#ah. two niche interests of mine

[yuseirra]

Hello, I just wanted to tell you that your work had inspired me to make my own animatics (the first "proper" one is almost ready!), and your art style was the primary influence for my storyboarding. I still remember the first time I watched one of the animatics of yours, and was absolutely blown away by it. Fast forward a year, and I am making my own fan art for another niche, indie game. So, I wanted to thank you personally, and I hope I can share what I did with that inspiration!

I still recall when I first started really imagining animation as it relates to characters in a setting and plot. The animatic of yours is like a knitted blanket, all of the characters go together despite the colour scheme being very different. I was memerized by the coordination - it was like a dance, almost!

So, I started wondering about other games I played, and I thought "Maybe I can try something like that too". It wasn't easy, I suck at art, but I learnt quite a lot. For example, how to blend two different scenes with different rooms in a fluid manner. Or how to protray a character with only a few sketches, as I cannot make every frame colourful.

I deeply recall going back to the"Road Less Taken" video, as well as so many others, and slowing down the speed to 0.5, so I could see every single frame slowly, and trying to figure out how to add movements that won't be too "noisy". In that time, I tried experimenting with art styles, and sort of mixed up a lot of brushes together.

One particular moment was when I tried to make a "dramatic" moment in my badly drawn sketch. I remember seeing that you would take a black and white frame, and then, the next frame would be the same thing but in colour. I thought it was so cool! So, I tried it.

It didn't work out as I hoped (my colouring was messy and poor). The technique I am currently using is by using a black and white sketch, and then the same frame with 3 colours. But I learnt that I could adjust the layers with filters, until the lightening had enough contrast. This way, it would seem "dramatic".

Sorry, that was super long of an ask. My first proper animatic won't be good, but that is another learning experience! If I have the courage, I may post it on Tumblr. Honestly, I really am glad I stumbled upon your videos, else I would not have done all of that drawing and creativity.

So, thank you for everything!

I came across this message first thing in the morning and it's made me have so many different feelings.. before I say anything further, I'd like to tell you that I feel this message is wonderful! I'm glad to have you had stumbled upon my videos, too.

Ah, my Road Less Taken fanvideo.. and my other videos too. Being reminded of it really hurts me because I loved everything I put into it, I put in a lot of passion, I put in a lot of love, I bought the artbook, played the game it was based on and went through to do a full analysis, went back and forth through the plot, I just couldn't bear upholding it though, I just couldn't. I'm sad it turned out to be the way it is now since I was really sure I did a great job with it with the skills I had, and I love what I did with it, but I don't regret having it taken down. It took me some time to muster the courage to do it, and I feel lucky that people were very accepting about it too. ^^ It existed and it was able to give a lot of people fun as it did for me, and I'm very happy that was the case. I know that work of mine was really loved, and I'm glad I could create something that could do something like that. I hope I can do that again and I'd probably have a chance to, since I have a life ahead of me.

Enough about me and let's talk about you and your message! Aaaah wow, this is really incredible! Have you seen my channel though? My early videos (and I may still would draw that way) aren't so colorful and proper you know! A lot of them are consisted of sketches of what I want to see in that certain segment. It's very interesting and exciting to hear from your perspective, because I hadn't considered my movies to be so "proper" enough either!! That's why, I can say for a fact, that "Oh you'll do well and do a wonderful job" with 100% sincerity. You came to the right person. I mean look at me! I posted videos like that all the time and just because I thought it'd be fun! If you went to some other talented artist who has these bizarre techniques and astounding professionalism who could create full-fledged CLEAN animations it may not sound so convincing. But i'm someone who starts from scratches and lines and posts those without shame. Drawing colored movies was a huge challenge in my part as well and it took me awhile to feel I'll be skilled enough to do it- perhaps you're already getting a huge head-start compared to how I started out because moving up that one step for me took years to do.

You can do it!! You can!

If there's something I learned from posting my drawings and works out here, it's that you just do what you wanna do. Not everyone will notice you, and your works may not be blown up out there as you wish it to be, yeah, but there's always going to be someone that comes along and appreciates it, which is a miracle on its own. For me, one of those people is you. You'll have someone who comes up to you and does the same thing for you, too if you keep sticking out there. Until then, just continue doing what you love and have fun, without having recognition being your only motive. I made my works for myself (to share, of course, but there were things I was so passionate about I felt I HAD to put this out there and let everyone notice how GOOD and FITTING it is) and although having thousands of people love my works, and tens of hundreds of thousands watch 'em together with me was wonderful.. it all feels like a dream now, the number doesn't matter as much for me. If numbers mattered, I'd have given up a long time ago because there's always people who are so much better than you. However, there's something that only you can do and think of.

See? You're already telling me about your unique style and is thinking of what you could do to make it more effective. That approach you're using is something that I'm unfamiliar of doing. Even if we had the same ideas, I wouldn't be able to create the same things you do and that's what makes yours special! Good luck with that, never did I think what I drew would be able to inspire you to create your own, I should work harder myself to make sure I don't get beaten by you so fast XD, You see, I'm a slow improver. I have artist friends who've gone places and make incredible art. But I can still be one too, as long as I keep drawing. I hope you do that too, as well as keep having fun in the way. And please remember about me if you become famous one day, okay? 'v')9

"The animatic of yours is like a knitted blanket, all of the characters go together despite the colour scheme being very different. I was memerized by the coordination - it was like a dance, almost!"< Ah, I really liked this part of your ask, too. The coordination part is something I really tried hard on when I make an animatic! I sit down and listen to music one day and then something hits me. 'Huh? Isn't this that? And that part works with that and can't this be used to convey this?' Very vague expressions but that's actually how it works in my head. The inspirations come very fast, and when that happens, I sit down and write up a memo to see if the whole song really fits along with the stories I know. And when I'm convinced that it works, I start weaving the two different stories together, the lyrics and the story of the material I wish to make a video out of. That process really makes my heart race because yes, like how you've described it, it feels like a dance, or a knit. Like 90% of the animatics I've made happen like this, so I have no idea when I'll get another inspiration. Till then, I just keep having fun with the fandoms I'm in! Having a good understanding of the source material helps. If you know it well, then everything folds together as one. The song and the story does it for you, and you just follow through its flow.

"slowing down the speed to 0.5, so I could see every single frame slowly, and trying to figure out how to add movements that won't be too "noisy". <this part ;v;...hnngh I have no words.. goodness I had NO idea someone would look at my videos with such intense care.. I don't consider my videos to have the most..how do you put it, creative effects out there, a lot of the effects I put in are something that's built in in the base program or something really simple! You'll be able to learn it in a jiffy no problem. I really look up to vids that have these wacky, shiny and fast-paced effects myself.. One thing I think I could do a pretty good job on, on the other hand, would be the pacing! And that has a lot to relate with the songs you're using. Where the instruments come in, the beat, parts where the vocal stresses, I use the songs I really like, so it makes me think oh, a panel could be added there, and there! and let's make this one drawing show up longer than the others! All that. If you understand the materials you're using (the song, the story, your art) you'll be able to coordinate them well within the limits of your abilities. As I said earlier, that's going to be something only you could do, and what's unique. They say creativity isn't about making entirely new stuff, you know! It's more about putting two different things together in a way no one else has. So movies and fanarts are a great way to show yours :)

I've had others who inspired me to create a video. I've seen lots of fanvids and there were amazing ones, (the fact I was in the kagepro fandom when it was still releasing new songs explains a lot, doesn't it? That surely was a huge inspiration) but I think what's given me the final push to start was seeing my artist friend make a short 6 second one on her tumblr a few years ago. There it hit me that I might be able to do it too, so I asked them what program they were using and made mine right away.

I still have it in fact, it's this video, and I made this one too shortly after. And then I realized that although it wouldn't be perfect, making a video itself isn't something too much of a big deal. You make one and that's it! Because I enjoyed it,(I loved the idea of seeing my own drawings move) I made more.. and I won't be so afraid to, either, because I could always go back to making those simple ones if I wished. Make colored and detailed ones if I wish to push myself further. I'm happy I was able to inspire you to make yours. I hope your experience making stuff would be as enjoyable and exciting as mine!

I'll be happy if you can show me your first video, too!// Whether if you do, or if you don't, I will cheer for you~ Thank you so much for telling me all this. I'm honored to know I was able to give you such a positive impact, because you never know what influence you're giving to someone unless they tell you.. and this, IS SO TOUCHING. You're doing all these things because you were able to find the good, you had it in you always! I'm glad I played a part somewhere on the road. 'v')9

Good luck with your videos~ I'll.. keep making mine in the future too! ;v; GOD I found a song for persona but I gotta finish P3R to get a better understanding for this plot once again, I'm going to do an even better job than I ever did, in the long run. So you too, I know you'll keep improving, so take your time and have fun on the way!

#asknreply #liampleone #don't worry I got you I love long messages!!! #HHGH and I got carried away replying to you too #wish you the best!! this makes me want to try harder as well!

[bloody-wonder]

Until now, have you found any couple (canon or non canon) from any media (books, tv series, movies, anime/manga, etc) that the dynamics remind you of Neil/Andrew and Damen/Laurent?

if you're looking for dynamics specifically (as opposed to a full romance arc) the lymond chronicles, the queen's thief and empire of the vampire will scratch that damen/laurent itch.

it's common knowledge, at least in my niche circles, that cs pacat is a big fan of dorothy dunnett's work, that laurent is based on lymond and that his relationship with damen (down to specific scenes) was inspired by lymond's numerous boytoys. so reading the lymond chronicles after captive prince is constantly going aha! *leonardo dicaprio pointing meme*. what these books however don't have is a full romance arc with any of those men which is why you could say capri is, in a sense, a slash fic of the lymond chronicles. it's my favorite series of all time and i can't recommend it enough but it's also rather inaccessible in the beginning and has a steep learning curve - quite a commintment of your time and brain energy but so SO worth it!

the queen's thief is another series heavily inspired by the lymond chronicles and it has multiple ships that reminded me of damen/laurent: gen's love interest is very much a cast iron bitch and they do engage in an intense enemies to lovers romance, with some casualties. costis and kamet's story in thick as thieves is basically if the side quests laurent and damen went on were a whole separate book. and while not a canon romance like the previous two, whatever gen and costis have going on in the king of attolia is very reminiscent of the laurent/damen dynamic in book one (minus the slavery). two things to keep in mind if you decide to pick up the queen's thief: it's sort of ya (??) so the brutality and sexiness, while present, will not be on the same level as capri. and book one doesn't feature any of the above ships so, again, you gotta commit to the whole thing :)

now, while these two recs seem like no-brainers to me, i'm very excited to take this opportunity to yell about empire of the vampire from the rooftops AGAIN!! eotv is basically a story about epic quests and valiant deeds told by a jaded captive vampire hunter to his cunty vampire captor (who is blonde bc yes). jean françois is definitely inspired by anne rice's lestat (as the narrative format as a whole is inspired by interview with the vampire) but his dynamic with gabriel is just Peak Laurent/Damen Banter. "i speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart" and "hello, lover" galore! in fact, after i found out that pacat and jay kristoff know each other personally i became convinced that he had either read capri and borrowed the vibe OR *starts rambling about her conspiracy theory about how all australian fantasy authors drink secret australian magic juice that makes them write fun depraved sff, gets smacked on the head, passes out* where was i... ah yes, nasty gay vampires. eotv is very fun and very tropey, also very queer and sexy (esp book two) and it had my toxic yaoi needs covered however comma. jean françois/gabriel is basically them sitting in a room in the frame narrative and exchanging homoerotic barbs, while the story itself is about gabriel's past adventures (also very interesting but less homoerotic). it's unlikely that they're gonna have any sort of romance arc - unless someone reads the books and writes a fic of them. please.

alas, i still can't rec anything that comes close to what nora achieved with andreil. to me, the defining characteristics of their dynamic are two feral cats circling and sniffing each other, intricate rituals, overdramatic dialogue, aspec attraction (on neil's part). while one can attempt to find some of these elements in other stories, you cannot find all of them at once (aspec pov on relationships being particularly rare in fiction). there's just no other couple that manages to strike a perfect balance between the anime levels of drama and chaos on the one hand and the serious themes of trauma, acceptance, consent etc on the other hand. sorry, anon, ig we'll have to keep re-reading aftg until one of the aspiring authors i bet this fandom has a lot of writes their own book inspired by andreil🤷‍♀️

#book tag #so there's a dorothy dunnett cabal and an australian/new zealand depraved sff cabal #and pacat is in the overlapping section of these two circles #i connected the dots

[juriyuna]

Top five events?

Ah, another tough question...!

