beneath his clothes. His ribs hurt when he breathes too deeply. Just bruised, most likely.

But he must've not responded in the correct tone, with the correct face, or maybe he just took too long. Because he's smacked on the back of his head for whatever he's done this time. He'd flinched before it came and anger is what remains. All he knows is anger and fear and shame.

He can't remember what joy feels like.

All those negative emotions swirl inside and he has to swallow them, lest he be hurt worse and mysteriously break his wrist again. He flexes his hand on memory.

Look a certain way, sound a certain way, move a certain way, do this, do that, what Viggo wants is an obedient robot. A robot with very specific qualities and functions.

"Sit down." Viggo orders him and Hiccup listens, taking his knees off the seat and sitting down. He smooths his expression as best as he can while the older man comes down next to him.

He wants to take his hand, intertwine their fingers, but Hiccup draws his hand back. Viggo insists, taking hold and squeezing tight enough to hurt.

If he had a wish for pain, he would've squeezed back. He knows it's a game he sometimes used to do with Astrid.

And Snotlout, but that was more arm wrestling, he loves doing those. Hiccup is usually victorious in those and Snotlout is usually left with the bad taste of defeat.

Once in a while, however, he'd let him win. It always felt so good to see him smile, hear him holler in joy, watch him throw his fists in the air. That was always followed up by gloating and the flexing of his muscles, which consistently almost made Hiccup regret letting him win.

Gods, he almost forgot he used to do that. Sometimes he almost forgets he had friends at all.

Sometimes it feels good not to remember what you used to have.

"Henry!" Viggo calls him out his pleasant memories, the occasional reprieve, and tightens his grip some more.

It hurts because he's holding his left hand, which is the one covered in bandages. He can feel the burning pressure in those blisters grow.

So Hiccup quickly figures this isn't something he can win and submits quickly, loosening his hold and looking down.

In return, Viggo's hold on his hand lightens, too.

"So, Henry, you've been troublesome."

"Have I?" It's a genuine question, but it must've come out too sarcastic for Viggo's taste. A third strike and he'll be looking at another punishment.

The only reason he's so lenient now is that someone might catch them.

When he first arrived, a mere painful squeeze wasn't all it took to shut him up.

Maybe he's wrong. Maybe there was a bit of a Viking in him, too. Was, because he's very aware of how obedient he's been. He barely meets Viggo's eyes as of late, certainly not when he doesn't have permission. He hates that he can't.

"You've been troublesome." He repeats and watches for a reaction.

There isn't one, Hiccup's gaze is still downcast and that pleases him.

What he can't tell is the way his brows have furrowed. Is it anger again? Pain? Perhaps it's a mix of both. Let's just throw another pinch of shame in there as well.

"We've tried many things to make you fall in line," By trying to abuse the disobedience out of him, but Hiccup can't say that. "But you remain too stubborn. That is why we're going on this trip. This is meant as a way to finally persuade you."

"And you thought a nice trip up the mountains after everything you two have done would miraculously make me fall head over heels in love with you?" Hiccup mutters quietly under his breath, hoping he isn't heard too much.

"I'm warning you, Henry, this is your last chance." There is that name for the third time, but all Hiccup can focus on is the choice of wording.

His eyes are widened with alarm.

"Wait, what do you mean by 'last chance'? Last chance before what?" He asks. Nothing is ever just an accident with this man, that has to be on purpose and Hiccup wants to know why.

There's a beat of silence before Viggo answers, apparently wanting Hiccup to wallow in it.

"I know you've been messing with my computer. You believed I wouldn't find out, but the cameras on my property aren't just on the outside." Viggo explains and Hiccup stares at him with growing realization, caught redhanded.

"The bookcase you pick books from without permission, the bathroom while you shower, the living room where you watch your documentaries and tasteless movies, there are hidden cameras all over the house. Including on my personal computer." He continues to add and panic is about to erupt with Hiccup.

So he's been keeping watch on him from work all this time? But Viggo never punished him for breaking the rules when he wasn't home.

No leaving the house, which he never could anyway. No unauthorized snacking or drinking, not that there is anything to snack on in that house. He knows about Ryker's personal stash, but he's only stolen from there once and that wasn't without consequences. No entertainment and finish your chores, not even the books belonging to his keeper or the tv were allowed to be touched.

Those are only the rules he can count at the top of his head and Hiccup broke so many more then those. Sometimes the second Viggo left. So if there really are cameras all over the house keeping watch over him, why did he never show any knowledge of his childish rulebreaking?

His panic makes him forego the role of obedient little love.

"No, that's a lie! There are no cameras, you're just trying to get under my skin!" Hiccup shoots up, tearing his hand back. It hurts, but he cares little.

"Don't raise your voice at me, Henr-"

"Oh, stop it with that stupid name! It's Hiccup! I'm not letting you get-" While it is Hiccup who first cuts Viggo off, the latter is swift to return the favor.

He rises and backhands him with one seamless motion. Both for speaking out of turn and raising his voice. The ring on his finger cuts into his cheek.

Hiccup comes to glare at him, now silent as he holds it. He wants so badly to hit back, but knows that he can't.

He did try it once.

Once.

He sits back down and slumps forward in defeat.

"Did you honestly believe I would allow you to roam freely in my home without eyes and ears on you at all times?" The ears part is a lie, but Hiccup doesn't need to know that. Besides, Viggo feels satisfied with that look of alarm appearing on his face.

"Henry, I chose you because you were smart. Is that a lie? If it isn't, can you figure out the rest?" He asks and then leaves in a foul mood.

But yes, Hiccup can and he does.

He's telling the truth. And Viggo wouldn't be telling him all of this, disclosing the fact that he's been secretly watching him through hidden eyes all over his home, without reason him. Clearly, he's been keeping that fact to himself to reveal later when it would be of some significance and today is apparently that day.

This is Hiccup's "last chance" to fall in line. The sudden disclosure of secrets, the unexpected trip to somewhere cold and remote, putting his cat in a regular shelter for 'safekeeping' instead of one of those fancy hotels Viggo definitely has the money for...

His last chance...

If Hiccup doesn't fully submit to Viggo by the end of this trip instead of only half-submitting when he has no other choice, they're going to...

His hand falls limp to his lap, overcome with shock.

The fear has always been there. He's seen them on the news, missing persons that ended up found, but in a grave instead of alive.

If he doesn't become what they've taken him to be, they're going to kill him.

From his position at the steering wheel, having watched it all go down, Ryker smirks in delight.

"He's figured it out."

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It's not like Hiccup is surprised to learn that his situation could end this way.

When he was first abducted, woken up in a bare dimly lit room, he'd once wondered if he was the first one or if there'd been others before him. People who'd mysteriously gone missing, went through the same stuff he has, and were never found. Not alive, at least.

But to think that, that day has already arrived...

No, he shouldn't be surprised. The very fact that plenty of people have had less, much less, time than he was given, people who were taken from the streets only to end up dead the very next day, makes Hiccup feel very lucky.

But should he still worry about his fate? He's finally made his escape and he's far away from the cabin now.

They arrived not even two days ago and settled into what was supposed to be home for the next two weeks. Funny, Hiccup hasn't been home for months.

His careful planning has been all for naught. In the end, he had to work on pure impulse to get him out of trouble.

He shouldn't be proud of it and he probably won't be. There was a reason for all that planning, all that waiting and enduring. He's sure he'll regret it later, whether he manages to get away from Viggo or not.

Hiccup supposes that matters little now. He's out here, wandering through a forest covered in a layer of snow that's at least a foot thick. He's not dressed properly for the cold, wearing just a hoodie and jeans, and he's not in perfect condition either. On top of the bruises and the hand, he's gotten injured in those two days.

His upper back burns and it's been burning since their first evening in the mountains. The horrible memory attached to it wants to break free and be a hindrance in his escape. Trudging through the snow and trembling awfully, he tries not to let it.

Besides his head is pounding. He doesn't know why that is as he doesn't know exactly what happened, what knocked him out. He just knows that he blacked out and woke up with an aching head.

An aching head, a burning back, and a foot in agony. He'd dropped something on it in the confrontation that lead to his escape. Now he's using a shovel to help him limp through the trees, a shovel of which the spade has blood on it.

A lot has happened in two days. A lot. There's something he has done that he can never atone for.

His last chance has passed.

It's dark out, too, making this trip through the woods ten times harder than it already is. It's pure agony to use his broken foot, but he has no other choice but to since his left his a fake.

He can feel the pain radiating up his leg through his ankle. He's had to stop several times just to take a breather, the used air from his lungs leaving in white puffs. But each time, his will to escape triumphs over his pain and he continues to drag his way forward. Bit by bit, step by step, giving up is not an option.

And yet, there's the threat of panic erupting and stopping him. Having a stubborn will is good and all, but it's useless if he doesn't get out of here.

Sure, he got away from Viggo, but he has no idea where he's going now. His hope is to find a road or the town they docked at, but he could be heading deeper into the forest for all he knows.

If he is, then what? Will he never see his friends again? Will his parents be able to move on, will they ever have closure? Will Toothless ever be up in the air again?

Hiccup's arduous limping comes to a halt and he slowly turns to look behind him. It's only because of how strongly pure white snow contrasts against the blue-ish black of the night that he can see the trail he's left behind. If Viggo is searching for him, it won't be hard to find him.

He's shivering, clinging to the shovel that's a clumsy crutch at best, and looks at the way ahead of him. He doesn't feel hopeful, he doesn't know what exactly he feels. Nothing besides pain and a possibly very foolish drive forwards.

Whether the cold lulls him into a false sleep during his endless wandering or Viggo puts an end to his life himself, this forest will be his grave if he doesn't find his way out.

For better or for worse, it's a big enough reason to keep on pushing through the pain and keep going onwards.

#amow winter whumperland #12wwday.3 #baby it's cold outside #escape in the snow #httyd movies #rtte #modern au #hiccup haddock #hiccup whump #viggo grimborn #vigcup #one-sided vigcup #ryker grimborn #tw: non-con elements #tw: non-con touching #tw: non-con relationship #one-sided relationship #tw: kidnapping mention #tw: abuse #tw: past abuse #my fanfics #caught

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 26

Read on AO3.  Part 25 here. Part 27 here.

Summary: You're not sure what Ren is thinking. You're not sure what you're thinking, either.

Words: 2900

Warnings: Handmaid’s Tale AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I feel like every time I try to write this fic, I'm just... like... "Oh, let's try an action scene. Oh, let's try to write a party. Oh, let's fuckin', uh, inject some attempt at connection and emotion"? I don't know, haha. Reply down below if you think Anna be doin' too much.

That being said, the support and engagement I receive from y'all truly makes my day and week and life better. Every single comment is so special to me, I don't take any of it for granted. I feel so lucky and love y'all so much. Thank you! <3

The Knight stepped forward as you crossed the gate, a black wall of carbon and fabric, the pointed red cross on the breast of his cape the only break in the shadow. “Commander Ren requests your presence.”

You stopped, tossing a glance over the masked man before nodding. An escort wasn’t typical--not for you, anyway. “Well. Lead the way.”

The Knights Templar had been patrolling Kylo Ren’s property since before he’d returned from the hospital. After he’d called them to Snoke’s to alter the scene, his home had been monitored by at least three of them at any given time. One had gone with you when you were questioned by the Eyes--thanks to Christine’s report that a guard had killed Commander Snoke, you’d been given the benefit of the doubt and released in silence. A good thing, too, since otherwise they might have discovered the suspiciously bloody handprints on your tits.

Today, you spotted two of the Knights at the front gate and two posted at the side-yards--meaning the last two were in the back. You’d only ever seen all six the first day they’d arrived.

He turned, the flutter of his cape revealing the rifle strapped across his torso, and marched up the driveway, past Ren’s Audi, guiding you into the home. The bag in your hand seemed just ounces heavier as you trailed him, heart fluttering at the thought of seeing your Commander. It’d been over a week since you’d spoken. Your last conversation hadn’t gone well.

In a way, it’d been almost a relief on your poor body as it recovered from the concussion, the welts, the hickeys, the scabs on your knees and back. Even your cunt was grateful for a breather--you hadn’t realized what several days of being constantly, aggressively fucked by Kylo Ren’s massive dick had done for your pain tolerance.

That being the case, you would’ve been lying if you said that you hadn’t spent the days since your last tryst remembering the taste of copper on his tongue, the slickened slip of blood on your clit, how he’d looked coated in crimson under the summer sun as the heat of victory, of unity had pumped through you both. That connection had cracked open your ribs, lead your foolish heart to slaughter with the promise of security in your Commander’s arms. You weren’t delusional to believe that he wanted you as more than his Handmaid--no, the delusion had been the belief that he’d ever see you as his equal.

The Knight led you through the home, and you dropped off your bag in the kitchen--Emma and Rose were clattering away, and you heard Johana’s voice, a needle in your ears.

“No, no, don’t be stupid. Those don’t go there. Emma, will you start the tomato salad for the bruschetta, already? We need at least three different hors d'oeuvres--do you want to be shipped off to the Colonies?”

“Ms. Johana, please, I’m just now--”

“Get to work.”

You frowned. It sounded as if they were preparing for something, but what it could be, you didn’t know. The thought of another dinner party made your stomach roil.

The doors to Kylo Ren’s den were closed when you arrived--the Knight pushed one open, standing solid as he waited for you to enter. Glancing between him and the floor, head bowed, you passed through, and the door shut behind you.

In the light of the day, Ren seemed significantly less suffocating--but no less heady, no less beguiling. He leaned back in his chair, dressed in an open white linen shirt that revealed a ridiculously tempting patch of clavicle. Documents sprawled out in front of him, a fountain pen in his hand. His eyes were dark, full lips pursed as he watched you enter, following your footsteps and swaying skirts as you sat across from him. The bandages were gone, now, and you saw his scar, a pretty pink thread that stretched from his brow to his neck. He swallowed, and the line of it shifted with the motion of his throat. Your fingers itched, wanting to trace it.

“It’s been over a week.”

“So it has.”

You felt more awkward than indignant--you and Ren had plenty of ideological spats, but you’d typically resolved those arguments using your tongues for a completely different purpose. Now, he was solidifying his hold on Gilead as the Lead Commander, and his extended absence from your life had frustrated the tear you’d made in your relationship. Speaking with him now felt like taking a nail file to your teeth.

Gesturing over your shoulder, you said, “Is the Knight Templar really necessary?”

Ren glanced at the closed door, then to you. “You fail to understand how precarious a transition of power can be.”

“But for me?”

He blinked, gaze drifting to the papers, a slow breath gathering and leaving his chest through his nose. “I will ensure that nothing will ever happen to or harm you while you are in this home.” His eyes drilled you to your seat. “Or in my presence.”

“Oh.” Heat tingled your cheeks. “I see.”

The awkwardness refused to cease. It was like cotton, clogging the channels of communication. In the silence, Ren continued to review and add notations to the forms on his desk--they looked to be bylaws or something similar--so you decided to occupy your hands, too. You sat forward, snagged a pen, a piece of scrap paper he’d discarded to the side, and began to doodle. Even before Gilead, you’d never been particularly skilled with art, but your hands had rusted from years of being denied the ability to hold a pen. It felt unwieldy, the lines you made wriggled like worms across the page.

“Anyway.” You started to sketch what you hoped appeared like vines--they were shaky, trembling strands with misshapen blobs for leaves. “Why did you ask me here?”

He considered you for a moment, watched you draw. “Last time we spoke,” he said, “you said there was nothing I could do to make your existence as a Handmaid bearable.” He paused as you tried to create another stem of vines. “I disagree.”

You sighed, not bothering to meet his gaze. “Unless you can destroy Gilead, it never will be.”

“You could be my advisor.” His voice was soft, but certain. “Help me create a new order.”

A pause--you were frustrated with the way these leaves were turning out, anyway--and you glanced up at him, brow cocked. “How could I possibly advise you?”

Ren took his own pen and placed it to your paper. “I want to know your thoughts.” The ink spilled in a gorgeous, swooping arc as he drew a single stem and leaf. “Lead with your wrist.” A tiny, teasing smirk quirked the corner of his lip. “You offer critique so freely otherwise. Wouldn’t it behoove me to make use of it?”

You made another attempt, starting a new stem, guiding your pen across the paper as Ren had suggested. “I don’t want to be around the Council as your Handmaid advisor.” Half of you was playing along. The other half was traitorously curious.

“Then you’d be the advisor in my home.”

“No thank you.” The pen slipped as you added sloppy detail. You sighed. “That isn’t an equal.”

“Then you’d come with me.” He flicked tiny veins into the leaf he drew. “Use simple lines.”

“Well, I don’t want to do that.” You tried to imitate his movement, but your motor skills were clunky, unfinessed. “Any other awful offer you’re willing to make me?”

“You could sleep in my bed.”

Everything paused--your hands, your breath, your thoughts. You couldn’t think to move.

“And still wear this uniform.”

“No.”

You exhaled, your gaze traveled from his strong hands, up the thick muscles of his arms, past the sheen of skin at his chest and neck, landing on his own eyes. Streams of sunlight cast amber irises in gilded vulnerability, the constant void in his pupils filled now with something present and deep, a trench of new, tender need. He was seeking you, inviting you to a forbidden place you’d never dreamed you’d go--the technicalities seemed distant and secondary to the urgent ache you’d felt for his company. He swallowed again. The scar bulged.

But Johana, clinging to meaning. But the Resistance, whom you’d avoided since the coup. But the other Handmaids, languishing in the beds of their Commanders against their will. The thought of waking up in Kylo Ren’s arms filled you with a warmth that nearly choked you, scorched your heart with its heat. That warmth was drowned, almost immediately, in a blizzard of dreadful reality. You could never be his equal. He didn’t even know your name.

Wetting your lips, you started a new bundle of vines in the corner of the page. “Do you ever feel empty?” you asked. “Lost?”

For a moment, Ren didn’t respond, only followed your fingers as they worked to pull the image in your mind to life. Then he moved, pushing his fountain pen on the paper, working in the corner opposite of yours, whirling tapered black lines into an abstract plant design. You glimpsed his work with a bizarre pang of jealousy, but you continued, scrawling your best imitation into your own space. It felt easy to talk, like this, focused on your busy hands.

“You know,” you said, “the only thing that’s made me feel alive in the past three years is being with you.” You looped one of the stems to the middle of the page, adding a couple of ugly, thick-veined leaves. “But maybe before that, too. I don’t know. When you do stuff like this, it makes me feel worse. “

He swiftly swirled a long, naked vine. It came close to touching one of yours. “Worse.”

“Have you ever known something was wrong…” You weren’t sure how to finish the sentence. More and more stems piled up in your corner, encroaching on his work. “Have you known something was wrong, but felt like… the only way you can even think about taking your next breath is if you do it?”

Ren stopped. The pen bled a fat daub into the paper. When you looked up, his mouth was parted. He was gazing into you.

“Yes.”

Your eyes were chained to his, your breath hollow in your chest, fingers withering with weakness, your pen tumbling from your grip.

“And have you--have you felt like doing the right thing… but knew that it would be impossible?”

He wasn’t breathing, either--he was only staring, memorizing something.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Always.”

You blinked and wet your lips, wondering how he could survive with the same constant, crushing pain on his chest and in his mind. Ren regarded you in stillness, an awakened honesty pulsing between you.

“How do you live?” you asked. “I… It feels like I’m…”

“Dying.”

“Yes.” You sat forward, nodding. “Yes. Dying. Like… my actions don’t even matter. Like I don’t even…”

He broke from your gaze, scanning the piece you’d both created, your vines reaching desperately for each other from the corners, separated by empty white space. “Have a choice.”

“Yes.” The heat of understanding burned through you. “How do you do it?”

Ren glanced up, the severity in his stare shrouding him in shadow. “I destroy it.”

Air stuck in your throat. “What?”

“Until it is nothing.” His face betrayed no emotion. “I destroy it.”

Perhaps that’s where you differed. You hadn’t tried to destroy that feeling. You’d tipped headfirst into it, choked on it, allowed it to consume you. Underneath its weight, you’d suffocated, starving for respite that didn’t exist.

“That’s how being with you makes me feel.”

His chest fell, air escaping his nose. “Yet you were there.”

“What?”

Ren took your hand in his, led you to pick up your pen, curling his long fingers around yours. His grip brought you refuge, its firm warmth guiding you through slow, sweeping motions until you’d grown a beautiful shoot of vines on the page. Throat tight, you watched his face under a new lens, his features now in soft focus, skin kissed by light, hair shifting over his cheeks.

“You could’ve run. Let me die.” His hold tightened, sparks shooting between your skin as he led you through darting veins in a leaf. “You didn’t.”