5. Halloween Castle of Prayer and Mourning: Went in expecting a silly stage play event; got a heartbreaking story about coping with grief and loss instead. Seeing that Kanagi is still mourning all of the people she's lost, still wishing that she could've done things differently, still afraid that the people she cares for will think she's cold or unsympathetic because she's bad at expressing her feelings... (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`) AAHHHHHHHHH. 10/10; gonna have to reread it again this Halloween.

4. Yukari Miyuri's Current Training!: For what sounds like a jokey premise, it's a surprisingly good story! The writers perfectly nailed that awkward neurodivergent teenager feeling of "i accidentally got carried away talking about a special interest of mine and weirded my friends out; oh god i can never speak to any of them ever again" OTL... and the subject of fetishism (including the shame Those sorts of feelings can bring, particularly for queer kids) was handled quite well.

I loved the message of "there's nothing wrong with liking "weird" things; being strange or different doesn't make you a bad person" it had. Sure, maybe the things you're into are niche or unusual, but as long as you do your best to be mindful of when and where you bring it up, who cares? Be cringe but free! Real friends will love you for who you are!!

3. Please, Yuna-san!: We see a lot of Promised Blood's troubled, violent aspects, so getting fluffy slice-of-life with them was an enjoyable change of pace. It's nice to get to see PB's softer side, and it was fun to see how the group dealt with everyone's little everyday troubles. This event released at the same time as ch.7, so it offered some much-needed sweetness to balance out the suffering. Sakuya... ;_;

also Juri's issues with studying (and completely forgetting all 7 of the book reports she'd gotten as homework until 2 hours before they're due) are a huge ADHD mood. RIP little buddy I feel you; hang in there _(:3 」∠)_

2. Kagura San Wants To Be Honest: One of my favorite aspects of magireco is how it takes well-worn character tropes and subverts/expands upon them, and this event certainly delivers! A cute little story that offers some good insight on San. I really liked getting to see more of her hidden anxious side here-- she's SO painfully self-aware and constantly second-guessing everything, but covers it up by putting on a stern, unshakable front because she doesn't want to come off as childish. (This only backfires sometimes.)

Watching her fuck up a social interaction (something she'd like to believe she's good at, but still struggles with), panic over how jarring that must have been, and then fuck the situation up even more trying to rectify her mistake was way too real. Same with the conflict of "wow that was really weird of me but it happened hours ago; should I apologize or would I just make it even weirder if I brought it up now?" orz... I love when magireco dips into mundane, everyday struggles like that; it makes the characters feel very human.

1. Crimson Resolve: First place has gotta go to the story that truly got me into magireco hell. :') It's actually the event I was looking forward to most back when the NA server was alive! I started playing NA shortly after CR came out on JP (late 2019), and seeing all of the cool fanart for it on twitter had me very eager to get to Arc 2. I read the initial fan translation for it on reddit/pastebin back in December 2020, and my fate has been sealed ever since.

I'm not sure if I can articulate why I like it as much as I do. All of the characters in it quickly became favorites of mine (including an unexpected NPC... 🦇); something about their personalities, relationships, internal conflicts, and designs just does it for me. Couple that with a setting and tone that remind me of a blend of two of my other favorite series (DOGS: Bullets & Carnage and Kill la Kill), sprinkle in some animal motifs, and CR may as well have been meticulously grown in a lab to be my own personal catnip.

Bloody magical girl gang warfare is not an itch I knew I had, but now that it has been scratched, I think I've been altered on a molecular level.

#Green Jasper Diviners and I'll Keep Waving At You are high on my list as well #but i'll go with these 5 for now #magia record #long post #asks

[inknopewetrust]

Manipulate Me

Summary: As Peter travels Europe as a normal kid, the world’s peril throws a wrench in his plans. With you by his side chaperoning the trip as an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D agent, the mysterious introduction of Quentin Beck leaves you breathless. 

Pairing: Quentin Beck/Mysterio x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: None! 

A/N: Thanks so much for requesting this @mrs-blooooom​ ! I had a great time writing for Quentin Beck again. For context, reader is Peter’s older sister but also happens to be a shield agent (it was the easiest route of explanation as to why she would be meeting with Fury and Maria Hill). Requests are currently OPEN and you can check out who I write for in my request guidelines tagged in my bio. Thanks for reading! :) *gif not mine* I do not own any of the dialogue from the film. 

��May-” 

“-And don’t forget the passports! Oh! The passports!” 

“May!” 

May stopped scrambling around the apartment only to find that you had the two passports already in your hand. The tired aunt pushed her disheveled hair out of her face, pushing her glasses back up her nose, and slowly calming down. It was fine... Peter had you, Peter had all his friends, Peter would be fine in Europe. 

“Everything is going to go fine. I’ll be with him at all times and if he decides to wander off and do his Spiderman stuff––well then I’ll just have to call in some Avengers to stop him.”  

“I trust that you’ll be able to keep him out of trouble if it comes down to it.” May picked up Peter’s suitcase off the floor and listened to his heavy footsteps draw down the hallway and into the living room where you had gathered with her. 

“All ready?” He asked with those inquisitively wide eyes that reminded you so much of your mom. May handed him the suitcase but not before capturing the boy in a tight hug. Her “motherly” instincts grew since she returned from the blip. It was strange without the two of them. You, stuck here in New York without a leader in either Fury or Tony and the remaining members of S.H.I.E.L.D, Avengers and then the developed Sword, were left to pick up the pieces and build a life without them. That was the most difficult part. 

“Promise me that you won’t get into any trouble?” May asked Peter who in reply rolled his eyes with a chuckle. 

“It’s just a school trip. Besides, Y/n is going to be there and I’m sure she’s told you a million times that she can keep me in check.” You smacked the side of his head but he just ignored you and turned to the door, opening it with a rough pull with his spider-y force. 

“We’ll see you in a few weeks, May!” 

If you were able to take back all the words you said and never go to Europe, you would ask Stephen Strange to reverse time. 

Venice was a mess. The water-creature-man-thing...? had erupted the small city into a chaotic terror with locals and terrified students trying to find cover. Peter was somewhere flying with webs while another hero whom you had never seen before was assisting him. After a few minutes of trying to guide a group of students to safety, you secured cover underneath an awning in front of a store. 

“Ms. Parker! What do we do!?” Flash was almost in tears from fear which you couldn’t help but judge. It was water? the kid survived Thanos’ snap so he could survive this. Not to mention Fury would have your ass if any of the kids died on your watch. 

Out of nowhere the ground started to fill up with water and cracking of concrete or bricks began echoing throughout the small courtyard you trapped them all in. The green man came swooshing in with a cloud of smoke, almost like an illusion, and stopped the water with the sheer force of his magical abilities. The creature reformed into what looked like a water man and the green man dodged the attack with made the sound of bricks tumbling increase in intensity. Suddenly, the tower to your right began crumbling and you pulled as many students as you could closer to the building you sought shelter next to. 

“Get back! Get back!” 

“Who is that guy!?” Jason, one of the students shouted out but you couldn’t answer the question because you didn’t know. 

“I don’t know, but he’s kicking that waters ass.” Brad voiced exactly what you would have said. 

The green man continued to fight the water as the tower crumbled beside you all and then, like the blink of an eye, the monster was gone and the water scattered, soaking your shoes with a safety that was much welcomed. The man landed to sounds of cheering from the students and locals that found themselves in the same spot as you. But something was different. 

Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t see his face, or maybe the fact that you had never heard of this hero and you literally worked for the agency that worked with them all. Maybe he wasn’t from this world? Space? Another universe? You could have sworn that you heard of the idea of a multiverse. 

But maybe it was the fact that beneath all that smoke and mirrors that made up the helmet of the mysterious man, it felt as though when he looked around at his admiring fans, his eyes trained on you, staring through your soul with some feeling that wasn’t welcomed or unwanted either. Intrigue, that’s what it was. And when he flew off, everyone was left with a curiosity that sparked a great debate throughout the entire world. Who was this man? 

Well, the T.V. at the hotel identified him as Mysterio. Peter managed to make it back in one piece which you were able to celebrate in a brief moment outside before the voices of interested students and the television interrupted the moment. Betty and Ned were searching every website for some kind of clue but nothing other than what the news reported was to be taken as fact. It wasn’t aliens, it wasn’t witches, it was just another hero. 

So that was what you went with. That was until you opened your door to Fury sitting in a chair next to the window. 

“Oh my God!” You shrieked and Fury laughed, laughed, at you. 

“You scare too easy.” 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in spa-” 

The slight reveal of a green hand made you shut up. "Fury” tilted his head with a slight “Ah, well.” 

“Is this about that Mysterio guy?” 

“We’ve got him at a site. Says he’s from another Earth and that these creatures destroyed his own and intend to destroy this one too.” 

“Another Earth? So, the multiverse.. it’s real?” 

“Fury” didn’t respond to that, but he simply rose and gestured over his shoulder to the window. 

“There is a car outside. Go and wait in it while I go get Peter. The big man told me I need to scare the kid.” You smiled at the thought as the man left to go retrieve your brother. 

You had been part of the world of superheroes far longer than Peter had. You had been there when Loki first attacked New York way back when and that seemed like so many years ago. With the blip, it seems like an entire eternity. Nick never let you in on his secrets of his relationship with Carol Danvers, but you had met the Skrulls when you went on a mission three months ago to visit Monica Rambeau in space. Unlike her, you weren’t blessed with some badass powers, though she didn’t always have them. 

Peter looked terrified walking out to the car and when he saw you inside, he breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be alone. The site of S.H.I.E.L.D in Italy wasn’t far from where you had all taken up residence for the last day or two, but it was secluded, down in the catacombs of old buildings that no one would suspect. It reminded Peter of a Mission Impossible movie that you had watched with him before the two of you left for Europe, he felt more like a spy than a superhero in that moment. 

As you walked behind the two down the long corridors of the abandoned treasure that was used as a make-shift S.H.I.E.L.D, you were surprised to see Maria at a computer, though now knowing about Fury, you were sure it wasn’t even her. The center of the room was filled with scattered agents who you weren’t familiar with and then a projection in the middle of the room, along with the man without the helmet. 

You weren’t one for fawning over men. Jesus, you worked with Thor sometimes and while you were aware of his Godly looks, you never gawked. But this man, he wasn’t a God, he was just naturally beautiful. Dark hair, blueish-gray eyes that surely did pierce your soul, and a stature of a man who knew how to carry himself with power in the world. It was like he walked out of your dreams and into reality. 

“This is Mr. Beck.” Fury introduced you and Peter to the man. Mr. Beck approached Peter with a small smile and held out his hand. Peter looked nervous but responded with his own shake. 

“Mysterio?” 

“What?” 

“It’s just what my friends were calling you.” 

“Well, you can call me Quentin. You handled yourself well out there today. I saw what you did with the tower. We could use someone like you on my world.” 

Peter looked puzzled but Quentin looked behind the boy to you. He held out his hand with another smile which you returned. Maybe there was a shock when you touched hands, but you were sure it was just your imagination. 

“Y/n Parker, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“It’s good to meet you, Y/n.” 

“Likewise.” 

Did time rush by faster when you were in the presence of someone you were obviously attracted to? Yes, because before you knew it, the night was over, and Fury was leading you and Peter back out to the car. Peter was absolutely smitten with Quentin and could hardly break conversation. The man gave the attention to Peter like Tony did. It was like life imitating itself in another time. Quentin reminded you so much of Tony. Smooth with words, handsome, gifted in almost an unfair way, and he took an interest in the last piece of close family you had. You wanted nothing more than for Peter to have a figure in his life to give him a positive purpose. With Tony gone, he’s struggled trying to find his niche again. 

“See you, kid.” Quentin looked disappointed but hopefully that his and Peter’s paths would cross again one day, even with Peter trying to avoid being identified by his class or the world. At some point, someone would figure it out if they hadn’t already. 

“Yeah, see you.” Peter said as he walked out, following Dimitri, who Fury ordered to keep Peter in check with you. You were more than capable of doing it yourself but for some reason, Fury felt the need to send another agent. 

“Good luck, Quentin.” You told him and he nodded his head, glancing at the holographic map of Venice next to him. 

“I fear I’ll need it. But I’m hopeful that the good luck will be for more than just winning this fight.”

Swoon. That’s what you did for the remainder of the night and into the early morning. You couldn’t sleep a wink after the revelations that Quentin relayed to you and Peter about the elementals. That worried you too. How in the world was Peter supposed to sit by while other heroes with indisposed and couldn’t help? Sam and Bucky were on their own missions, Carole and Monica were off, Stephen and Wanda were no use and Thor was off on his own adventures with that team of riff-raffs from space–you know, the one with the talking tree. 