Words wouldn’t leave. You could only sit as he released you, allowed you to admire your collaboration. His side of the page had branched into a bloom of abstruse lines, black rivers running through the paper, not entirely vines, but precise and pretty all the same. Your side was less complex, crafted with a child’s hand, but a clear attempt at plantlife--thin, shaky stems snaking from the corner, ovals tacked on as leaves. Then there was the patch you’d drawn together. That part filled the center, entirely different from your creation and his own, a gorgeous weave of coiled fronds that crawled to three-dimensional life.

A shiver rippled up your spine. You met his eyes for the hundredth time, but drowned in them as if it was the first.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, not sure what you were referring to, anymore.

Ren’s lashes fluttered at his cheeks. His lips seemed pinker. “Practice, little bird.” After a moment, he drew a deep breath. “Johana’s hosting a party this evening. For my installation.” He pushed the pens to the side. “I left a dress in your room. I want you to wear it.”

Your heart seized, and you shook your head. “What?” you asked. “A dress?”

“Yes.” His face fell in a mask of disinterest. “You’d said last time we spoke you wanted more than what you have.”

“But…” Johana. The Council. The other Commanders. “Everyone else…”

“Gilead will bend to my design.” He sniffed, folding the drawing and placing it in his desk. “You’re part of that design.”

Heat flooded your face. “Oh.”

There was that feeling again--the same one that burgeoned between you, twisted you in its temptation, that robbed you of rationality. The one Ren sought to destroy, the one that you wanted to surrender to. You despised him. And you couldn’t wait to wear whatever stupid fucking dress he’d picked for you.

“Vic,” Ren called out. The door opened, the Knight stepped through. “Escort her to her room.”

Nodding, you stood, heading toward the door. Before you crossed the threshold, you glanced at him a final time. He was watching you.

“I’ll see you this evening.”

You swallowed. “Yes, Commander.”

It was strange, walking the halls with a silent usher--and having him wait until you closed yourself in your room was even stranger. You stood, waiting for the Knight’s footsteps to descend the staircase before you ran to your tiny dresser, tearing open the drawers to reveal the dress Ren had hidden there. Hands shaking, face hot, you grabbed it and shook it out, flipping it under your scrutiny.

It was still conservative--a high neck, long sleeves. But the fabric was a soft, pink chiffon, draped to the waist, a design that would skim your figure, but not reveal it. Round fabric buttons concealed the collar, cutting through a window of gauzy lace. You twirled it, admiring the flutter of the hem, imagining how it would feel on your skin. The longer you stared, the shorter your breath became, mind swarmed with thought. How would it feel, to walk through the home wearing this, to feel the brush of something over than starchy cotton at your ankles? How would your Commander react, seeing you in it? Fire stormed your skin, made your thighs squeeze together at the mere thought of him gazing at you, mesmerized, captivated--

Why did this excite you, when you were still his property? Perhaps it was that promise of respite, this dress your brief gasp of air before you would be plunged back into a sea of misery. Or perhaps it was the way he’d looked at you, the sincerity in his eyes, the throb in your pulse that lingered from his hand around yours.

His reaction was one thing, though. What about everyone else?

Knowing you’d be a Handmaid out of uniform sent your heart into your throat, had you considering tossing the damn dress out of your window and burying yourself in your sheets. It wouldn’t just be Ren seeing you--it’d be his Wife, his colleagues, his would-be supporters. The fact that you’d be wearing this flowy, hispy thing in front of all of them inspired a rush of unearned horror through your head, so thick you could swim in it. Yet your status in society could hardly sink any lower. Other than scandal, what response did you truly have to fear?

After all, there was another feeling, too, a burbling bubble at the base of your brain.

Vindication.

Yes, you were special, you were more than a Handmaid, and while you were still stuck on this awful hell-rock, you’d prove it to them. You’d prove it to them all.

Tossing the dress on the bed, you wrung out your arms, ears aflame. Outside, birds twittered in chorus, their song an echo of the melody in your chest:

Hopeful. Jubilant. Naive.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #tune in next time as I attempt to write a fucking inauguration party

[tealin]

Scene 2: Int. Cape Evans, The Tenements

As usual, the version with all the pictures can be found at the original blog. I am not even going to try fixing the image tags here because that has never worked, but I think the images show up after a few hours, so um ... check back maybe? Or refresh? You're better off going to the source, though. Sorry.

As we walk deeper into the hut from the mens’ quarters, coming through the gap in the bulkhead, the view looks like this:

Today we’re going to look at the section to our left, or mapping the hut in nautical terms, starboard amidships. This is the area of the hut that was known as ‘The Tenements’ for how crowded and relatively sloppily built the bunks were. One very famous photo of The Tenements has all its residents in their places and shows this area at its most lived-in – it was October 1911, everyone had spent a winter in their little domains, and were about to set off on the journey for the Pole.

This is The Tenements as they appeared in November 2019:

The first thing that struck me about seeing the Tenements in person was how small they were. Scale in Ponting’s photograph is thrown off partly by the framing, but mostly by everyone lying down aside from the shortest of the Tenements’ tenants, Birdie Bowers. To my surprise, I could easily see over the top bunks, and I am only 5’6”.

We’re going to start at the forward end, with Cherry and Birdie’s bunks. Cherry is the main character in my graphic adaptation of his book, and I’ll be drawing a lot from his point of view, so getting a really solid idea of his bunk area was a must.

Although the Tenements photo has everyone with their heads at the public end of their bunks, they probably slept the other way around, for such privacy and quiet as one could find with 25 men in a 50’x25’ room. While the Cape Evans hut feels like it’s full of stuff now, comparing the modern hut with the Tenements photo above, you’ll see just how much more stuff there was back in 1911!

Cherry was a great fan of Kipling, and brought his whole collection with him – these likely lived on the small shelf you can see against the hut wall. The bed is now covered with stray bits of clothing, and one of the socks has Cherry’s name sewn into it, so I assume the others have been identified as his too.

The ladder leads up to Bowers’ bunk, so let’s take a look at that …

This is the foot end, which he also used as a desk, as you can see in the Ponting photo. The boards blocking it off from the main hut weren’t there in October 1911, so they may have been added the second winter, but Scott’s men weren’t the only ones to have used this hut – a couple of years after they left, Shackleton’s Ross Sea Party moved in, and one of them may have moved into Bowers’ bunk and sought some extra privacy.

But the real treasure of Bowers’ bunk is at the other end …

It’s his hat! The actual Green Hat of legend – less green than I was expecting, but definitely the same one as in all his photos. I was so pleased that, of all things, it should still be here – that he didn’t take it on the Southern Journey, that the Ross Sea Party had let it be, and that it hadn’t been pilfered in the years of uncontrolled hut visits before the AHT took charge.

The photo below the hat, I suspect, originally belonged to Cherry. He had found a photo of the actress Marie Lohr in a magazine and wanted it for a pinup, but one of Ponting’s photographs was on the other side of the page. and Ponting thought that was the object of his affection. He offered to mount it nicely for Cherry, which would have meant gluing the lovely Miss Lohr to the mounting board, and with some flustered embarrassment Cherry’s intentions came out. I had some photos of Marie Lohr; none of them are the photo in the hut, but she looks to me like the same person. How it got from Cherry’s bunk to Birdie’s I don’t know – the AHT have been very careful about giving items to the correct people, so it must have been found there. Perhaps the member of the Ross Sea Party who took Birdie’s bunk liked the photo and moved it up there.

My trip here was, in large part, to get photos that were necessary to my storytelling but unlikely to be found anywhere else. The Cape Evans hut is extremely well documented, but there are angles which are important to the reality of living there which do not necessarily make glamourous shots for publication. One of these was the view from the Tenements to the rest of the hut, rather than into the Tenements. It happens also to give you a good sense of how crammed they were.

Immediately to our left here is Titus Oates’ bunk. He was in charge of the horses, so it’s piled high with horse stuff.

The fringe in the middle is, in effect, pony sunglasses – it was originally dyed brown and would have hung down over their eyes like hair, blocking out a large portion of the harsh sunlight and snow glare. Ponies can get snowblindness too!

Behind us, from where we are standing looking at Titus’ bunk here, is Meares’ bunk, and below that, Atkinson’s. Atkinson, who alone shared the Tenements with Cherry through the miserable second winter, was in command of the expedition at that point; as doctor as well, he had a very heavy job in keeping the bereaved and stir-crazy men on the right side of health, both physical and mental. As leader, he could have moved into Scott’s much more comfortable and private space – that he didn’t, and that the thought of such a thing didn’t even turn up in anyone’s journals, says a lot about him and all of them. He stuck it out in his Spartan cubbyhole, within view of his best friend’s now deserted place, and was there for everyone.

It was here that I spotted the thing that, of all the amazing things in the hut, nearly brought a tear to my eye.

If you look at the Ponting photo at the start of this post, you will see that the string once held a spoon! I don’t know if it belonged to Meares or Atch – in the photo the string doesn’t look long enough to reach either of them. I think of it as ‘Atch’s spoon’ but that may be just because it’s hanging by his face; Meares seemed more the type to be possessive about silverware. Wilson’s cartoon in the South Polar Times suggests there was once an entire cutlery set hanging here, but that may have been a comedic exaggeration.

People visiting the hut often say it feels like the people are still there, or that they could walk in the door at any moment. I wanted to feel that, but I have to confess my experience was quite the opposite: they were gone, very gone, and had been for a very long time. Finding the string there without the spoon summed that up that better than anything.

Our next stop is the stern of the hut – Scott’s cubicle, Ponting’s darkroom, and the lab. Before we go, let’s take one look back at the Tenements.

#antarctica #cape evans #terra nova expedition #the worst journey in the world #heroic age #polar exploration #scott expedition #historic huts #exploration #history #antarctic heritage trust

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Summer Love: Chapter Two

A/N: So to begin, I have absolutely nothing against Lyn-Z. I have a whole post about this and why we as fans of Gerard shouldn’t hate her, because she makes him happy. That being said for the sake of this fic she is being put into a hated position. So I’m sorry about that, but that’s just how it’s going to roll. Once again, I have nothing against Lyn-Z but for the sake of this fic she’s going to be “bad”. Also I haven’t updated in a few weeks... sorry about that. Word count: 2368

Bright and early at 8 am your alarm clark went blaring. You rolled over on your bed, groaning and attempting to shut it off, keeping your eyes closed. Of course, it didn’t work. You ended up having to sit up and turn it off, resulting in the sun directly hitting your eyes. “Shit.” You muttered.

“Good morning, sunshine.” You heard Melanie already up working on something. She was a morning person. You growled. “Someone’s not happy.” “Oh, I’m thrilled to be up.” You sarcastically rolled your eyes. Your feet touched the freezing floor. You got up, grabbing a pair of jeans shorts, a large black belt, and a Green Day shirt from their concert you went to just a few months back. You went into the showers, preparing for the cold droplets to hit your skin which had yet to reel from the warm feeling of the bed.

“Remember, breakfast is in 25!” Mel called from the main area of the cabin. After turning on the shower, you let it sit for around a minute before getting in. The temperature of the water helped awake you even more. You ran your fingers which were soaked with shampoo through your hair, making sure to scrub deeply. Next you took your loofa and coconut scented soap, scrubbing all over your body. It didn’t take you longer than five minutes to get completely scrubbed off.

You changed quickly, using your towel to mess with your hair to let it air dry. You ran out, grabbing your pair of beaten Vans high tops and went out with Melanie, your hair hanging loose and wet.

The two of you walked in right as breakfast was starting, meeting the boys at the table. “Hey guys.” Mikey greeted you two, you both smiled.

“Y/N looks like a wet rat.” Frank snickered.

“Thanks,” You smirked, “That’s the look I was going for.”

“Did you just disrespect Green Day?” Ray asked Frank.

“No, Y/N did.” This time you punched Frank’s arm.

“Hey Y/N/N.” Gerard greeted you.

“Hey Gee.” You sat next to him and smiled. You all waited for your table to be called up, some of you grabbing the full selection of eggs, bacons, and pancakes. You just grabbed fruit, not being that hungry.

“So what’s everyone taking?” Melanie asked.

“I’m taking graffiti art.” Frank smirked.

“Who would let you sign up for that?” Ray asked.

“I don’t know,” He smiled, “I just signed up for it and they gave it to me.”

“I’m taking storytelling in writing.” Mikey said.

“A very Mikey class.” You added.

“I’m taking art history.” Ray said.

“That’s even more of a Ray class.” Melanie concluded.

“Photography.” You said.

“Does that mean you’re gonna take nudes?” You threw a piece of your apple at Frank.

“Absolutely not,” You rolled your eyes, “I’m a self respecting woman.” You looked over at Gerard who was blushing.

“Um, I’m taking cartooning.” He lightly smiled.

“I’m taking graphics.” Melanie ended the conversation. You all continued eating as fast as you could without chocking. Once finishing, all of you dispersed back to your cabins to grab your things before meeting at a small area on the lake to hang before the day officially began.

“What’s up losers.” She greeted the group, the two of you being last. “Can’t wait for this day to start.” “I’m dreading taking classes.” Frank said.

“Why?” You asked.

“Ever since they got rid of the music program this place has gone down hill.” “Music program?” Gerard asked from across the picnic table where he sat next to Ray.

“Yeah, there used to be a music program here but they dropped it due to budget cuts. And to get jet skies.” You explained. “Stupid fucking jet skies that nobody fucking uses because they’re dumb.” Frank added on.

“If you can’t tell, Frank has yet to get over it.” “Over it?” He snapped. “That was the whole reason I got in!”

“Yeah, I know.” You sighed. “But this place doesn’t suck.” “The only thing that doesn’t completely suck are you guys.” He said.

“Dude, we’re literally on a lake.” You pointed to the body of water ahead of you.

“And?” “Lakes are super fun.” He rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.”

“We need to reserve the bonfire for tonight.” Melanie spoke up. Everyone nodded. “Who’s gonna sign up at lunch?” “I will.” Ray spoke up, “My class is right next to the cafeteria.” You all nodded.

“How’re we all feeling about today?” Melanie moved on.

“Good.” Most of us answered.

“Nervous.” Gerard lightly smiled.

“You’ll be totally fine.” You smiled, “You’re a pretty good guy.” “That’s what I keep telling him.” Mikey said.

“Thanks.” He looked at you.

“Speaking of, it’s quite the walk to most of our classes. We should probably go.” Frank spoke up. You all nodded. You went up to Gerard once everyone began dispersing. “Ready?” You asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He said, walking next to you to a trail in the woods.

“It’s always so beautiful out here.” You looked up and around at the various forestry around you. There wasn’t a bare spot for as far as you could see, except for the slim dirt path ahead of you.

“It is beautiful.” He agreed, doing the same as you. You two walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, just admiring the different areas of the forested area before reaching the small wooden building that held your sketching class.

You walked down a small hallway and into the room number 4. It was a small cozy area, classes had no more than eight students. There were small tables where two people could sit, you and Gerard taking one closest to the window. The walls were lined with various pieces and a small blackboard was up front.

You two grabbed some stuff from your bags as your professor came over to you two. “Ms. Y/L/N.” He said. Larry was an older man. He was 72, and still kicking it with the spirit of a 25 year old. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He smiled.

“You too, Mr. Breck.” You smiled. He looked over to Gerard.

“And who is this?” He looked.

“I’m Gerard, Gerard Way.” He lightly smiled, reaching his hand out to let him shake it. “Well, Mr. Way it’s a pleasure.” They both smiled. Mr. Breck went back to his oak desk, sitting behind it as Gerard and you began to occupy yourselves by sketching. You opened one of your pages that you had begun working on. It was of a girl, you weren’t sure the inspiration you just began drawing her.

“You drew that?” Gerard asked, lightly smiling. You nodded.

“Yeah.” You lightly smiled back.

“It’s incredible.” He looked at it further, his eyes scanning every centimeter.

“Thanks.” You told him. A few more people had come in, taking seats around the room as you and Gee continued drawing. Right before class began you heard some giggling behind you. You could identify that noise from anywhere.

Looking behind you, you saw the group of three girls laughing, the leader was easily seen. Her medium length black hair flowed well, she had a pale complexion that fit her perfectly. Her light red lipstick added a pop of color to her primarily black outfit (and personality). You sighed and turned forward again.

“Are you alright?” Gerard asked lightly.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You tightly smiled back, going back to sketching.

“Alright, now that every body is here,” Mr. Breck stood up in front of everyone, “I think we should begin.” The old man began walking around the class viewing everyone’s books filled with their work. He spent at least a few seconds looking at them before asking everyone to take them out, regardless of how complete they were.

“Now all of these,” He hung them on the board up front, “Will be your inspiration for the next six weeks.” He looked back to all of you, “This is the absolute worst piece you can do. This is the bare minimum I want from all of you.” He said, “You will be better when you leave this class. You will work on your technique until it is nearly perfect. Because we don’t want perfect in art, we want you. Now I want you all to draw whatever comes to mind. You have 15 minutes, your time starts now.”

You weren’t sure what to do, so you just decided on trees. Cliche, but quick and easy. You drew a forested area, making sure to incorporate shadows where necessary and a small trail. You focused on your work until a small timer ticked off. It slightly scared you, put you placed your pencil down, Mr. Breck already starting to collect pages.

“I’ll evaluate these tonight, and bring you all feedback tomorrow.” He stated, making a neat pile of the pages on his desk. He quickly transitioned into talking about techniques for various elements like shadowing. You and Gerard both followed along closely, adding some of the skills to your pre existing works.

“That should be all.” He sighed, looking at his watch. “Class dismissed.” You and Gerard began putting your things in your bags.

“What did you think?” You asked Gerard, who looked down at you as you two began walking out.

“It was nice.” He lightly smiled, “I like Mr. Breck a lot.” “I do too.” You replied. As the two of you exited the building you once again heard the laugh of Lindsey. You couldn’t help but lightly look over, only to find her and her posse, but she specifically was eyeing Gerard up and down, lightly smiling. You looked away and gritted your teeth through your closed mouth, knowing she would be the ultimate enemy this summer.

The two of you continued walking back to main campus, planning on meeting everyone else at your typical table. You walked into the bustling area, immediately seeing everyone else at your table, considering their classes were closer than yours. “Hey guys.” You sat down with them, placing your bag on the floor next to you. “How’s everyone’s days going?” Most of the table answered with a good, or alright. Except Frank, of course. “Terrible.” He sighed. You rolled your eyes.

“And why would that be?” “Bro the first class was soooo boring.” He said, “Some shit about coloring or something.”

“Maybe if you listened you would know.” Ray responded.

“Shut up fro-head.” Eventually you all got in line for the sad excuse of sandwiches for lunch, but you only grabbed some fruit and vegetables considering that was some of the only edible food.

“Y/NNNNNNN,” Frank whined, “When will your parents ship us food?” “Tomorrow.” You stated, taking a bit from your apple.

“But that’s far away.” He said. You rolled your eyes.

“Who’s that?” You heard Gerard from beside you. Everyone looked over to see he was of course looking at Lindsey. You lightly sighed, making sure not to draw attention.

“Lindsey Ballato.” Ray spoke up. Gerard nodded once, keeping his eyes fixated on her. Shit.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom.” You spoke up, breaking the awkward silence.

“You alright?” Mikey asked and you nodded. You quickly made your way out of the dining hall and down to your cabin. Stepping in the wooden box you managed to get your way to the bathroom, shutting the polished oak door and taking a deep breath, keeping your hand placed softly on the cold, metal handle.

Letting you breath regain it’s usual pattern, you sank to the white tile ground, leaning against the wall to the right of the door, a small crevice between the cheap wallpaper plastered on the frame and the ceramic sink.

Knowing Gerard for only a day you had already become attached, cursing yourself at the fact. He was way out of your league and you knew it. Your hands still trembled, trying to regain balance to no avail.

The sound of blood rushed through your ears, eventually slowing down, giving enough room for the essence of a knock from the door to sink in. You swallowed harshly. “Yes?” “Y/N/N?” Melanie asked, “Are you alright?” You didn’t respond, small pools of salty water trailing down your cheeks. You could hear the door creak open, Melanie’s visibly concerned face coming into light. “What happened?” She asked sinking to the ground, grabbing and holding you as you sobbed into the shoulder of her t-shirt.

“I’m so fucking dumb.” You mumbled.

“What?” She asked.

“I should’ve know.” You scratched out, “I’m no good for him. I’ve known him for a day and look at me, pathetically attached like he’s my fucking soul mate or some shit.”

“This is about Gerard, isn’t it?” You nodded. She sighed. “I wish I had a good answer for you, but I don’t.”

“I never knew someone could get attached this easily.” “Neither did I, to be honest with you.” You nodded, staring at your fingers. Then you heard some soft footsteps.