But somewhere in all the jumble of thoughts, the scenery of the canal that had been a scene of something far different, calmed the noise. Enjoy the trip. This was the first time in years that you had traveled for something other than work and yet it was still filling every thought and moment. The thoughts were so loud and invasive that you didn’t register the person coming up to your right, ready to take the bag off your shoulders. You felt the tug and turned around, ready to punch the person but they dogged it, pulling it off your shoulder. It was a game of tug of war for the bag, but the person was strong. 

“Let go! I said let go!” You pulled as hard as you could, therefore the bag came flying back to you and its contents spread across the sidewalk. The person glanced at the wallet on the ground and then back at you before you both dove to the ground. They grabbed it first and you tackled them to the ground. Wrestling with grunts and yells, you hadn’t noticed the audience of one that rushed to help. A blast of green light shot the person off of you and you clutched the wallet to your chest tightly, trying to reel in your ragged breath. 

“I heard yelling from my hotel...” The hero started only to realize that it was you and with a turn of your head, you had realized it was him, Quentin. 

“Oh! Are you alright?” He extended a hand, which you readily took to stand. He then helped collect the scattered items and put them back in the now ripped bag before handing it back to you. 

“I’m fine. Thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.” There was a brief, awkward lull but you weren’t sure what else to say. 

“So, do you always wander around at night in a city you don’t know?” It was an icebreaker, a line that he knew would make you at least chuckle. 

“No... I just had a lot on my mind. What you told us in there–it’s a lot of information to retain.” 

“I’m sure an agent like you could handle it though.” You smiled bashfully at the compliment. Quentin gestured over his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets. You realized he wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore but just a pullover sweater and some dark jeans. How he shot the green light in the first place you didn’t know, but all heroes worked a little differently you suppose. 

“Would you like to take a walk? I promise I won’t try to steal your wallet.” 

“How do I know I can trust you?” The conversation was so light, and carefree that for the first time in a long time, you felt like a normal person. Quentin returned your cheeky smile and began walking. 

“I’m pretty sure a woman like you could figure out who trust and who not avoid. Isn’t that what they train you for? Agents?” 

“I suppose so, yes.” 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked Quentin and he looked at you with a nod of his head. 

“How did you know the elementals would turn up in our Earth?” 

“Intelligence. My wife, she had worked for our version of your agency. Before they came to destroy our city, one had already manifested itself in Mexico. It was as if there would be a pattern to follow. So when she passed, I used her intelligence to figure out where they might be, which led me here.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you, it’s been some time now. She would be glad to see Peter helping me, and you helping out with the cause.” 

“Peter really took a liking to you. I could see it in the way he could barely contain himself.” You laughed, changing the heavy subject to one more light. 

“He’s a good kid. You’re related I assume?” 

“My little brother.” 

“You should be proud of him. He is doing a lot of good for the world. I just wish he was more confident in his abilities to realize identity protect isn’t everything.” 

Quentin was right, it wasn’t everything. But it was more than identity for Peter. It was also no Tony to lead the way, his want to be a normal kid, his need to have friends and well, MJ to like him. But neither of you would know what it was like to be a teen hero, that was a lot of unneeded pressure. 

“It seems that I brought you around full circle.” The sound of Quentin’s voice broke the silence and the realization that you were outside the barely standing hotel. You sighed and tugged the bag on your shoulder. 

“Thanks for saving the day, Mysterio.” 

“Anything to help protect Agent Parker.” 

If you hadn’t just met him a few hours ago, you would have asked him to come upstairs but that was far too forward for the world you created for yourself, so you extended your hand as he had earlier. 

“May our paths cross again.” 

He grasped your hand tightly and agreed. 

“Hopefully under better circumstances.” 

You watched then as he walked away, unaware of the man underneath the facade of Mysterio. How he already knew who you were, knew all your secrets, and was ready to manipulate you to take down the institution that denied him success so many years ago. 

#spiderman far from home #mcu #quentin beck x reader #quentin beck #mysterio imagine #mysterio #mysterio x reader #quentin beck x you #mysterio x you #x reader #x you #mcu x reader #mcu x you #fanfiction #request #answered #spiderman #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal #far from home #SPIDER MAN: FAR FROM HOME #SPIDER MAN FAR FROM HOME #spiderman x reader #peter parker #female reader #x female reader #x fem reader #reader insert

[deniigi]

Blame @petrichordiam for this.

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

Title: centerstage

Summary: An academic goes to a conference and is jazzed to see a jedi speak there. He unknowingly sits next to this jedi’s Support Squad.

The jedi Support Squad is like 85% clones, and 15% Jedi Generals.

No one mentions that the jedi speaking has never done this before and is petrified out of his blessed little mind.

*Anakin is like 19-20ish here.

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

Sion Jissard has spent the last ten years of his life in the dredges of archives, digging through documents and testing fibers found between the flimsy, papery pages of old texts—scrounging for clues to recreate the conditions of the great conference halls and small, tucked away offices in which some of the most powerful people in the galaxy once gathered to whisper and shout over the fate of whole planets.

He has a hypothesis that the conditions in those rooms affected the decisions made in them. His hypothesis is strong enough that it has endured several rounds of peer-review and escaped those vulture-like clutches mostly unscathed in published form—both in journal and, his chest swells to recall, in book formats.

His book has sold several hundred copies and been cited in a plethora of upcoming article submissions.

The last eight years of tension in his marriage has eased in light of this. The salary from the professorship obtained in light of the book certainly hasn’t hurt it either.

His two doctorates are set on the wall of his office and when he receives word that a conference on ‘Intergalactic Unionism and Peace Negotiation’ is to be held in two months time, he opens up the speakers list and raises his head to gaze upon those two solid frames.

There will be jedi speakers at the conference. Several, actually. The whole thing is to be held on Coruscant, in the small visitors’ wing of the Jedi temple itself.

Sion Jissard pinches the fabric of his suit and then lightly slaps at his cheek to make sure that he is not dreaming.

He has only recently begun studying the jedi order’s material world and the role that world plays in their intergalactic peace-making practices. Prior to this, he considered the subject too on-the-nose. Jedi studies are rampant. Everyone wants a piece of that pie—the allure of it being that the jedi themselves, scholars in their own rights, refuse to partake in examinations of their culture.

They are notoriously obstinate. Their grandmasters refuse to let outsiders into their archives. Their masters shut down any and all attempts to obtain interviews or transcripts or documents with empty expressions or gentle, pitying smiles. Their knights blink with confusion at personal and personal-adjacent questions, and the little ones, the apprentices, are shielded behind all of these people as though the elbow-padded questioners are threatening their precious little lives.

In short, the jedi are happy to listen but loathe to teach. If you are not one of their soldiers or one of their fellows, they will lie to your face and tell you that it is their religion to do so.

And yet here they are, offering up a scholar’s wetdream and even allowing a handful of their own to present on their areas of expertise.

Sion Jissard will pass up this opportunity only upon pain of death.

He applies for the conference as a participant, not a speaker, and is delighted to receive confirmation of his place within mere minutes.

He puts the date on his calendar and starts looking into transit to Coruscant for the event in two months time.

--

 Sion arrives on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple itself, and stares up at it for so long that he begins to feel sick to the gills.

He fumbles for his confirmation at the little table set up in the interior courtyard behind a side-entrance door. He is distracted by the fact that the woman he is standing in front of is a Jedi. She is helped by two small children and holds a baby who is dead-set on unraveling the knots that decorate her thick waist band. Even the baby is dressed in double-collared cream-colored robes.

Sion has so many questions he wants to ask.

The jedi asks him for his name. She has a collection of name badges before her, but none of them are his. He gives his name and the master turns to the little girl sat at her right elbow with a brush in hand and instructs her to write it out.

The jedi child—not an apprentice, her robes are cream still, there are no additional earth-colors layered on top of it—writes Sion’s name in beautiful script on a little card and hands the card to the master, who puts it in a holder with a pin on it and places it into Sion’s hand.

She instructs him to go through the side door and enjoy some refreshments before the event begins. The baby in her lap looks up at her abruptly and bonks his sweet little head against her chin.

Sion forgets himself.

“How old?” he asks automatically, gesturing to the baby.

The master looks down into her lap.

“He is eight months and 75% lung,” she says affectionately.

“Ah. Mine was like that, too,” Sion says. “He grew out of it. He’s only 40% lung now.”

The master smiles.

Sion removes himself from her table before he embarrasses himself further.

--

 There are enough people inside the front room of the jedi’s visitor’s wing to nearly fill it to capacity. The volume, though everyone is whispering, is great enough to be heard from outside the door. The room itself is earth-colored with a high ceiling. Its walls all contain niches with rounded borders. Columns with deep-cut creases in them arch high to the skylights.

It is all beautifully geometric, stoic, and clean. And even though the walls and floor are built from materials of warm tones, the skylights overhead and the surrounding addtion of books and holorecords set into the walls lend it a cooling quality.

What should have been imposing architectural feels more like holy space. The room is one that reverberates with reminders to respect all around you.

Sion’s fingers yearn to document this, but there is a sign right by the room’s entrance that asks politely for no recordings or holographs to be taken.  

“Professor Jissard,” a familiar voice says.

Sion feels his whole body droop. He turns to see Teo Detras stood before him in his obnoxious, roaring red robes.

“I’m pleased that you too were able to secure an invitation, sir,” Teo says as though he has not attempted to place Sion on the metaphysical chopping block for each of his premises since the time they began their academic programs.

Sion opens his mouth to point out that this is also his area of study and that Teo has no monopoly on the field of Jedi architecture when a quiet passes over the room. Sion watches the heads around him lift and searches for the source of the sudden shudder of silence.

He finds it in a tall master with dark skin standing at the very front of the space. The man has tucked his hands neatly into the mouths of his sleeves.

He is Jedi Master and General Mace Windu. Sion has read and reread his essays, not caring so much for what he is talking about but how he is talking about it. His metaphors and examples should have been insight into the common experiences of those living in the Jedi temple.

Sion has found, however, that Jedi Master Mace Windu does not especially care for eloquence or metaphor. He cares only to methodically destroy the argument (if it could be called that) published by a jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn many years ago. Though Master Jinn has not published for several decades now, Master Windu’s writings remain agitated by his interpretations of the jedi’s Spiritual energy, the Force.

Just gazing upon the man now, Sion would not think him capable of agitation.

Master Windu welcomes the academics to the temple and says that he regrets not having more time to speak with each of the attendees as individuals, but there is a war on and his clone troopers require his services. He encourages people to refrain from any recordings of the temple due to its sacred nature, and he asks that attendees be mindful of the jedi Initiates (the white-robed children) who are confused and intrigued by all of the non-jedi people inhabiting their usual playroom.

He cautions everyone that if anyone slips on a toy, he warned them, and the temple is not liable for their medical bills.

This is a joke.

People are unsure of whether or not to laugh. Some laugh awkwardly far too late. Master Windu gives no sign on his face that he appreciates or disapproves of this.

Instead, he steps from his space of honor and leaves in his place a young man with feathery blonde hair and a highly expressive countenance, who drops his armload of documents on the floor obnoxiously and flings himself down to snatch up only the conference program, as if this was the most efficient way of finding it.

People know to laugh this time.

The young man begins announcing panel topics and rooms and give his strong opinions on each of them.

More people laugh. It feels less like a sin.

“And that’s all, my dears and darlings,” the young man says, “Mind your step into the conference rooms, our predecessors derived joy from an unexpected drop.”

--

 Sion has only one panel that he will kill at minimum three bodies to sit in on. It is the one on peace strategy and resource management. He is not here for the peace strategy or the resource management parts of the talk; his burning interest yearns instead in listening to how and if people talk about their space and things. He wants to write down the language they use. He wants to learn about the physicality of peace.

He thinks ‘The Physicality of Peace’ would make a very compelling title for another book.

So he slips through the arched doors of conference room 3 and finds himself in a tiered lecture theatre. There is a small balcony with rows of pew-like benches that hangs over a lower seating area. He takes a seat at the edge of the front pew and sets his datapad on his lap for note-taking. At the front of the room there is a long bench—not a quite table, but definitely a tall bench, and behind it, there is an enormous screen for displaying images and information. Someone has very kindly thought to place a jug of water and some cups at the center of the bench by a microphone.

Sion gets the impression from its awkward, dead-center placement that it is an addition that the jedi themselves usually forego.

He wonders what that means. He only wonders for about 15 seconds before a hand touches his shoulder and he jerks in alarm.

“My apologies, sir. We were just wondering if the space next to you is available?” says the smooth-faced, copper-haired man standing above him.