“Y/N?” You heard his voice, you and Melanie’s eyes both shooting open. She helped you up, grabbing some toilet paper and quickly washing the tears off your face. It didn’t help much with the swelling or redness which had also found it’s way to your appearance, and grabbing your hand hoisting you up to standing. “Hey,” He walked in, his face dropping from a light smile to a frown. “What’s wrong?” You looked at Melanie, who was too freaking out.

“Oh um, Y/N just started her period, yeah.” You aggressively nudged her, eyeing her, Gerard’s eyes going wide. That’s the best excuse? “Hormones, ya know.”

“Yeah, um,” Gerard stopped, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “I-I should get going.” He tightly smiled, “If you need anything, just call me.” He looked to you and you nodded. He walked out with speed, closing the door behind him.

“What the fuck?” You turned to her. “My period?” “I was freaking out okay?” She defended, “You turned to me and I had no clue what to do!” You huffed.

“That may have made it worse. A lot worse.”

“It’s fine, he’ll forget about it soon.” “Mhm.” You rolled your eyes, “Sure. Sure he will.”

#gerard way x reader #gerard way fanfiction #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gerard #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader #mcr fanfiction #mcr x reader #mcr #mcr gerard

[otonymous]

Served (MLQC Victor) - Chapter 1: Hit and Miss

Description: Go ahead and give Victor a piece of your mind. Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Nb) This chapter is not smutty, but you best believe we’re gonna get there 😂   Word Count: 1424 words (~7 mins of…Victor being Victor) AO3: read here Author’s Notes:  Hey everyone!  This story is a BIG first for me, as I’m finally trying my hand at a something longer than a one-shot!  At the risk of sounding vague, I thought it would be fun to toy around with Victor for a bit, so let’s see how this works out LOL!  Hope you all enjoy it, and as always, happy reading!

Jump to other chapters: Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

“Fuck you, Victor.”

One blink, then another.  A slackening of the jaw as his mouth hangs open in surprise, practically imperceptible if you weren’t already staring intently at his face.  You find the sight strangely satisfying and it goads you onwards.

“I’ve fucking had it with you and your demands.  Our relationship is purely professional; why do I have to get your goddamn lunch?  Go get it yourself!”

Victor had been picking apart every second line in your proposal, and you just about had enough of his attitude after the word “idiot” had been tossed around for the tenth time.

Yes, you had been counting.

And when he ordered you in that tone of voice to get his lunch from the LFG office kitchen, that was the final straw that broke the back of an extremely tired, hungry and irritated camel.

At the back of your mind, you’re vaguely aware that you’ve scrunched up the proposal you spent all week preparing in your hand.  Victor’s copy lay on the imposing avant-garde desk in the middle of his office, pinned under the critical tip of his golden pen.

The ensuing silence, uncomfortably loud, stretches on for much longer than necessary for you to have made your point.  So you decide to speak.  

“Listen-“

“I’m sor-“

Except that Victor opens his mouth at the exact same time, and you question whether your ears were working properly.  Was Victor Li actually apologizing?

“Sorry, you go first.”  Suddenly feeling sheepish about your outburst, you gesticulate towards Victor, gaze flitting over his face en route to the buckles that decorated your taupe flats.  But what you saw in that split second scared you.

Were the features of Victor’s face even capable of drawing into such an expression?  Always self-possessed and brimming with a commanding confidence, the uncertainty in the violet-indigo of his eyes didn’t suit him.  The discomfort stirring in the pit of your stomach made you shift from foot to foot like a child awaiting impending punishment.

“Ahem.  You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

You never thought you’d hear the deep bass of his voice even so much as express remorse, let alone apologize.

“That’s okay.  I mean...I shouldn’t have swore at you.  My outburst was out of line.  Forgive me.”

“That’s fine,” his reply is clipped as he reaches for the intercom button on the phone on his desk.  “Jane, bring me the package in the kitchen.  The one in the fridge.  Thank you.”

Why’d you bother asking me to get your lunch if your secretary could’ve done it?!  The exchange you just witnessed had you thoroughly annoyed all over again, silently fuming until his secretary entered after two sharp raps on the heavy wooden door.  

“Here you are, Mr. Li.  Will you be requiring anything else?”  Jane was sharply dressed and spoke confidently as she placed a brown paper bag on Victor’s desk.  She was also devastatingly beautiful, a fact that annoyed you a lot more than it should have.  You relaxed your grip around the document in your hand as you stood a bit taller, wishing you wore heels instead of flats today.

“That’ll be all, Jane, thank you.”

Jane.  The way he said her name made you wonder how yours would sound rolling off the tip of his tongue.  Would it be equally pleasant?  But then again, anything sounded better than “idiot.”

Drawing himself up from his seat, Victor towers over you, imposing in the crisp perfection of his dark suit.  He holds out the paper bag and his next words effectively signal the end of your meeting:

“I’ll email you the rest of my thoughts on your proposal.  Have it amended for Friday.”

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

Four of the most juvenile looking bowls, each hand painted with the face of a dog bearing the most ridiculously cute expression.  Each containing the most ridiculously delicious pudding you had ever tasted in your life, the stuff of dulce de leche fantasies spun from the kitchen of Souvenir.  And an accompanying note, filled with the same handwritten scrawl that had dissected your proposal with brutal precision earlier that day, reading:

“As incapable of self-control as you are, try not to finish it all in one sitting unless you’re deliberately courting a stomachache like an idiot.”

And on the paper bag that had waited for you in the fridge of the LFG office kitchen, your name printed in the same hand.

Your heart ran the gamut of emotions: surprise, happiness, but above all, a deep remorse so unsettling you immediately tapped on Victor’s contact on your phone without thinking.

When he finally picked up after the fourth ring, uncharacteristic for Victor, the first thing you heard was the enticing laughter of a sultry soprano in the background.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”  

His voice is raspy, prompting you to glance at the time on your open laptop at the foot of your bed.

1:45 am.  Shit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!  I didn’t realize-“

“What do you need?”

Deep breaths.

“I...I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier today.  Well, I guess technically, for what happened yesterday.”

“You already did.  Put it from your mind, I’ve already forgotten about it.”

Laughter again, this time, fainter in volume.  Subconsciously, you found yourself comparing the voice to Jane’s.  Or did it have the lilting quality of Loveland City’s latest cinematic sweetheart, Chik?  The head-to-toe in haute couture phenomenon who seemed hell bent on sweeping Victor off his feet as she did with the rest of the city’s fawning population. At least, that’s what the tabloids would have everyone believe.

Shaking your head free of useless thoughts, you refocused on the conversation at hand, hoping to catch Victor before he got impatient and hung up.

“No, Victor.  I meant to apologize for misinterpreting your intentions this afternoon.  I had no idea you asked me to get your lunch because...because you actually had a surprise gift planned for me.”

“...”

You were used to Victor’s awkward silences by now, on the phone and by text, waiting forever for the wave of ellipses to materialize into words that seemed far too simplistic to require that much forethought.

“If it’s any consolation, the pudding was delicious.”

“Did you already eat it all?”

“No, I only had one!  What do you take me for?  Wait, don’t answer that, I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Hm.  Seems like there is something you do know after all.”

“Is this a retaliatory dig for that time I laughed at you for asking whether it was possible to delete a sent text?  You know Mr Li, next time, don’t broadcast your sad lack of technological prowess on the internet if you don’t want to be made fun of.”

“Is this the real reason why you called me so early in the morning?  To pick a fight?”

“What?  No.  I told you, I...I misunderstood your intentions and I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.  I also wanted to thank you.  I can’t believe you remembered me complimenting your pudding!  That was months ago!”

“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about it.  Instead of letting one’s heart rule their head, I guess it’s your stomach that reigns supreme.  But you’re welcome.  Is there anything else?”

Normally, you couldn’t wait to be free of Victor, whether it was from the intensity of his gaze as you pitched ideas his way, or the scrutiny he subjected you to over the phone, asking twenty-one questions to which you only knew the answers to two.

So why did his asking “is there anything else” rankle you now?

“Um, just one more thing.  The bowls — they’re so interesting.  You wouldn’t happened to know the artist who painted them, would you?”

Silence again.  You strained to make out that twinkling laughter you heard earlier in the background as you waited for the LFG CEO to speak.  But the airwaves were silent save for the rise and fall of Victor’s breath telling you he hadn’t hung up yet.

“I painted the bowls.  If you don’t like them, feel free to throw them out.  And next time, don’t call me Mr Li.  Victor is fine.”

Click.  Beep, beep, beep.

It took a moment in your flabbergasted state to realize you still held the phone to your ear, the screen having gone dark long ago.

Victor just never struck you as the arts and crafts type.  The dogs with the lopsided faces told you the same.

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Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more!  Check out the rest of my work here! 📚

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[dollydeez]

Chapter One Sneak Peek

I’m currently rewriting the ending and haven’t done final edits yet, but I thought I’d go ahead and post the first chapter of Lesbian Robots From Space to give people an idea of what I’m going for with this project. So here it is, Chapter One: Get Lost!

I spent most of my free time wandering around the space station. There wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen, but I’m well known enough in this sector that I pick up just as much business wandering around as sitting in my office. It’s a rough part of the galaxy, so it’s not uncommon for your affairs to get FUBAR. There’s four levels to the thing, going from the hangar at the gravitational bottom to the flats at the top, with a shopping centre and office section respectively in between. I don’t know why old space movies liked spherical buildings, can you imagine how annoying that’d be? Use a cube like a thinking being and maximize your available space. If my flat had a curved ceiling I’d start a riot. And having the hangar in the middle, I mean I guess for military constructions but what the fat cats want for their civilian developments is for people to have to walk through as much commercial space as possible.

My favourite part was checking out the hangar, and not just because it was a hotspot for people on the run. So many ships, from all over, docked here. Swear to god, I saw one that looked exactly like a pickle. Funniest shit I’ve ever seen. I mean, until the crew started spilling out and medics had to be called. People don’t land here because they want to check it out, they land here because they are out of options. We are the Saint Jude of scum. The regular clientele had an effect on the shops offered. Shite specific for those living here were automated, usually owned by the station. Stuff like furniture stores, clothes shops and the grocer’s. There were a couple people trying to hack out a living with their cooking, but… let’s just say if they were good they’d be elsewhere. Hell do I know, I never went into any of those disease factories. Most of the other shops sold guns, parts and medical supplies. It wasn’t the worst place in the world to poke around, it was always entertaining to see some lost yokel argue with someone, who’s surrounded by guns mind you, seemingly unaware that this is absolutely the place your annoying corpse would be chucked into space. I was good friends with Doc, the lad who ran the station’s main medical bay. He was a good kid, just made some mistakes early on and had to move his practice off world. Well, he wasn’t bad. Every so often he’d get bored doing his work. You’d know when to keep your issues to yourself when you saw some poor bastard limping around the food court with the wrong number of limbs, or the right number but on the wrong side. He usually stayed up in his office, however, across from mine. We were friendly enough, and he told his staff to let me wander around the wards.