He is wearing white armor on top of his layered robes. The arms and legs that emerge from his long off-white tunic are dark in color, but his boots are hard and white and come up and over his kneecaps.

Sion is speechless.

This is General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has touched Sion’s shoulder and apologized to him.

He doesn’t have words. He can only make fish-mouthed motions and then point and nod.

General Kenobi accepts this with grace and stands up straight. He waves behind him to call his companions over to join him on the balcony’s edge.

They arrive as a pack.

Instead of coming around and staggering past Sion’s knees at the edge of the bench, General Kenobi climbs over its back and settles in. He then twists back over the row and holds his hands out; a Clone Trooper in full armor hands to him a strange bundle of woolen, brown robe. It produces legs and arms and then bright blue and white lekku once Kenobi has situated it next to him.

“Fooled ‘em,” the little Togruta that emerges from the cloth says brightly.

“Shh,” Kenobi says. “Cody, you next.”

“No, I want Rex to sit with me.”

“Ahsoka, shhh.”

“Rex.”

“Child, this is how people like me get banned from meetings; you’re not even supposed to see—”

“REX.”

“HUSH. Okay, okay. Rex. Pst. Cody, get Rex. Cody, oh for the love of—Wolffe, yes—no. Wolffe, look at me. Get Cody to get Rex.”

Sion cannot believe what he is seeing. General Kenobi appears to be sneaking half of his command into the balcony area. There are more than a few clone troopers there are at least twenty. They are somehow visibly excited despite their matching helmets. The General is able to tell them apart easily. He leans over the back of the bench again and crooks his finger at one of the troopers who leans forward. He tells them to throw something at their commander.

The Clone takes off his glove, stands, and nail a clone standing in the aisle in the head with it. The slap of contact makes this clone cease speaking in serious low tones with a clone decorated with blue edging in front of him. The first clone draws himself up perfectly straight and turns around with a fury that even Sion can feel the heat of.

His armor is painted yellow in places.

He holds the glove in his hand like a threat. The clone who threw it winces and points wordlessly to General Kenobi, then sits down in a hurry. Kenobi smiles wide and white. He has freckles on his face that do not appear on any of the images of him that appear on the news.

He’s also shorter than Sion himself, even sitting.

“Sir,” the white and yellow clone says stiffly.

“Rex,” Kenobi says through that threat of a smile. “Get over here.”

The Togruta child twists around excitedly as the clone in white and blue exits the conversation with the one in white and yellow and surveys the rows of his fellows piled into the space behind the General and the child. He has to squeeze past the line of knees and then climb over the bench to sit down next to the child, who immediately cuddles up to him.

“Hey, that’s my seat,” a new voice whispers.

Sion looks back to see General Quinlan Vos with his arms crossed over his chest, recognizable in any setting. Behind him is General Koon. General Kenobi slaps a hand to his forehead and grumbles, then shoos the blue edged clone and the child a few seats down.

The generals clamber just as awkwardly as the blue clone through the sea of knees of the troopers and then over the back of the bench.

Somehow, Sion has won the jackpot. He is now surrounded by jedi culture, literally.

“All of you, back,” Kenobi snaps down the bench when everyone is just starting to get comfortable. “Cody. Commander, come here.”

The clone trooper with the yellow edging does not want to play this game. He shifts his weight back onto his other heel as Kenobi pats the newly vacated space next to him. General Vos croons in a teasing tone something about Kenobi being especially fond of this clone.

Kenobi lurches out across the empty seat to punch him in the gut and then returns peacefully to patting the space over the sound of Vos’s moaning.

The Clone Commander has no choice. His general is giving him a directive. He gives in to the inevitable and makes his way through the knees and—much more neatly than the others—steps over the back of the bench to its seat and then into sitting. Kenobi beams at him, practically purring.

Sion needs desperately to take notes, but the subjects of said notes are right there and rudeness is intolerable in retaining his vantage point.

He fights the urge to vibrate in space as the lights begin to dim overhead and the panel chairman comes out to introduce the topic and speakers. It is only about a minute or so when a hand lands firmly on Kenobi’s right shoulder—the one by Sion’s arm. Sion jumps, but Kenobi resolutely stares directly down at the speaker.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Mace Windu’s low, low voice says right into the space between Kenobi and Sion’s ears, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Kenobi begins to melt but catches himself.

“You didn’t for a while,” he said.

“Get her out of here.”

“She has a right to see her Master.”

“What part of these orders are challenging for you?”

Kenobi still does not turn around to see Master Windu, but his eyebrows sink and his brow becomes more pronounced.

“No padawans,” Master Windu says. “Ahsoka. Out.”

The togruta, still bedecked in that heavy cloak, turns to stare owlishly at Master Windu while the person at the front of the room moves on to introducing the next speaker.

“But I’m not a padawan,” the child says. “I’m obnoxious. Master Kenobi said so.”

Kenobi holds his face in a hand.

“You can be both. Come,” Master Windu says, holding out a hand.

“But I’m a cloak,” Ahsoka tries instead.

Kenobi crumples further. Master Windu’s hand finds his shoulder again. Sion can feel its heat.

“If not her, then you,” he says.

“After,” Kenobi says.

“I’ll be waiting, Obi-Wan.”

Master Windu vanishes from behind them. Sion shudders. Kenobi turns to the side and hisses at Ahsoka,

“Now look what you’ve done.”

“You’re my co-conspirator,” Ahsoka hisses back. “My—my—Rex, what’s the word?”

Clone Commander Rex does not want to give her the word. Ahsoka tugs at him.

“Rex,” she insists.

“Enabler,” Commander Rex says with bitter regret coating his words.

Ahsoka beams over the laps of the other Generals at Kenobi. He glares back through a squint. He starts to say something, but General Vos tells him to shut up in a sharp tone.

Sion looks back to the front of the room and finds that a young man with dark hair has come out to the center of the front table-bench to speak.

He is a jedi. His robes, however, are dark in color. Blacks and browns with knee-high boots.

He’s very young. Very, very young.

And nervous.

Very, very nervous.

Even from the balcony seats, Sion can see his hands shaking. He is holding a stack of white paper. It is trembling like a branch on a windy day.

“Go, go, Master, go, go,” chants little Ahsoka.

Sion finds himself abruptly appalled by the realization that the child on center stage is the master of the child a few seats over from him.

General Koon gently shushes Ahsoka. Commander Rex helpfully wraps a gloved hand over the bottom half of her face to keep her distracted.

Sion looks from them to the young man and finds that he’s already knocked over the jug of water on the bench and looks about ready to sob about it. He gathers himself, though, and brings the microphone closer to him.

He is General Anakin Skywalker, Sion now understands. He is the first speaker and he’s never in his life presented a paper at a professional conference before.  

His voice shakes as he reads out the title of the article that he published (and that Sion has read) on battlefield surrender. After the second paragraph, Sion brings a hand to his lip to help him contain the emotions that come with the understanding that this boy is about to read his article, word for word, in front of a room full of academics.

He thinks now that he has been too harsh with his students.

--

 General Skywalker is not a strong public speaker. Clearly, his expertise is in action. He stammers. He loses his place in his reading and accidentally rereads three whole sentences. Only twice does he look up from his paper, and each time it is not at the audience but at Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat next to Sion, serious as a plague.

Kenobi nods sagely.

General Skywalker is General Kenobi’s apprentice. Was General Kenobi’s apprentice. However, it is clear to all who are present today that General Skywalker is still General Kenobi’s apprentice. Desperate, the poor thing is, for Kenobi’s reassurance.

His confidence in reading grows under his former (current?) master’s approving eye until he turns a page and—horror of horrors—drops the stack of paper.

Sion’s whole body tenses in sympathy and second-hand embarrassment. Skywalker flings himself down and messily collects the papers. He hurriedly reorders them, all while stuttering ‘ums’ and ‘uhs.’

Yet, when Sion chances a peek down the line of Generals next to him, he finds that not a single one has winced. No one has laughed. Even the clone troopers all around them are as silent and steady as the night itself.

It seems like they are all listening intently to their young General on center stage. The only giveaway that sympathy is being had by any is the tiny gesture Clone Commander Rex is making with his hand. He is moving it almost imperceptibly in a circle, as if to say ‘come on, come on.’

Sion looks back to young Skywalker and waits patiently as he finds his place and carries on reading again, this time faster. This time he does not look up for his master’s eye.

He wants only for the torture to end.

He gets to the end of his paper without dropping it or repeating himself and is flushed red. He does not ask for questions. He merely says quietly into the microphone, “Thank you.”

The panel chair waits a beat before walking over to Skywalker and asking the crowd for questions on his behalf. Skywalker becomes even more luminous. Sion cannot decide whether asking a question would be more or less stressful for this poor boy.

No one asks a question.

The panel chair then starts to ask for applause for Skywalker, but before he can even finish the sentence the whole balcony breaks into uproar.

General Kenobi hoots and whistles piercingly in Sion’s ear. General Vos claps and shouts what sounds like ‘You FUCKING did it, kid. You FUCKING did it. Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH,” the Clone Troopers behind General Vos finish for him in perfect unity.

“Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH.”

More applause and congratulations erupts after this.

General Skywalker slams his paper into his face and bursts into tears at the front of the room.

He bolts for a doorway that Sion hadn’t even noticed was right next to the bench. General Kenobi whacks at his Clone Commander’s shoulder, and Commander Cody wraps hands around his waist and hoists him up so that he’s standing on the guardrail at the edge of the balcony. He leaps from there to the lower level then goes jogging out the same doorway his former apprentice ran through.

After another moment or two, Commander Cody stands up and snaps at the whole collection of troopers in their language. Everyone shuts up and sits back down. Commander Rex gestures for Ahsoka to put up her hood and takes from General Vos a small datapad which he gives to the child—presumably for her to occupy herself with for the next hour and a half of papers. She takes it and immediately becomes absorbed in its lightly-glowing screen.

The balcony is once again on its best behavior.

Sion doesn’t bother with listening to any of the other papers. He feels no shame at all in beginning to furiously take notes on his last twenty-five minutes with the jedi.

--

 Upon leaving the conference room nearly two hours later, he finds himself swept up in the clone troopers’ swift and orderly exit from the space. They line up outside the hall in lines by regiment and they wait for their commanders and generals to arrive before marching back towards the visitors’ wing’s exit.

After two or three minutes, only two lines remain.

Clone Commander Rex and Clone Commander Cody stand perfectly at attention beside their lines of men. Clone Commander Rex has his jedi’s apprentice thrown over his shoulder; he has balanced her on one arm while she sleeps.

It’s very sweet. She obviously trusts the Clone Commander very much.

“Gentlemen.”

The clones snap to even tighter attention as General Mace Windu appears, walking briskly their way.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to them. “Commanders, you will remain. Obi-Wan and Anakin will join us shortly.”

“Sir,” both commanders say simultaneously.

There is a pause, and Sion sees that all of these people are now looking at him.

“Can we help you, sir?” General Windu asks.

Yes. And Sion will pay any amount of money to just know this one thing. This teeny, tiny detail.

“Sir?”

“Is that normal for you?” he blurts out.

The Clone Commanders stare. The general stares. The apprentice coughs lightly in her sleep.

“I regret to say that it is not only normal, but expected of these general and units,” General Windu says. “Please vacate this area.”

Right.

“Thank you,” Sion says.

He stiff-legs it back to the crowd of other academics and hunts down a liquid to soothe his parched throat.

  The new book’s title will not be ‘The Physicality of Peace.’ It will be ‘All is Fair in Love and War: The Jedi Order and Ideologies of Family, Part I.’

 --------------- Yeah, so anyways, Myth and I decided that Anakin is bad at public speaking and nothing anyone says can take this from me now, I’m invincible. (If you want this on Ao3 let me know).

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #the clone wars #clones #guys sometimes anakin is allowed to be cute #but only like every so often I don't want him getting uppity #and thinking I actually like him or something like that #ahsoka and rex's relationship is everything to me #fic #ficlet

[ghostly-penumbra]

Ectober Week 2021. Day Two

"Pumpkin"

Ao3 FFN

For starters I want to apologize with the Republic of Irleand and with the irish people as a whole, because I don't speak Irish, so I used google translator, and because english is not my first language, so I used lingojam for the accent. If you are reading this I am sorry for the results, but I genuinely can't tell if it's right or not.

Summary: Danny meets a really strange thief...

- - -

Danny looked at the crudely carved turnips on his doorstep, usurping the pumpkins his family had decorated the day before. Inside the turnips were small, burnt coals.

"An Attempt Was Made™, I guess." He mumbled, perplexed.

He went ghost, floating over by the Ops Centre and looked around for the thief (did it count as theft if they left something in exchange? Even if it was something useless he didn't want?), focusing on the light they had chosen to illuminate the pumpkins (a bit of ectoplasm like the one he used for his beams, cpvered by ice he created, his parents wanted to study their properties and have a geologist check them out, and Jazz wanted one as a night light), willing his ghost sense to expand-

White mist escaped his lips, and he felt in his core where he should head to.

"Gotcha." He said under his breath when he registered the presence of another ghost.

He was a rather weak thing, with little ectoplasm in him, a traveling spirit, most likely, but (and this was only because he was the most likely candidate to get the Crown of Fire and all it entailed) Danny could tell this ghost was a bit old, and with an interesting story to tell.

"Hey! No one ever told you stealing is bad?" He said as a way to announce his presence, floating high with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Argh, cac!" The spirit said, not in Esperanto.

"Uh… no, you?" Danny lamely shot back with plenty hesitation.

"Faoi dheireadh bhí mé ag dul mo bhealach mery le sciath lonrach nua, agus anois tá roinnt pup fucking ag iarraidh é a thógáil ar shiúl. Nach bhfuair tú na tornapaí?"

Still getting the feeling he was being cussed at, the teenager kept trying, "Joe Mama!"

"I said," the man, finally taking pity on him, enunciated in a clear English, "that I finally was going my merry way with a new shiny shield, and now some fuckin' punk kid wants to take it away. Didn't you get the turnips? Yes, well, niche exchange, get lost!" The grumpy, drunk(!) ghost bellowed.

Danny blinked a few times, taken aback. He hadn't known ghosts could get drunk (he wasn't really interested in trying anyway), but maybe it had been… a regular occurrence for him, his, uh, default state when alive.

"Uh, I don't want the turnips!" He said when he realized he had probably been staring too long.

"Then throw them away! Siad are your! Mé don't care!"

Danny's confusion was beginning to turn into annoyance. His family and him ad put effort into these pumpkins, and he didn't want some stupid turnips!

"Dude, just give them back, they are mine." He insisted.

"Nay, pup, táim not giving them up, these will be maith at protecting me from an devil."

"… the Devil?" Danny asked, and he would rather they be trading blows, because that, he knows, that, he's good at, not dealing with… this. "As in, capital 'D' the Devil?"

"An Light Bringer? Fist of an Fallen? Father of lies and King of Hell? Lucifer, pup!"

Danny opened his mouth to protest the existence of such a being, but then remembered that Clockwork wasn't actually the ghost of a dead person s"no, that doesn't mean I'm' a god, Daniel, it's rude to assume"/s, that Pandora was real, Nocturne existed… yeah, he better be open-minded just in case all myths were true.

"Uh, okay… why do you think they can protect you from, em, the Devil?" He asked and then a thought hit him. "And why do you need protection?"

"Ah, tú see, pup…" And the man told him his story, off tricking the Devil TWICE! Obtaining a longer lifespan and a hell-free afterlife (he tried to leave out the part of Heaven not wanting him, but Danny could guess as much from his fumbling with words, and was Not Impressed™), "but tú see, an old dearg is resentful, and likes his loopholes..." and had sent other nasties after him; they wouldn't drag him to hell, but they were a big pain in the behind.

"And you used these turnips to repel them…"

"And lead my way." Way to where, though?

"… but you like my pumpkins better 'cause they… hold power…" The teen continued, hoping to have gotten it right.

"Aye."

"… and you say you can't access either Afterlife, but the living's realm isn't really safe either…"

"Nay."

Danny thought for a second, suspecting that making a deal with this guy wasn't a really wise choise, but in the end his obsession won. He would protect him as best as he could.

(And even though it wasn't about them anymore, get his jack-o-lanterns back! Maybe! Probably!)

"Say… have you heard about the Ghost Zone?"

- - -

So, at first I wanted to do the whole Ectober Haunt month, but after writing the first prompt, I realized I didn't have the energy, so I just wrote that one and decided to wait for Ectober Week. But that means I didn't read the "Stingy Jack" prompt, and only found out about it after I had already written this.

Life is funny like that.

#Danny Phantom #Ectober Week #Ectober Week 2021 #Danny Fenton #Stingy Jack #jack-o-lantern #ectober #ghostly-scrypts #theft #day two #pumpkin #cross-posted on ao3 #cross-posted on ffn

[rivka-kopelman]

Delivery Lemur Logbook : 12

December 42nd, 3431

Well, the money's gone. But I got something much better.

We were hailed by a travelling floss salesman who offered me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become a partner in a new TeleFloss enterprise. It's a brand new deluxe floss dispenser that can download new flavors and even fax pieces of floss to your friends.

“You can triple your investment in just one week,” promised the Floss Fox (Flosox).

“That's three times as much!”

“Yes... BUT... If you join as a Platinum Partner for &299R you could multiply your investment by 1000!”

“Wow! What if I invested &30,000,000R right now?”

“Don't give him &30,000,000R,” groaned Lopcorn.

I did, though. And soon I will be a trillionaire or even a sextillionaire.

I'm Delivery Lemur (deliveremur). It's a wild life, you know.

So I'm supposed to reset my transponder code so my ship can't be (easily) identified. I couldn't figure out how to do it and ended up breaking it. Flying without a transponder will just make us look like smugglers and we'll never get into the capital. So a little pit stop is in order.

“We'll just swing by Auteuil, it's on our way.”

“Oh, a bit sketchy isn't it? We should go somewhere safer,” said Lopcorn. He may have a point. I did not consider the many dangers.

“Ah we're landing now get ready.”

Auteuil used to be the proud capital of the Eight Galaxies, before Cloudout had fattened into the undeniable center of civilization. The supreme court remains there on it's ancient foundation in the city of Epinay, refusing ever to be uprooted, as so much of Auteuil's majesty and dignity had been. Despite that, the planet is lately known as a haven for organized crime.

But we're not interested in cops and robbers. We need to do some shopping, quick and quiet. I put the ship down in the city of Argeles. They filmed lots of famous dramas here so it's pretty well known. Chilly today – I think the heated walkways are on reduced power. It's no trouble to find a generic transponder at a big astro-gadget store for &15.50R.

We step out into the bustling street. Though no longer starving, the people here are haggard. And tense. Simmering, you might say. Theater marquees with mostly-broken bulbs twinkle their feeble invitations. Some of the more niche specialty boutiques are boarded up but most of the stores still look alive.

One of my rules is: I don't look too close at stuff I can't afford. That's a form of torture. I gotta spend every &R very carefully until the floss money starts coming in. It will be great to relax that discipline soon, now that I'm a serious investor. Something catches my eye at that moment – the glint of pristine kitchenware. I stop and the flow of foot-traffic diverts around me.

“We should hurry back and install that transponder,” Lopcorn reminded me, warily glancing around.

“Mmhm.” That thing in the display case. It's shiny. It's calling to me.

“Deliveremur?”

“Mmhm.” I'm gonna get it. It will be mine.

Our phones beeped a Reporteraccoon News Alert. I ignore it. I went up to the shopfront and made a very important purchase.

“Aha!” I declared, swinging a heavy shopping bag. I beamed at Lop but he's glued to his phone, reading as we walk along.

Maybe I can buy something for my friends too. I'm in a good, good mood! I hum loudly (for stealth) and pick up one or two other things.

“That's not good,” breathed Lopcorn.

“What? What?” I kinda sense something in the air. Everyone's exchanging uneasy looks with their companions or arguing in hushed voices. Everyone's walking a bit faster.

“Look at this.” He showed me the News Alert.

[Cutbarf, The new Space Military Commander, requisitions 240,000+ ships from the Commercial Spacefaring Commission]

[Department of Transportation calls it an act of piracy and vows litigation]

[Minister Berg Lazerson to rendezvous with the SMV MURDERKILLER]

“Ah yes. Things are certainly going on, aren't they. Yes indeed.” Attentive people say stuff like that.

“They're desperate to reinforce the blockade around the Bolo system. The possums must be close to a breakthrough,” Lop postulates. “...Unless the department of defense just wants to mess with Berg.”

“Indeed, yes,” I add intelligently. This report is sinking in to the citizens of Argeles.

“Who do they think they are? The military crooks just take whatever they want!” someone cried.

“Berg's gonna take his fleet back by force, just watch! Welker pissed off the wrong guy!”

“President Gault should lock them both up!”

“I ship all my crafts on CSC public cargo, I'm totally fucked...”

“...Anything they send to Bolo is just gonna get blown up by Possum Patrol. Complete waste...”

“...was just a nuclear explosion in...”

“Read a book, why don't ya?”

“We're still going to get food shipments, right?”

“Will there be enough ships left to evacuate when the aliens attack?”

“It wasn't like this last year, the old commander...”

“...if that's what it takes to hold the line! Would you rather have Possum Patrol running amok in your backyard?”

“Has Gault made a statement? She'll work it out, one way or the other...”

“...shut the hell up or I'm gonna...”

“Sooo. Someone else has your old job, huh?” I prompt Lopcorn. “Cutbarf? Do you know them?”

“Yeah. Uh.” He scratched his head. “Cutbarf's not an ass-kisser like Bookbean was. He was a gladiator in Blood Cage until Welker shut them down and adopted the survivors.”

“Wh-”

There was a ton of panicked yelling behind us. A pig and a hummingbird broke through the crowd and zipped right past us. A huge moose came after them and was about to run into me.

“OUT OF MY WAY!” he boomed.

I braced myself but the moose was already gone – flung by Lopcorn into a video store which burst into a shower of loose DVDs. The city folk grabbed them up in a frenzy.

“Let's leave. Fuck this place,” Lop said firmly. We rush back to the spaceport and get off the ground.

There's a fax waiting from Mr. Rølvag. “We lost the Pope. Someone got there first. Abort.”

Lopcorn stared at the words, and stared, and stared, and then he started freaking out. He balled up the fax and threw it. “Well it's all pointless now. There goes the only guy who could testify against Welker. We could have had some answers. We might as well turn around – If we had anywhere to fucking go.”

He was about to slam his fist into my fax machine but restrained himself with molar-grinding effort.

“ 씨발.Fuck all this shit. That fucking guy played the whole world, and me, and he's never going to pay for it. I felt like we were fucking getting somewhere. 씨발 씨발 씨발!”

“Look what I got you,” I say. I show him a brand new 10ft phone cord. “This is way better than your old cord. Look...”

I plug it in to the corner by his bunk then pull the end over to the helm. I plop down on my beanbag chair and smooth out the other side so it's, uh, nicer. “Now you can sit up here when you're reading or whatever. Y'know, if your battery is low.”

“Oh!” he's red and probably embarrassed. For shouting. After a minute he comes and sits next to me. “Yeah I'm on like 30%. Thanks.”

“No prob. We could get millions of these if we wanted.”

He's quiet now. Deft of me to change the subject, huh?

“Now, look what I got...” I dramatically pull something out of my shopping bag and set it down on the instrument panel.

“Shiny,” says Lop with approval.

“It's a milk frother. A Frothmax McFoam Double MilkWorld Super Frother.”

“Must have been expensive.”

“yep i'm now broke. but look how cool it is.”

“Want to get it going?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, start some coffee. I'll set this up.”

I start the percolator and watch Lopcorn assemble the frother. He seems to have no problem putting it together.

“Are you just good at everything?”

“Haha my sister Rose had one like this. We had all the fancy stuff.”

He pops in a dairy² pod and turns it on. It starts to spin, making a low buzz.

“Sister, huh? I don't have siblings. What's that like?”

“I've got eight. They're alright. They're artists like our parents. Really high-class. I was the only one who couldn't do it. Too energetic.”

He laughed awkwardly. The milk cyclone started to form little bubbles.

“I wouldn't listen to anyone but Rose. She said I was her minion. She wouldn't let our Dad yell at me cause I was her little favorite.”

“What were your duties as minion?”

“Oh it was... 'pick me flowers' or 'stir up some green paint from yellow and blue.' Stuff to keep me occupied. I was really, really, hyper.”

The bubbles thickened and mounted higher and higher.

“Wish I could see who I'd be if I had just stayed there. I wasted everything I was given. I caused so much death. I hate that my innocent sister played with a little kid who grew up to be this person I am. I've just been a goon for worse and worse people. Until recently.”

The milk froth was thick and fluffy. Nearly all the liquid had turned to foam now.

“Ah well. It's not like you can regret your life hard enough to get a new one. I got what I got.”

The machine clicked off and he carefully emptied it into our steaming coffees. He made a perfect peak of foam in each and passed one cup to me.

It was delicious. I loved it. It was hot. We talked until I fell asleep.