The limited number of staff made this an absolutely desperate place to seek medical attention. If you weren’t of the species represented in the OR, you might have to cling to life as some doofus flips through a book trying to figure out what the hell you are. So, why not have a little conversation? I’d swoop in, say something about how they seemed to be in some heap of trouble, and most of the time I’d get a job. Money up front of course, and if they argued this point I’d make sure they were clear on how friendly I was with the medic bay. This tactic meant that sometimes they’d take my card and never be heard from again. Which is fine, credits spend the same, but it doesn’t do much for word of mouth. I knew I’d hit the jackpot when someone, gushing blood, would look up with wide eyes and ask if I was Lisa Dean. Why yes, and your price just doubled. Hey, if they know my track record I can put it up front rather than racking up bullshit expenses. If they argue about the rate their buddy got, I’d tell them that if I wasn’t worth it I wouldn’t get recommended. Here I hand them my card, because if they’re bleeding there’s someone who caused that blood and they can get looked for somewhere else. But if they approach me as I’m wandering the rest of the station, I’d invite them up to my office.

I’m still proud of how well I fixed up the place; when I moved in it was little more than a ratty little hole in the wall, wallpaper peeling, lightbulb flickering, dark and damp, reeking of mold, somehow there was a leak from the flats upstairs despite the fact this is a space station and, well, that feels concerning. But I’d moved in with plenty of disposable income and plenty of time, so I made use of the automated stores down stairs. I thought it’d be neat to get some wood inside there, so there was a jarring feeling when you walk in from the outside. Most of the station is boring polished steel, blinking lights, then you enter my office and it’s wood. Getting books for the shelf was a pain, it’s the one thing the station doesn’t sell, so for a while I looked like a real cunt with plenty of shelf space and a handful of books. People would ask about it, which was annoying but, alright, it was a compounding factor on how shady it all seemed, and I’d tell them I’d lost most of my books in the move and was waiting for them to arrive. Which was true enough, at least enough to shut them up about it. But they’d sit across from my desk and tell me the details of their woes, then I’d tell them how I’d solve it for them. It was a pretty good system. Sometimes, I’d have to get them back into the office to go over some details or expenses. I started out my practice letting the expenses slide in exchange for a favour, which people are usually grateful enough to accept, so at this point it was generally understood that you should pay your expenses when I tell you to. When I wanted to get out of the flat but didn’t want to wander around the station, I’d hang out in my office. People coming in at these times were the most annoying, because usually if I don’t want to do a job I can get out of it easily. In the medbay, they’re dying so they’re not in the position to chase after me. Elsewhere, I can either pretend they’ve got the wrong person or give some extravagant price that they won’t concede to. Every so often, I got roped into a job I don’t want to do and I resent it. I even resent it when people come into my office uninvited and put me in the awkward position of turning them away. Usually if I’m upfront about how I find their case boring or trivial, they’ll get all offended and leave. Some require more pushing.

The day began normally. I got up, got ready, and headed out into the world. I didn’t have much going on, and was on the edge of liking it that way. The station was pretty dead for once, with the usually chaotic and filled hangar being nearly empty. I think the only ships there might have belonged to the few residents that owned one. I felt sorry, and still do, for the poor fuckers stuck on that hellhole. Usually what happened was that someone, not knowing better, would land from a nearby planet with little more than a dream and an idea of the cheap real estate. Then they’d chop their ship at one of the shops upstairs, grab a place and a store front, and slowly regret their decision. It was cheap real estate, almost offensively so, but that was because no one in their right mind would show up unless under duress. Sure, Doc might get a poor family that’d gained just enough capital to get up there for his skills, but with orderlies mostly running the OR they usually were disappointed. Then they’d have a “well, we’re here, sad and hungry” meal from one of the subpar restaurants before heading back to their planet. So those who sold their way off to settle here were more or less stuck in relative poverty. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be happy if a legitimately talented chef or whatever risked everything to set up shop here and succeeded their way back off, but I’ve never seen it happen. Even when someone has been somewhat of a draw, it was never enough to get a ship and enough money to set up somewhere nicer. The only one I’ve seen get close is Synthia Gray, who garnered good reviews and quite a few people going out of their way to try her food. But the area’s too dangerous for anyone who could have a real impact, or the masses that might do the same, to come by. I just remember them packing up all her stuff one day, saying it’d been auctioned off. Turns out she decided to try her luck leaving the station, only without a ship or a suit. Sweet girl, I was always sorry it happened to her, but it was inevitable as soon as she stepped foot here. People don’t leave, not when they’re attached to it financially.

My theory is that the owners rig the price just so in order to attract desperate people. Those people pay rent, usually two forms of rent, while buying all their goods from the company and paying “taxes” on all the money they make. It’s an absolute racket, designed to keep this sorry excuse of a space station staffed enough to keep it used and profitable. Most people end up going into debt after settling. If the company had a heart, they’d offer some sort of way off when people go broke, but instead they allow people to run up the score. It’s indentured servitude to make the station seem full and welcoming to anyone willing to put money into a bad investment.

In any case, I was one of the few fortunate enough to have a ship still in the hangar. Which was good news for both me and the station itself, as I needed it to work. Can’t quite look into things if I’m stuck on a hunk of metal orbiting aimlessly around some nothing gas giant. I like to keep it tuned up, making sure it’s ready to go at a moment’s notice and taking it for a short spin every so often to make sure it can, in fact, work. I love my ship, but I feel like other people feel that on an entirely different level. It’s a reliable and necessary tool, but I don’t see much need in worrying about it being clean or looking nice or whatever. I’ll get a Wash Me on the window if I haven’t taken it out in too long, but I’ll just scrub it off. As long as it gets me from point A to point B I’m happy with it. After I gave it a good look over, because what the fuck else was I going to do, I headed up to the shopping area to wander around for a little bit. It was boring. Even Doc’s was mostly empty, with the one person being looked after having cut himself deeply out of sheer clumsiness. I wasn’t quite ready to go back to the flat, I wanted to keep it a space I felt good in, so I headed back to my office. And there was someone waiting for me. I did not like this, and I’m still not super happy about it.

She was sat in my office chair, usually reserved for active clients, and dressed in all black. Even when I walked in, she continued boohooing into her snot rag, you know how these mucus gremlins are, with loud and halting cries. I could see flakes of red hair poking out of her garish black hat, complete with a little veil in front of her face. I cleared my throat and she finally turned around.

“Are you Lisa Dean?”

“That’s what it says on the door.”

I made my way to my desk, and she looked up at me from her hunched posture with wet eyes. I had to awkwardly shimmy between the close wall and my desk, an act I don’t like doing in front of people who might be deciding to pay me, before sitting down. She could hardly put words together and babbled incoherently.

“I’m guessing someone’s dead?”

Mistake. This set her off with a loud wail and I had to wait it out. I flipped through an old magazine on my desk and cursed myself for not picking up a newspaper. Apparently those skis were still available with an exclusive discount. Eventually her sobs started to stabilize and it seemed as though she were about to speak, so I tilted the magazine down.

“My wife… she’s gone!”

This had my attention. A lover, possibly murdered, possibly missing, but either way a mystery? Grand, sounds to be quite the adventure.

“So, in your words, what’s happened?”

She sniffled a bit, then took a few deep breaths to collect herself.

“I woke up one day and she was gone, with a note left saying she’d left and her ship was gone. But I know she would have never done something like that!”

“I’m not saying I won’t take the case, but given the evidence she just left don’t you think this getup is a bit much?”

“She would never! She would never do such a thing, the possibility wouldn’t even be in her programming it’s so antithetical-”

“Whoa, stop right there. Her programming?”

“She was a robot, but what we had was so real.”

“Buy another.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your bot babe was defective. Buy. Another.”

I brought the magazine back up to my face and let her spit and sputter. She seemed the type to have always gotten her way, daddy’s favourite, and I’ll be honest I took some joy in saying no. She composed herself and stood, placing a calling card on my desk.

“Regardless, I’ve heard you’re the best. If you change your mind, please give me a call.”

“Mkay.”

She kept standing there, looming over me, until I placed the square into my desk drawer. Who even does that? A square card? Where is that meant to go? A purse I suppose, so I’ll respect the specificity of use, but if she was married it was an oversight to not update it for easier storage. That said, I’m probably over analysing it and should concentrate on telling the story. That’s what’s important, the story, not any of these bullshit details. In all honesty, I might just be bored and pointing out shite like this for the drama. In any case, she took her leave and I went back to reading my magazine. Halfway into an article on exercise routines, for whatever reason, I put it down to go buy a paper because if I had to keep reading this sports magazine I’d punch a hole in the station wall.

I was sitting in the local saloon, watching Doc get absolutely hammered. From that and the blood drenching his coat, you’d assume he’d had a rough day and was having to work through some heavy shite. You would be wrong. Not to suggest he is drenched in blood on a daily basis, although it isn’t an unusual occurrence, but he did enjoy drinking until he had to be carried back upstairs. It was a bad idea to say it, or even imply it, but there was a common understanding that this habit most likely landed him on the station. It was generally accepted that you do not want to piss off the person who has a say in you getting patched up, and if you’re going to be doing something especially dangerous, do it early to be on the safe side. So he’s leaning on the bar, gripping his beer as if it was about to float away, and grimacing. The poor busboy was holding his mop by the tip of the handle to mop up the pool of blood slowly forming underneath Doc’s stool and holding his breath in an effort not to be noticed. I wouldn’t call Doc a mean drunk, as that would imply he was different the rest of the time. Bless him, he was a bastard but wholly honest about it. I leaned forward as he started mumbling, the reek of beer and whisky pouring from his mouth more freely than from the taps, just in case he was trying to talk to me. He bolted upright and grabbed me by the lapel, pulling me close and forcing eye contact.

“No one here today! Only the cunts showed! Cunts, all of them, screaming and bleeding and all but pissing themselves, whining for their mammies!”

He slumped back against the bar and placed his face into his arms, and Frankie, our bartender, looked over to me. I nodded, resenting the fact I’d need a wash after taking him to his place. He turned his head, ear now pressed firmly against the bar and seemed like he was looking for a response.