“Deliveremur!” he shouted, shaking me awake.

“Aaaa?” I croaked, opening one eye.

“This video...” was all he said. From the pitch of his voice I knew something had disturbed him. Bad. He's short of breath. “Just watch. This just happened.”

He showed me something from a news app, a clip titled 'Leaked phone footage from the MURDERKILLER.'

On the bridge of the Space Military's flagship SMV Murderkiller, young humans in colorful war paint were scurrying about, pushing buttons and watching sensor displays.

“Sir, the CAAV Savanna Star has docked in hangar 3,” said one of them, seated at a flashing control board.

“Send him up,” said the oldest, a tall teenager, sliced and scarred and burnt from head to foot. His black hair was tied in three braids. He looked... I dunno. Messed up. An unfastened officer's uniform hung on his shoulders over a tattered nightdress.

The hatch irised open and a big cheetah prowled in, hackles up. His entourage fanned out behind him, cheetahs all. The pack shared a certain resemblance and were probably cousins.

“Hiya Mister Berg,” said the boy. His lean frame was statuesque, betraying no unease whatsoever.

“Nice to meet ya, Cutbarf,” said the Transport Minister, sweeping off his cowboy hat.

“You got here quick,,, Your ship's fast.”

“The fastest. Rode her hard. Wanted to come visit real bad. What do you what you think you're doing with my freighters?” asked Berg Lazerson in a casual bass, dripping with affront.

“Need em for troop transport,,, I'll give em back after I kill Possum Patrol.”

“Like hell. Give em back now.”

“Like,,, Make me?” said Cutbarf. He looked like he didn't care whether the transport minister complied or attacked him.

“Sir, the new ships are coming in,” said the controller.

“Get them into the formation,” ordered Commander Cutbarf, his wide-set eyes never leaving Berg's.

“They can't form up, sir. The map app's not working, the wifi's too fucked,” she said. Cutbarf smashed her face through the computer. Berg's people flinched. Blood and brain-bits went everywhere.

“What an annoyance. Don't matter,,, the aeronautics admin keeps an offline chart. You can help us out, Mister Berg,,, Fax me your optical data on this sector.”

“Yeah, no. I think I'll hang on to it.”

“I said fax it,,,” Cutbarf sounded irritated despite his blank expression. “Die for it if you want,,, My nerds will break your password ,,, I'll get your data anyway.”

They stared each other down, hard.

Then Berg reached out to his assistant who handed him a tablet. He thumbed in a command.

“We got it sir,” said one of the soldiers a moment later, putting on the dead operator's bloody headset.

“Get them into the formation,” Cutbarf ordered once again. He did not deride Berg for caving in.

“Aye aye, sir,” said the new operator.

It was silent except for typing. A few seconds went by.

Deafening blasts shook the deck, shook everything. Alarms blared and the ship rolled. The monitors flashed collision alerts and thousands of transponders blinked out in a popcorn-esque chain of explosions.

“Controller,,, Report.”

“They fucked with the optical map sir, all the coords were tweaked. The new ships crashed into our fleet.”

"Oh,,, Not bad."

“Look before ya leap. Tell your papa I said that,” Berg snarled. The lights flickered. “And tell him I've got the pope. I know all about your Floom. Y'all are done.”

“Sounds like,,, you should shut up.”

Commander Cutbarf's hand passed Berg's face in a motion imperceptible to the camera. Berg reeled back, gargling blood. Cutbarf had snatched his tongue out.

He looked content or kinda pleased, like ripping people's tongues out was the most natural thing for him to do. His violence in this shaky phone footage reminded me profoundly that I'm a mortal organism and my living body is pitifully fragile. This kind of thing could happen to me.

The cheetahs and the soldiers pounced on each other. Howls and whimpers and gunshots rang out. Sprinting champ Berg Lazerson kicked off, a pixelated blur. He swerved wide around the brawl and got behind the young commander, claws going straight for the jugular. Cutbarf whipped a knife out of his sleeve unseen and stabbed the oncoming Berg in the ribs. Meanwhile, the cheetahs were chewing through the Murderkiller's bridge crew, most of whom were concussed from the unexpected collision.

Red drops trailing his mouth and wounded flank, Berg was circling to charge again. Cutbarf was following him with rapt focus. Berg couldn't pick up much momentum in the cramped bridge, with debris and bodies everywhere. The nimble commander turned him again and again, swaying an inch out of the way at the last possible moment like a matador or a ballerina. But the cheetahs were winning the battle – most of the soldiers were dead. Berg's kinfolk were closing in. Suddenly, Cutbarf's posture changed. He put two fingers over his ear.

“Perfect,,, Take group L to the hangar and send the rest to me immediately.”

Berg looked to his retinue. They hesitated.

“If we get cut off from the ship...” one muttered.

Berg grit his teeth and nodded urgently toward the exit. They beat a retreat. When the hatch sealed, Cutbarf ran up to the window and called out to Berg.

“Hey,,, Hey,,, I'm coming for your family tonight, dropout.”

He still had the minister's tongue in his fist. He squeezed it till it ruptured and smeared the pulp on the glass. Berg saw it, and he ran away.

The surviving Space Military kids fell over themselves cackling.

“You don't even have a walkie-talkie! I can't believe they bought that!"

“Send group F, U, C, and K to the ass,” jeered the controller, to even more laughter.

Cutbarf looked over at whoever was holding the camera. “You recording? Ahaha! Tag Mister Berg when you post that,,, Now, get-”

The video ended. Lopcorn put down the phone.

“Yikes that's grim,” I say. “Want to put on some reruns of It's Bullshit: Forever Countdown instead? It's really relaxing.”

“No thanks,” he said. “You know that was a really serious catastrophe, right? The government just lost about 480,000 ships. Berg gave up everything for this. To spite Welker. Our civilization's capacity to resist Possum Patrol and the aliens just took a crippling blow. Maybe fatal.”

“Aah but what can I do about something like that?”

I was careful not to say we.

He thought for a bit.

I looked at him. His ears are long. His eyes are bright gold, and my reflection in them is yellowish.

“We'll do our job. Let's deliver that salad fork.”

Home sweet home!

#Delivery Lemur

[fmdtaeyong]

taeyong through titan’s eras

titan’s maknae, main vocal, and lead dancer taeyong over the course of his almost eleven-year career, from debut at age 15 to the present, at age 25. from the maknae of that new bc boy group to an artist in his own right (who has very little interest in being in said bc boy group).

headcanon: ash through the (titan) years

2011: in titan’s debut year, ash was just glad to be there. he hadn’t anticipated debuting with as much responsibility as he had as a main vocal and lead dancer. he was unsure of himself during these years and it was noticeable. ash had practically been born with confidence on stage, but when he got on stage with titan, he took his training about not standing out too much to heart too much. he liked the music they were doing at the time, but then again, he was approaching it with optimism instead of the pessimism he holds towards titan’s music today. he couldn’t relate to the emotions he was singing about in btd and be mine and ash’s strength is emoting emotions he can deeply connect to, not acting out emotions he’s never experienced. if he stood out during titan’s first year, it was only because of the prominence he had in their music vocally and the embarrassing korean stumbles he would make during tv appearances.

2012: titan only had one korean release during 2012, which gave ash time to train to work on himself. titan had blown up already by this point and it was a lot of pressure to handle so soon in ash’s career, being only sixteen at this time. he was still struggling with being the baby of the group at this point because though his baby face helped him stand out as the youngest in appearance, he still had little interest in acting the cute maknae role.

2013: seventeen at this point, ash was ready to be seen as an adult and treated like one, despite not being one. he’d begun to settle more into the quiet and mysterious niche of his at this point, which meant he felt more pressure to stand out in performances in order to prove he had a purpose in the group. the fame titan had solidified for themselves brought with it a critical eye on each performance they did and ash hadn’t enjoyed what tastes of criticism he’d already had. anyway. ash singing literally like 40% of the lines and center time in fanfare while even the other main vocals got like 10% each.......................... you know he got eaten alive by the other members’ akgaes!

2014: this was the busiest year of titan’s career based on pure comeback frequency. it was also the year ash came of age, meaning all titan members were adults now. ash perceives it that their comebacks this year were a little sexier than before, although it’s more obvious in the following year. he was coming into his own as a performer this year, though he’d also begun to grow bored of their sound. ash would like the him acting in titan’s mvs agenda to end by this point tho <3

2015: call me baby and love me right leaned further into sexy concepts than anything titan had done previously. he assumes bc didn’t predict his maknae innocence going down the drain in a scandal and that that has to do with moving from the angst of a group with teenagers to the sauve and sexy image titan assumes around this time, but it’s convenient. he got to show his versatility as a vocalist as he was praised just as much for how his voice matched their shift in style as he had been in their old style. sing for you was sentimental instead of sexy and is one of ash’s favorite titan releases. if you really forced him to answer, ash would say 2015 was titan’s peak musically.

2016: this is the point when ash starts to decide he’s tired of titan and doesn’t plan to renew. the whole sexy toxic guy thing isn’t new for titan, but he’s made several snide remarks to this day about how much he doesn’t support the romanticizing of the lyrics of monster. this was the year they solidified the image they have today and was arguably their last year as the indisputable top before polaris started to present themselves as serious competition. ash was receiving a lot of hate around this time, so on top of not connecting to the music at the time, 2016 is one of the years in titan’s career he views most negatively.

2017: #freeash. he likes neither kokobop nor power and considers them two of the weakest releases in titan’s discography, so the year was saved only by the release of his favorite titan title track, universe. since he debuted solo at the end of 2017, this was ash’s last year fully dedicated to the group, if you could even call it that when he was under the impression it’d be his last year in titan until the last moment. universe would have been a great disbandment song to go out on, he’s gotta say...

2018: ash was more focused on establishing his solo career than anything else this year. he wasn’t very attached to either release this year or titan as a whole. 2018 was really the beginning of him detaching from the group in favor of solo activities.

2019: ah, the return of the six toxic sexy boys <3 bad sort of hits, but he’s got bigger problems to worry about this year than how catchy titan’s music is. ankle injury and his disinterest in titan taken into consideration, ash was more engaged in titan’s performances than you might expect he was, but it didn’t stop the anti-driven narrative that he was completely phoning it in. obsession reminds ash to be grateful that his stylists sometimes let him not be as naked as some of the other titan members.

2020: ash only really participated in “now or never” promotions this year. song-wise and career-wise for titan it was fine... nothing life-changing. they’re past their ultimate peak now and that’s more than fine for ash.

2021: someone forgot to remind titan’s stylists that ash would like to keep his tits covered </3 again, ash is pretty indifferent towards titan’s releases in 2021. they’re getting repetitive without much to stand out, in ash’s opinion, but that’s what happens after a decade in the industry, so ash isn’t writing strongly worded letters to bc’s a&r department.

#* | character development. #// these ended up looking so bad but in my defense i hadn't giffed for years #// the other gifset i'll post isn't quite as ugly i think :pensive: #// ash having 40% of the lines in fanfare is his villain origin story #// ash is really like... idk some of titan's music is kinda toxic ? then stans the weeknd

[astriiformes]

I saw some posts about your back to the future fanfiction and I was wondering where I could read it, it sounds really good🥺

Ah, well, unless you have a time machine of your own..... nowhere, yet. I've been working on my current BttF fic project (two interconnected oneshots that are likely to clock in at like, 15k each when all is said and done) for months now at something of a snail's pace, although a friend of mine sent some fantastic research help my way recently, so hopefully that will help infuse some into the project when my life is a little less crazy! (Right now, free time is.... scarce.)

That said, hearing from people that they are interested in my BttF fic is my lifeblood here, since they are a bit niche as fanfic goes and I am so thrilled whenever I heard someone else is excited about them, too, so thank you! This was so sweet and made my night! Makes me wish I had more time to write this week, haha. Eventually they'll both be up on my Ao3 account (azhdarchidaen), as well as linked here on my tumblr, so keep your eyes posted! c:

[atmilliways]

On the 2nd day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 14 - Kissing under the mistletoe (or office party shenanigans)

Charles gets roped into the role of Santa Clause at the holiday office party. 

Charles/Pickles

~

The dreaded Dethklok Inc. office Christmas party was coming up—dreaded not by the band or most of the employees, who typically had a blast, but by the CFO who had to arrange and organize everything before and after, up to and including the inevitable handful of resulting funeral arrangements.

Charles was looking forward to it even less than usual, because the band had thrown an absolute shitfit to get him to agree to play Santa this year. He didn’t know why they wanted him to do this. The party didn’t even normally have a Santa. His first thought was that it was Toki’s idea, but on second thought Toki tended to lack the charisma to get the rest of the guys to throw in with him on niche interests like that.