“Yeah, Doc, absolutely awful. Only job offer I got was to locate a missing bot, wasn’t about to take a salvage job.”

He pushed himself up, working his way into a maniacal laugh, and I had to put a hand on his back to keep him from going arse over teakettle.

“What’s her name?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I have her card upstairs, she wouldn’t leave until I took it.���

“She fit?”

“Not your type, I don’t think.”

“Certainly ways to change that. ‘Not my type’, feh! Insult my skills.”

Knocking my arm away, he took another swig of beer and lied back down on the counter. He should have been cut off hours ago, but Frankie was in the odd position of having to poison the man who might save her life, or he might not out of spite. Well, if you were lucky he’d leave it at that. Most of the time, the blood was from boredom more than altruism. If you made the mistake of causing a ruckus in his med bay, well let’s just say that being handed over to Doc to be handled personally usually was a bad sign. He did personally take care of station residents, at least the ones whose death would be inconvenient for him, but, again, that was only a good thing at the right time of day. Stubborn as a mule, if he wanted to be hands on begod no one would stop him. Which is unfortunate for everyone, including Doc. That’s how Frankie got her job, and it took him almost a year to adjust.

Luckily, Doc wouldn’t argue against the saloon closing and would allow himself to be walked home, usually with a takeaway cup in tow. As the clock struck three, I picked him up and half dragged him away from the bar. He woke up enough to start struggling, reaching toward where he had been with both arms extended.

“Drink!”

“Alright, give me a second.”

I sat him back down on his stool and leaned him on his arm so he’d stay upright. Frankie, who always waited and watched to make sure Doc left without a fuss, already had his cup ready and mouthed a thank you. When I handed him the paper cup, he took a few sips from his straw, readied himself and nodded. He could almost stand, so I had to prop him up by the armpit and lead him to the elevator.

“Real sorry situation.”

“Mhm.”

It was hard to make out the words, but regardless of what he was talking about I was not about to treat it as anything but gospel. He was slumped in the corner of the elevator, barely supporting himself on the banister. The one advantage of helping Doc home is that, despite how busy it is at this time of night, we’d get an elevator to ourselves for a quick trip home. It was a quieter trip than most nights, as he was just staring down at his cup. The ones where he was overly rowdy were definitely worse, but I enjoyed hearing him drunkenly ramble about some random topic. I don’t know if him being a doctor made it more or less weird, but he was well read on the most obscure topics. He once described, in detail, the history of the human homeworld, but with a topic like that it was equally plausible he was making up most of it. Either way was entertaining. But this, this was just sad. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and I helped him out into the hallway.

“Right, so how far do you need?”

“Bed.”

His flat was fairly close to the elevator, either by planning on his part or coincidence, so it wasn’t too much trouble. I tried to prop him up against the wall to search him for his keys, but he just slid down it. He slapped my hand away when I tried to get to his pockets anyway.

“Leave here.”

“You know you’ll be furious tomorrow if I do.”

“Fair.”

Pawing at his pants, he managed to drop the keys onto the floor. I unlocked the door, then got him up and into the apartment. Ratty is the best way to describe it. I am fully aware we are off-planet, but you could easily convince me there’s any number of vermin among the wreckage. Due to his importance to the maintenance of the place, I’m pretty sure he’s paid more than anyone here, especially since most people don’t get paid at all, but you couldn’t tell from the state of his flat. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the brokest of all of us, but I don’t think that even matters to him. This wasn’t the first time I had to take him inside, but I always had to adjust to the absolute squalor. It never fully sunk in, the way he lived, if you want to call it that.

There was a relatively clean recliner in the telly area, so I left him there while I got his bed ready. I set up a glass of water and some paracetamol for him in the morning, then brought him over to tuck him in. He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the middle of the mattress, so I put the duvet over him. We were close, but it was well established that he’d rather sleep fully clothed than go through the further indignity of being stripped. The one time I tried, he fought back with tears in his eyes. I didn’t see much, but I remember a large scar across his middle. I’m happy not knowing.

After I got upstairs and cleaned myself up, I sat down on my couch. Any other day, a rejected case would be the last thing on my mind, but I couldn’t help thinking about the one I found in my office. If she wants to waste her money having someone turn up a lost appliance, I have no issue with it, but the gall of seeking me out and expecting me to waste my time with that nonsense was infuriating. But it was none of my business, I made that quite clear. I lied down on the couch and flipped on the telly, not ready to power down for the night. Nothing good was on, so I shuffled through the channels and watched the shadows dance on the wall. It would be a safety nightmare, but times like these I desperately wished we could have windows. There were a couple planets close enough to watch, sitting in a ship outside, and plenty of stars of course. I always loved the look of it, the majesty of the universe, but there was hardly an opportunity to enjoy it anymore. Well, if I wanted it I could have it, but there didn’t seem to be a point to it. I find work by being in the station, and that pays the bills. Plus, the stars just looked duller nowadays. Better off to stay at home and watch whatever brain drain they’re pumping out to the screens of the galaxy.

#writer #writeblr #writing #am writing #editing #chapter one #new book #book #sneak peek #preview #lgbt #lgbt writers #lgbtqiia+ #lgbtq writing #lgbtq #lesbian #robots #space #scifi #sci fi #sci fi writing #sci fi wip #gonzo #gonzo fiction #pulp #neo pulp #neopulp #fiction

[blackwxtchmccree]

Side to Side (Sugar Daddy!Gabriel Reyes x Reader)

I told myself I would never write an AU, but here we are. 

Can also be found on my AO3 >>> here. 

This is entirely self-indulgent, but I figured I would share for everyone to (hopefully) enjoy. Feedback is welcome and appreciated, otherwise, read on. -Valk

You were tired.

Tired of school, tired of homework, tired of late nights spent slaving over papers, tired of reading out of textbooks that were far too expensive for what they were actually worth, tired of the pressure from your parents to be the perfect student.

You were also tired of your job. You were a photographer for the campus newspaper and it often had you running on and off of campus at weird hours of the day between classes to complete assignments. You were passionate about photography, but none of your pictures ever came out looking as good as you wanted them to—you felt like you weren’t improving and it made you increasingly more disappointed as you flipped through each one, picking the best few to upload and add captions to before slipping out of the office, DSLR camera dangling sadly around your neck.

You had to go home and finish a ten page paper—not the longest one you had never written, but finals were looming a few weeks away and you were drowning in assignments, trying your best to stay on top of them while also working. You often found yourself falling asleep at your desk over your laptop, your eyes glazing over as you attempted to do the reading for each of your classes, usually finding it to be drier than the Sahara in July most nights. The walk back to your apartment was relatively quiet and you dropped your stuff as soon as you stepped through the door, kicking your shoes off, feeling  something brush your leg.

Looking down, you found your orange tabby greeting you, rubbing her face against your calf, causing you to smile. Mira—the one good thing in your life, the only thing that made you happy anymore, it seemed. She meowed, peering up at you with her green eyes as she followed you to your small kitchen, begging to be fed. It seemed your roommate hadn’t bothered to throw any food in her bowl like you had asked and you sighed, quietly apologizing to Mira as you scooped kibble out of the bag, watching in amusement as she practically headbutted your hand out of the way, her teeth crunching as she ate.

You hadn’t eaten dinner yet and it was late, but you didn’t particularly feel hungry, mind elsewhere as you sat at your desk, pulling your laptop from your backpack, setting to work on finishing that paper and then likely having to edit a few photos for your photography class, smiling when Mira hopped onto your lap and settled there once her belly was full. The clock read 2:32 am when you finally settled into bed.

That’s usually how your days went—starting with waking up at 8am for your 9am class and working in the afternoon, finally dragging yourself home in the evening to do homework and maybe fix dinner before falling into bed again. You had a few friends and they would invite you out on weekends, but more often than not you were far too tired or far too busy, instead opting for inviting them over to watch a movie. You appreciated their support and patience, though you often received criticisms from your parents for not being social enough, ignoring their texts asking what you were up to on a Saturday night, knowing they wouldn’t like the answer. It was rare they were ever happy with your choices. The fact that you didn’t have a significant other wasn’t helping, either.

It was the Friday before fall exams when you got what turned out to be a far more interesting assignment than usual. Your desk editor pulled you aside in the office, asking if you could take pictures at a meeting between the chancellor of the university and the of the head of a private security company the university had contracted to replace the security systems in the dorms on campus that afternoon. The university paper was publishing a story and wanted a portrait of the two shaking hands—nothing unusual. You agreed begrudgingly—you finally had a free afternoon to yourself and wanted to relax, but it needed to be done and none of the other photographers were free.  

You were quick to run home and change into somewhat nicer clothes, throwing on a flowy blouse and business slacks alongside a small bit of makeup before swapping out the lens on your camera and running back out the door again, giving Mira’s head a scratch as you went. You caught the bus and made it to the meeting five minutes before it started, showing the security at the door your press pass and slipping inside, looking around the big conference room.

A long glass table took up most of the space at the center, surrounded by comfortable looking plush rolling chairs. Other photographers from larger news organizations were standing near the back, waiting for the meeting to start. You approached them, greeting them quietly, all of you working out a small plan to make sure you got the photos you needed without interrupting anyone’s line of sight. The people involved with the deal were slowly filtering in, mostly men in suits that you didn’t bother sparing more than a glance. You knew your university’s chancellor, Jack Morrison, and had done some research on the head of the private security firm—they were your main focus.

But the pictures online didn’t do Gabriel Reyes justice.

When he entered the room, most of the photographers moved, but you paused for a moment, taken aback slightly by his height and muscular stature. He was older, but his face hardly reflected his age save the crows feet at the edges of his chocolate eyes, which were kind and welcoming. You pulled yourself out of your head, turning your camera on and playing with the settings before moving in. The timing of the meeting was perfect—set during the few golden hours before sunset where natural light made everything look crisper.

The sunlight filtered through the large windows facing the center of campus below and you moved around the table, snapping close up pictures of both Reyes and Chancellor Morrison as they talked. Once everyone sat down, the meeting began and you tuned out most of what they were talking about, uninterested, moving to the back again to get dramatic down-the-table pictures of the two people that mattered conversing. The meeting lasted maybe an hour, with discussions of financials and implementation filling the air.

You had sat down against the back wall beside another female photographer, your feet aching, scanning everyone at the table as they spoke. You found that Reyes was very well spoken and charismatic, cracking jokes and drawing everyone into the diplomatic conversation. You watched the way he laughed, his mouth curved up into a smile, your eyes tracing his plush lips down his strong chin to his broad shoulders that shook when he chuckled. From there your eyes fell down his arms—his muscular biceps pulling at the fabric of his expensive suit jacket, your gaze finally reaching his hand, surprised to find he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

You were pulled out of your thoughts again when the meeting finally concluded, pushing yourself up and getting that perfect shot of Reyes and Chancellor Morrison shaking hands, smiling to yourself and hoping it turned out good enough to publish. Your editor had also asked if you could get a portrait of Reyes in case they needed one for a future story and you hoped you could catch him, slipping out of the meeting room once everyone had scattered and most of the other photographers were busy taking pictures of the chancellor—something your newspaper had plenty of already. You chased the large man down the hall, calling out to him, sliding to a stop when the two security guards at his side raised their hands at you.

“She’s fine—let her pass,” Gabriel chuckled, turning towards you. You didn’t miss the way he looked you up and down—it was a subtle movement, but you caught it regardless, forcing the blush that threatened to rise on your cheeks down. You were sure you looked like a mess—there wasn’t much to see.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you Mr. Reyes,” you apologized, making a small motion with your camera. “I’m Y/N. I was just wondering if I could get a portrait of you. Waist up—in case we need it.”

“Anything for a pretty girl like you,” he replied in earnest, his brown eyes looking down at you kindly. “Where do you need me?”

You took a moment to look around, politely asking for him to step into the adjacent room, thankfully to find that there were large windows there, too, letting the perfect amount of light filter in. He straightened his suit jacket, looking up at the camera and watching you as you worked, getting the lens to focus before snapping a few pictures from a few different angles. You skimmed through them quickly, satisfied.

“Thank you. So sorry for taking up so much of your time,” you apologized again, turning your camera off and letting it settle against your chest as you reached to shake his hand. It was much larger than yours, warmer and softer than you expected. The head of the firm responded with a small nod, flashing you another smile.

“Worth it if you can make me look good—10 years younger maybe with a little bit of photo magic.”

“You’re already very handsome, so I hardly think that’s necessary, sir,” the words came out of your mouth before you could fully process them, a blush rising to your cheeks when Reyes let out a deep laugh.

“Oh I like you,” he huffed in response, heading to the door, but turning back towards you and giving you a small wink. “I’ll be on the lookout for them. Don’t let me down.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied unevenly, slightly flustered as you watched him leave. You stood for a moment in silence, staring at the door he just left through, willing the blush on your cheeks to fade before exiting the room and heading towards the newspaper office.

For the first time in a while, you were excited to upload your photos, smiling to yourself when you saw how nicely they turned out, even receiving compliments from your editor. You added captions, finding it hard to remain unbiased when describing the man who had flustered you far more easily than you were willing to admit. You waved goodbye to your coworkers as you left, wishing them a good weekend before finally heading home, intent on settling into a bath and sipping a glass of cheap wine.

You did just that, falling asleep with Mira tucked against your chest, purring softly, the sound and feeling lulling you into the best sleep you had gotten in months. You spent the rest of the weekend relaxing, not having any obligations for once until your first exam began on Tuesday, finally finding the energy to go out with your friends on Saturday night, finding a small window of time to take and send a snarky picture of the group of you sitting around a table at your favorite bar to your mother. You woke up Sunday with a minor hangover, but you just rolled over and took some ibuprofen before falling back asleep, waking up in the early afternoon, feeling guilty for having slept so late when you likely should have been studying, but deciding you deserved it for working so hard.

You hadn’t planned on going back to the office until after exams were over, but you got an interesting text from your desk editor Monday morning telling you there was a surprise waiting in the office for you. You grumbled under your breath as you got dressed, throwing on jeans and a sweater before heading out, loathe to leave the warmth of your bed.

Once you arrived, you saw why she had called you in, scooting back in her rolling chair as you approached the desk, gesturing to the rather large vase of red roses that sat there.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” your desk editor, Christina, giggled, looking almost dreamily at the floral arrangement. “Or tell me where I can find one that will send me flowers.”

“I don’t. And everyone here is broke—I wouldn’t know where to find someone who could even if I tried,” you retorted your brow furrowing as you brushed leaves and petals aside, looking for a note card. You found it pinned to the side of the vase, plucking the card out and examining the print on it.

Y/N,

Got your employer from your press pass and saw the photos you took. I have to say I’m rather impressed. Hopefully this isn’t too forward, but I have an offer for you. Call me if you’re interested.

-Gabriel Reyes

Oh.

Oh.

You stared at the card for a moment, taken aback, flipping it over to find a phone number printed on the back. It took a few seconds for your brain to process what this could possibly mean, all the while you realized Christina was talking to you.

“Someone’s taken an interest in you, then,” she teased, poking your side and wiggling her eyebrows, making you roll your eyes. “Is it someone else who works here? Do you recognize the name?”

You hesitated, stuttering out a small ‘no’, hoping it was enough to convince her, tucking the card back into your wristlet and out of her reach when she tried to look at it.

“You have secret admirer then.” She was giving you a mischievous look now, her eyes narrowing.

“Yeah that’s it.”

You were quick to grab the flowers and flee, not wanting to be questioned any further. You set them on the kitchen counter when you got home, admiring them for another moment. They couldn’t have been cheap—the vase they were in was glass and the roses appeared freshly cut and dethorned. You pulled a rose out, holding it to your nose, breathing in the naturally sweet smell and smiling slightly. They were beautiful.

You fluffed them a bit, rearranging them slightly and giving them a bit more water before putting them at the center of the table in the small eating area next to the kitchen, taking a step back to look at them again.

Your mind was racing—why would a man like Reyes take an interest in you? Maybe he was interested more in your photography? If that were the case he could have just emailed you or something—the roses were a few steps above that and you definitely didn’t think your photos warranted such a divine gift. The photos you took of him were good, but they were nothing special—just simple portraits and landscape shots. You were also just a college student—a very tired college student with bags under your eyes that could rival Mariana’s Trench, so you weren’t exactly serving looks, either. Maybe he just wanted to hire you to take photos for an event and this was his way of convincing you to say yes.

Pulling the card out of your wristlet again you examined it, expecting the words on it to give you the answer and you skimmed it time and time again, your gaze scanning the phone number, adding it to your contacts, but not sending any messages.

For now, you needed to focus on your exams, but you would see what he wanted after they were over.

But your curiosity got the better of you and you pulled your phone out once you stepped out of your first exam, your thumb hovering over the call button as you grabbed coffee before heading back to your apartment to study a bit more.

As it rang you thought about hanging up, but he answered before you got the chance to.

“Reyes.” His curt greeting made you snort.

“It’s Y/N. Sorry if I caught you at a bad time.” You could hear him basically perk up over the phone.

“Y/N! I was starting to think you weren’t going to call.”

“It’s exam week—I’ve been a bit preoccupied. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I assumed. You looked tired—not in a bad way, but in a ‘you don’t get enough sleep and they definitely overwork you’ kind of way.”

“That obvious, huh,” you replied sheepishly, frowning. “You could say that.” You juggled your coffee while trying to unlock your apartment door, slipping inside before Mira had a chance to slip out the door. She made a run for it on occasion and you were sure Gabriel didn’t want to listen to you yelling after her in his ear.

“You’re a beautiful girl, regardless, and a talented photographer on top of that. I saw the photos you too—gorgeous lighting, perfect perspective—you made the meeting look almost fun.”

“You seemed like you were having a good time, to be fair. You and Chancellor Morrison really hit it off—almost as if you two knew each other.”

“Something like that, actually. We’re old war buddies,” Reyes replied with an amused huff and you heard his chair creak as he sat back. “Enough about me, though. We spoke briefly, but tell me more about yourself. You seem light a bright young lady.” An odd question—though the flattery made you blush. Most clients didn’t want to get to know you, and maybe it was just fluff to try and get photos for free, but he didn’t seem like the type, so you decided to just be honest.

“Not much to me, honestly—I’m a photography major studying at the art school here. My days mostly consist of going to class, going to work, and then going home to do homework until 2 am,” you replied, shrugging to yourself as you slipped your shoes off, heading into your room to settle onto your bed. “I don’t have much time for many hobbies. My friends drag me to clubs or bars on the weekends sometimes, but otherwise I spend my free time sleeping or drawing on occasion when I feel up to it.”

“Indulge me for a moment,” Reyes murmured almost hesitantly. “Your financial situation, what’s that like?” Another odd question, though you found yourself answering anyway.

“I’m here on a partial scholarship, but I still have to work to pay off the bit that isn’t covered. I hardly get paid enough at the newspaper to cover my rent, so I usually work events and sell my photos on the side to cover everything else. I assumed that’s what this was about.” There was a small pause and you downed the rest of your coffee, setting the empty cup on your bedside table.

“Have any of your friends talked about having a sugar daddy?” That gave you pause, and your brow furrowed.

“Other than wishing they had one, no.”

“With that in mind, I might have a proposition for you.”

“Are you offering…?” You couldn’t finish the sentence, stunned.

This definitely wasn’t about taking photos.

“I am. We’ve only spoken briefly, but I can tell you’re intelligent, funny, and deserve far better than the way life is treating you right now,” Reyes replied. “And I feel you’d make good company.” You were quiet for a moment, letting out the breath hadn’t realized you had been holding, your grip on your phone tight enough to turn your knuckles white.

“...Would this extend beyond just… keeping you company,” you murmured, thumbing at the edge of the blanket on your lap. In the few minutes you had talked, Gabriel had seemed like a nice man and you weren’t entirely opposed to interacting with him again.

“Only if you wanted it to,” Gabriel replied, his tone soft, understanding. “When is your last exam?”

“Friday, but I technically just have to drop in to give the professor the final paper she assigned. Why?”

“I’ll be in my office in LA this weekend—let me fly you out there and we can talk about it over dinner.”

The logical voice in your head was telling you this could potentially be reckless, dangerous to go see a man you had only met once and let him fly you across the country to get dinner and discuss the possibility of you being his sugar baby, but the other slightly more irrational (and arguably more fun) voice in the back of your head was whispering ‘do it’. You had promised your parents you’d be home a few days before Christmas—you had enough time in between to visit him, so why not? You go and you get murdered—it just meant no more homework. You go and you come back with a sugar daddy—even better. It was a win-win in your head.

“I… Sure.” You could barely hide the eagerness in your voice, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Good. I’ll send you the travel details in a bit. See you Friday.”

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