But fine. Whatever. He’d agreed to do it once, and next year he could simply point to whatever came of it this year as an argument against repeating the experience.

He kept telling himself that right up until donning the red and white Santa suit, the iconic hat, and the fake beard. (The damn thing was so big that practically all he could see of his own face in the mirror were his eyes. At least they were letting him keep his glasses.) Then he took his seat in a throne-like chair that had been special ordered for the occasion, specially decorated with carvings of presents, the most unsettling depictions of Christmas elves that he’d ever seen, and skulls with real candles balanced on them, lit and already beginning to dribble red and black wax . . . and immediately felt that somewhere in life he must have made a grave, grave mistake to have ended up here.

The band took the stage in the center of the hall, half the room away from where Charles sat, and went into a jumbled “Merry Christmas, go fuck yourselves!” sort of speech. He mostly tuned it out until—

“And hey, errybody,” Pickles slurred into his mic, “don’t ferget ta sit on Santa’s lap and tell ‘im what you want fer Christmas!”

That had not been part of the discussion, let alone the agreement, but at this point what was he going to do about it? Besides hope that grown men and women hired for their professional abilities would have no interest in sitting on the lap of the man who signed their paychecks.

~

“You can’t have a pony,” Charles said flatly. “There isn’t space for one in the employee barracks, and even if there were it would be both impractical and unsanitary.”

The Klokateer perched on his lap, crushing the feeling out of his legs, tittered and took another sip of his holiday punch through a straw poked up under his mask. “Oo-kay Mr. Grinchy-claus, no pony for me then. Aren’tcha going to say ‘ho ho ho, Merry Christmas’?”

“Ho ho ho. Now go away.”

Laughing drunkenly, the man lurched up and made his way off the Santa podium to get a refill of punch. The next Klokateer in line had an Online Division pin on one shoulder and a spiked eggnog in her hand. Charles braced himself for yet another request for fewer blocks on searching for porn using company computers.

~

“Hey look, it’sch Schanty Clausche!”

Charles grimaced behind his beard. “Hello, Murderface.”

The first of the boys to visit him, Murderface seemed to be in unusually high spirits. His ass landed on Charles’ knees like a ton of bricks. “Wow,” he crooned with exaggerated delight, “Schanta really does know all the namesch of the good little boysch and girlsch!”

“Very funny. Would you mind telling me whose idea this was?”

The bassist shook his head. “Hey man, I’m not here to narc on my bandmatesch, I’m here to tell Schanta what I want for Chrischtmasch. ”

“Alright. Fine. What would you like for Christmas.”

Murderface looked around furtively, then leaned in and whispered, “A dischguische kit.”

“A . . . disguise kit.”

“Yeah! I’m tired of being mobbed whenever I go out in public, scho I need it. For camouflasche. ”

Charles couldn’t remember a single incident of a fan mob forming for just Murderface; it only ever seemed to happen when one or more of the other band members were with him, though there were probably a few people who did wander up and ask for an autograph. There had been one unfortunately memorable band meeting a few months ago where Murderface had bragged about someone wanting to touch his penis for good luck, pleased at the recognition but at the same time calling said fan an ‘incredibly fucking gay regular jackoff.’

“I’ll, ah, make sure that’s added to the list,” Charles assured him, and breathed a sigh of relief when Murderface nodded in satisfaction and stood to leave.

~

“Hey, knock knock.”

Charles sighed from the depths of his soul at this second Dethklok visitation. “Who’s there.”

“Nathan Explosion,” said Nathan Explosion, dropping unceremoniously onto his lap.

Luckily, the beard hid Charles’ wince at the impact. He was probably going to have a lot of weird leg bruises tomorrow. “Nathan Explosion who.”

“Nathan Explosion, here to tell you you’re the party ho ho ho! ” Nathan broke into riotous laughter and clapped Charles good-naturedly on the back, causing him to accidentally inhale a mouthful of fake beard.

After a moment to catch his breath, Charles nodded along. “Very amusing. What would you, ah, like for Christmas, Nathan?”

“I need new pants.”

Well, that was unexpectedly straightforward. “New pants. You got it.”

“One hundred pairs. Exactly one hundred.”

“Okay.”

“Just, uh. A couple inches bigger in the waist. For the holiday weight that I am definitely going to lose in January.”

He couldn’t feel his legs; this was not the time to point out that Nathan wouldn’t have time to wear all one hundred pairs of new pants between December 25th and the start of January, nor that January as a deadline for such a drastic fitness undertaking was probably an unrealistic deadline.

“That’s fine, Nathan. One hundred pairs of pants. I’ll make sure, the, ah, elves get the message.” Maybe he would throw in some math flash cards while he was at it.

~

Toki weighed less than the first two, but was unfortunately so excited that he landed on Charles’ lap hard . Definitely, definitely going to have bruises.

“God Jul, Charles —I means Santa!” the guitarist chirped, bright-eyed and swaying slightly. Charles fervently hoped he wasn’t about to throw up; he didn’t even think being covered in vomit would do much to get him out of this holiday circle of hell. “Merries Christmas!!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Toki. What do you, ah, want to ask Santa for this year?”

He didn’t have a watch, but he estimated that Toki’s list, plus miscellaneous excited chatter, took at least half an hour and mentioned many things he knew for a fact that Toki already owned.

~

“Eeuyghh, looks, it ams everys-ones favorites butler,” Skwisgaar said, then folded himself gracefully into a sitting position. After an hour or two of being sat on like this and having plenty to compare it to, Charles wondered if the man was eating enough.

This was in spite of the fact that Skwisgaar was toting around a small plate loaded with various cheeses, fruit, and greasy finger sausages skewered on toothpicks. Party food. To Charles, who hadn’t realized that this gig would take so long and therefore hadn’t eaten in advance, it smelled wonderful.

The Swede must have noticed him eyeing it, or perhaps heard the growl of his stomach over the noise of the surrounding party somehow, because he smirked and held it out in offering. “Pickle says for you to haves this. Gots to keep yous strengths up, you knows.”

Pickles, Charles noted as he balanced the plate off to one side on one of the less obvious and candle-less Christmas skulls. He also pulled one of the sausages free of its toothpick and reached under the beard to jam it in his mouth. Still warm.

“Thank you, Skwisgaar,” he said once he’d finished chewing. “Now, what can I get for you? Ah, as Santa. Ho ho.”

“Everyones know it ams three ‘ho’s, dildo.” Skwisgaar steepled his fingers. “But I woulds like five ins mine room to enjoy ons the Christmas morning. You know the kinds I likes?”

Charles didn’t know what he’d expected. “It’s my job to know, so . . . yes.”

“Greats.” The guitarist patted him on the shoulder of his Santa suit. “Glads that ams sorted outs. Keeps up that good works, yous.”

Then he got up and wandered away, leaving Charles to realize that he hadn’t had a chance to ask him who was behind this whole Santa idea.

~

Charles finished the plate of food before Pickles made an appearance. He also realized that he could persuade his increasingly inebriated employees to bring him more food, and also drinks, by threatening them with cleanup duty after the party. (He was not in a generous mood; the ones that tried to weasel out of it at first would get cleanup duty regardless of whether they eventually caved or not.) There was no way to escape the alcohol content in the drinks—even when he asked for water it came spiked with vodka or peppermint schnapps, because everyone wanted to see the company’s CFO hammered.

At least they knew better than to roofie him, because Charles would have them killed.

He saw Pickles coming from a mile away. Maybe it was because Charles knew that once all of Dethklok had a chance to visit with “Santa Clause” he would be allowed to escape this torment; maybe it was because he really wanted to know if Pickles was, indeed, the mastermind behind this whole thing; and maybe it was just a tiny bit because he was annoyed the drummer had forgotten to wander over earlier.

But being annoyed at any of the guys was a nonstarter. Putting up with their antics was just part of the job.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey,” Pickles greeted him as he swayed his way over and plopped onto Charles’ lap. Unlike everyone else who had visited Santa this evening, he didn’t stick to perching closer to Charles’ knees but scooted in as close as he could until they were practically nose to nose. Mingled notes of every kind of booze available at the party wafted the short distance from the drummer’s mouth (and shirt, and hands, and dreads), until all Charles could smell was Pickles. “Lookin’ hot in that suit, dood. Is the temp in here okay? Gettin’ a little warm in there?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Charles said, trying not to be too aware that Pickles seemed incapable of sitting still and his ass was rubbing against . . . things. “Ah. Merry Christmas.”

Pickles snickered. “Did Nat’en make that ho joke?”

No one could see for the beard that Charles’ lips twitched toward a smile at that. “Yes, he did.”

“‘M glad yer not a ho, Charlie,” Pickles slurred affectionately. “A'least, not no much'a one. That’d be a bummer.”

“Ah . . . okay.” He didn’t know what to make of that, or the continuing subtle lap dance, so he said, “What would you like for Christmas this year, Pickles?”

“Weeeeell. . . .” Grinning, Pickles waggles his double-pierced eyebrows. It seems like he’s trying to be suggestive, but Charles has no idea what that’s supposed to suggest. The drummer leaned even closer, lips brushing against Charles’ ear as he murmurs, “I kinda already got my present right in front’a me, chief. Just gotta unwrap it.”

All of this was sending shivers and goosebumps down Charles’ spine under the (admittedly warm) Santa suit, but for heaven’s sake, it was just Pickles. When wasted, which he was more often than not, man oscillated between being a destructive drunk and clingy one. Apparently tonight it was . . . very much so the latter. Not a good time to ask about the Santa plot, really.

He had dealt with this before, just not with Pickles literally draped over and inconspicuously grinding on him. Come on, Offdensen, pull it together . Do not get a boner at the holiday office party. No matter how long it’s been!

“Well, ah, sounds like you’re all taken care of then,” Charles hazarded. “All that’s left to do is, ah, enjoy the party. Why don’t you go do that.”

Pickles chuckled, a low, sultry sound that just made the situation even more difficult. “Workin’ on it dood, I’m workin’ on it.” He shifted thoughtfully again, then bit his lip through a grin. “And it feels like we’re gettin’ there, huh chief?”

“I. Ah, what?” At least the big fake beard was concealing his blush better than he’d been able to contain his body’s mounting interest in the increasingly distracting ass squirming around on top of him. This is a public place , he wanted to protest, but didn’t want to risk pointing out something that might be completely unintentional. After all, it was Pickles , who did this sort of thing fairly regularly.

But the next murmured words out of Pickles’ mouth stopped every single one of Charles’ thoughts in their tracks.

“Fuck, even in this stupid suit yer sexy. How d’you do that?” A brief nip, teeth closing and tugging on Charles’ earlobe before releasing with a soft wet pop .

Nothing but overwhelmed static on the other side of that ear; the quiet gasp was completely involuntary.

“C’mon Charlie,” Pickles all but whined, “you don’t have to do this anymore. Jest call it a night and meet me in the bathroom or somethin’, okie?”

The amazing thing, Charles thought distantly, was that from a distance, it wouldn’t look like anything was happening. Just a grown man, swaying drunk off his ass, sitting on Santa’s lap to whisper what he wanted for Christmas. Regular office holiday party shenanigans for a laugh. But under the surface, Charles was starting to feel like a shaken champagne bottle.

“You, ah,” he managed. “You do realize that you, ah, seem to be prepositioning me for, ah. Sex?”

Pickles leaned into him with a laugh. “Like I said, dood, that’s what I’m tryin’ ta do. Fer like, fuckin’ forever. For a smart guy you can be pretty stupid, y’know that?”

“Ah.” Charles shifted awkwardly and nearly choked when Pickles very pointedly pushed into it at the exact right moment. “There’s . . . a chance I’ve been told that before,” he hedged, already vowing to himself that he would never admit how many times. This isn’t something he ever would have looked for, but mistaking Pickles hitting on him for god only knew how long for just being an affectionate drunk? That was pretty fucking funny if you thought about it, and he'd consumed just enough alcohol so far to really give it some very serious thought.

And . . . his job was to keep everyone in the band happy.

“So, ah. There are several bathrooms off this hall. . . . Which one did you have in mind?”

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #chuckles #12 days of dethmas

[twixtandshout]

Tagged by @pidgeonpostal! And not tagging anyone else because I have SOILED the original template (soiled it!!) in deference to my [brushes off skirt] mostly clean public-facing appearance.

...I’ve been making a lot of Spongebob memes lately for someone who has not seen Spongebob.

How many works do you have on AO3?

71!

What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

...306,834. Jesus.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Uh. Many! I do a lot of one-offs (and/or start long things I never finish) in many different places. My top three fandoms by fics written are RWBY (29), Undertale (25), Gravity Falls/Transcendence AU (4).

Bet you can’t tell where my hyperfixations have fallen. 

I’ve also got some Pokémon and Sonic the Hedgehog fics back on my ff.net account, or I think I still do, anyway, but let’s never go back there pls

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Sweeter Than Honey (Undertale): Taking a Completely unsurprising first place, with over 600 more kudos than the runner-up, the haphazard Underswap fic featuring a post-college self-insert I wrote just after high school! I shake my head some at how overblown and ridiculous the gap between this and all my other stuff is (c’mon, guys, I’ve written way better fics), but this is also the fic which prompted me (and at least one other person!) to start using they/them pronouns. I’ve gotten a lot of really sweet comments about how seen and appreciated it’s made people feel, so I can’t get down too far about it.

2. To Be A Hero (BNHA): I don’t count myself as part of the BNHA fandom, for a number of reasons, but for something that’s arguably the main motivation for the entire plot, Midoriya’s quirklessness is something I’ve never thought has been handled well. This fic marked the first time I (somewhat tentatively) claimed the disability label (thanks again to Sweeter Than for prompting that realization) to hold that lens over canon. It also really shot up my chart, dang! It’s the only thing here I’d consider “recent.”

3. Three-Sentence Shipping (Undertale): Self-explanatory.

4. Brothers Beyond Bonedaries (Undertale): Ah, the way-overcomplicated AU³ I got nowhere close to finishing. One of the things I really like about Undertale is the interface screw, how Toby Fox uses the medium of the video game to pull off crazy things and enhance his game, but most of the fic written for the fandom seems dedicated to explaining it away, grounding it, rather than taking it to the next step and messing with the medium of fanfiction when you keep the story going. I tried to do something cool like that here, playing with questions like narrator and authorship and breaking the fourth wall, even taking the “final boss” fight to a “totally separate” fic reached through the first by link – but, well, then I never finished it, which probably didn’t make anything less confusing for the poor folks who missed the intent.

5. Spirit and Such (Gravity Falls: Transcendence AU): A whole fic written to line out a particular image I had, which, naturally, never made it to the page. I consider it a bit of a cautionary tale for myself when it comes to writing (near-)original content; there’s a lot I look back on and cringe. I still love the characters, though – well, the important ones – and I think just stepping away from the tried-and-true Mizar formula nets it a star sticker here.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

>w>; I try, but a lot of the time I just don’t have anything to say? Like, oh, you liked it? Neat. There’s not much to respond to in comments like that, and then I’m weighing falling down on an ~obligation~ to respond to every message in my inbox vs annoying people with copy-paste fluff responses all down the page. Plus I know I make more of an effort to comment on things that didn’t get the attention I feel they deserve, so if I’m driving up my own comment count with nonsense, am I preventing myself from being in a position to receive more comments later? And then if I do comment, am I being too effusive or running people’s ears off explaining things they don’t actually need to know? Sometimes people just want to express interest or admiration and don’t necessarily want a whole peek and guided tour behind the curtain.

Can you tell I have anxiety? x3;

Anyway, I do respond when I can. And I keep most of the comments I’ve gotten to go back and reread. 

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hm, hmm. Lots of stuff in the TQ Nonsense series would probably qualify! I’m thinking of Unfixable, Wolfsong, and Ethanol. And there’s Bursting Through A Blood-Red Sky (I Can Live, I Can Breathe), of course, but that was always intended to have a fix-it epilogue. It’s just that I wrote it in a couple of hours day-of, stared at it, and decided I didn’t wanna just then. But now that’s As Long As You’re Still Burning Bright (I’m Still Awake), and that’s probably the best romance I’ve written, so that one worked out.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Now and then! When the urge strikes. Uhhh, I’ve got a series of Doctor Who x Undertale crossovers I actually made a whole dang verse for that never made it to print. Get a couple great comments on that every few months or so. I think the World Trigger x Undertale crossover is probably weirder, though, by virtue of WT being a very small fandom. My enthusiasm kinda sputtered out on that one.

Mostly I just daydream crossovers with whatever happens to catch my eye at any given moment. I have a lot!!!! Though odds are out on whether I manage to remember any of them once the initial thought’s passed, lol.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Gotten a couple eyebrow-raising comments, but I think mostly I’m just too small a writer to draw that kind of attention.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t? think so? Think my tastes are a little niche for most people to bother ^^;

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had someone apologize once for any language mistakes in their comment cause they had to run it through a translator! That’s not what you asked (the answer is no), but it’s very flattering to think that someone liked my fic enough to read and comment despite the language barrier.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! :D @pidgeonpostal was gracious enough to agree to co-write Five Nights at Denny’s with me off an idea about shoes. This has fulfilled a long-held dream of mine (collabing with someone, not the shoes) and also introduced me to some lovely people.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Who has time for just one? ;3c Honestly, I care more about the characters and how the relationship – any relationship – between them changes them than I do about ~A Ship~ as a solid, bounded noun-object. I’ve got characters I like more and less and feelings about who does and doesn’t have chemistry in which directions with whom, but finding anything that agrees with those preferences is hard, harder when you take alloromanticism into account. I’ll play in any sandbox with cool toys, especially if other folks have already built sick sandcastles there.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

[kicks every single unfinished fic further under the bed] What nooo no WIPs here, everything on my account is either finished or does not exist

I’ve got a couple extra chapters of Sweeter Than floating around unposted, but 1. that fic’s a mess 2. high school Twixt and post-college Twixt are different people and trying to contort myself into three other me-shapes just cause people Like this fic is not something I’m super interested in 3. it’s headed for an emotional dip and I’d rather leave it where it is than post two chapters, stall out again, and leave folks with a bad end.

As for other fics... it’s looking more and more likely that v7 of my Yellow Brick Road AU will never actually make it out. >w>; I’ve got some really great ideas, but not enough to make me feel like I know what I’m doing, and that’s a big roadblock. Plus trying to engage with RT’s Atlas-Mantle worldbuilding in any serious capacity is... a headache. I can’t recommend the Happy Huntress Cinematic Universe enough, but it leaves some pretty big shoes to follow! And I’ve got small feet. <w<;

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue’s fun, probably as an extension of characterization. I love tearing into what makes people tick, especially against the backdrop of their environment, the story they’re in, and the people they’re up against. Voice is a double-edged sword; I’ve been told my writing is really recognizable and individual, but on the other hand, I’ve been growing frustrated with with the limits of my narrative ability. There’s a strong rhythm I keep when I write (you might notice it here, even) but that leaves me feeling predictable and stale. I’m not sure I’m great at setting as a matter of course, but I’m pretty good at describing setpieces where the need comes up; that comes from my background in poetry, as does the fun I have with sublimating and abstracting complex imagery. And I think I bring some needed nuance to the universal. For good or ill, I don’t do what “everyone else” is doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, writing, for one thing. If I don’t know how something’s going to go and don’t have the urge to write it, it isn’t getting done, which means there’s a billion things that will never see the page and a few hundred more that are never getting finished. I lose momentum easily and have a hard time getting started, and I put way too much standing on finding a foothold with other people; as critical as I am of my work, I have high expectations for the stuff that passes muster, and it never seems to measure up. I’m also really uncreative. Yeah, I can mix up elements and extrapolate events, but coming up with things wholesale is really hard, which is why I avoid it wherever possible and steal/reskin stuff from other places instead.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Something along the lines of “Hoo boy, I am Not qualified for this but hopefully it’s decent anyway.” Maria’s Spanish lines haven’t been a big deal – I’ve used it sparingly and, as a Latin language, it should be easy for English-speaking audiences to pick up on the gist – but I’ve had a harder time with Tai’s Chinese, both because I have Even Less background there and because it is, of course, an entirely different language system. If I write it out in English or Romanized italics, am I colonizing it or changing the meaning? If I write it out in the presumed-original characters (presumed because it’s Google Translate and who knows if I’m even barking in the right forest), am I confusing or alienating my presumed-majority-English-speaking audience? Where should I put the translations? Should I put the translations? And for Frisk’s sign language, thinking back, are the brackets I used instead of quotes alienating/infantilizing? I like that different characters give the text between a different feel, but I’m not an ASL speaker – and I’m pretty sure the word is “speaker,” which would only reinforce that that demographic would rather I didn’t do that. It’s important for all these characters, I think, that they use non-English language where it makes sense; it’s part of who they are. But as a white monolingual English-speaker, I don’t think I can really weigh in.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Thaaaat’d be Pokémon, followed closely with Sonic the Hedgehog. Whether those fics are still on my ff.net account or not (pretty sure I’ve purged them, but you never know) I’ve still got a couple saved to a folder on my current laptop, ostensibly so I can look back and see how far I’ve come and more practically to allow for the possibility of furthering group cohesion through public shaming.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I still like the idea behind The Man Who Is Atlas, and Burning Bright (Still Awake) gets props for being my current fic, though it’s currently in that spot where I’m excited to get new chapters posted but also quietly marking everything up in red pen. I think Harbinger gets the crown here, at least for now.

#answerin' stuff

[slash-em-up]

Bloody Business: A Logger Fic

*Billie Eilish plays in the background* In which we are introduced to our antagonist.

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

1958

The chill fog rolling across the pier was invigorating to Peter as he drove his fist once more into the poor bastard in his hold.

The man had stopped whimpering a couple minutes ago, and now looked about a minute from unconsciousness - but that wasn’t Peter’s problem. His employer wanted to send a message, so Peter sent the message.

Whatever happened after… well… maybe someone would come by to help, maybe they wouldn’t.

Dropping the limp body like a bag of trash, Peter straightened his coat and turned on his heel; making his way slowly back up the dock to his waiting car.

Seattle in the cold light of the moon was a beautiful sight; the buildings of the growing city rising higher the further downtown Peter drove. Pulling up to the curb, the tall man in the sharp suit tossed the valet his keys; barely sparing the kid a glance let alone a friendly nod.

‘Martina’s’ was what most would consider a hole in the wall, but anybody who knew anything about organized crime on the West Coast knew that the restaurants’ unassuming façade hid a veritable hive of illegal and illicit activity.

Some people liked to say if you couldn’t make it in New York or LA, Seattle was the poor-man’s stomping ground.

Peter’s boss disagreed and had managed to carve out an extremely lucrative niche for himself in the state’s natural resources and businesses.

Shipping from the port, copper and other precious metals from the mines, and timber from the vast North Western forests.

Quaint industries, but no one complained about the number of zeroes on their paychecks.

Peter walked down the flight of stairs that led to the main dining room. It was dimly lit and despite the boss’s break from the families in New York, it still maintained that Old World feel - which just ended up looking and feeling dusty, in Peter’s opinion.

The dark-haired man nodded to one of his fellows, a man named Bernie, who casually made his way over to Peter as he took a seat at the bar - ordering a glass of red wine and some pasta.

“How’s the pier tonight, Pete?” Bernie asked, joining him at the bar and motioning to the waitress that she should bring two glasses for the wine.

“Don’t call me that - and the pier was fine. Job’s done.” Peter said nonchalantly as he pulled apart his utensils and napkin; sticking the cloth into his collar to protect his suit.

“Good, good, Peter. Boss has some more work for ya, if you’re interested.”

Peter looked at the other man incredulously.

“Can’t I even get a fuckin’ meal before we talk more business?”

Bernie looked non-plussed at Peter’s complaint, shaking his head in refusal.

“This one’s time-sensitive. You remember that logging camp we lost about seven years ago upstate?”

Peter shrugged, nodding to the waitress as she deposited a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses in front of him.

“You know, the one where all those sons of bitches got killed like someone forgot they was supposed to be cuttin’ trees instead a’ people?”

The wine was decent; but Peter could tell they’d changed house labels.

“Ah, yeah, yeah, I recall. Big to-do. No one could figure out what the fuck happened.”

Bernie leaned in close, like he was about to impart some vital information to the taller man.

“Well, turns out, some little bum-fuck town up there is havin’ a problem with some psycho choppin’ loggers up with an axe.”

Peter turned in his seat to face Bernie, a glint of interest in his eye.

“You don’t say.”

The man nodded, grinning.

“I do say - and now the law up there is asking for help from the governor.”

“I’m guessin’ the boss would rather we got there first?”

Chuckling, Bernie nodded once more.

“Help ‘em out. Solve their little chop-chop issue; and if it happens to be the same guy? Well, the boss would like a word.”

A steaming plate was set in front of Peter, and the man leaned in to smell it appreciatively before sighing.

“Fine, when do I leave?”

Bernie leaned back against his chair.

“You should probably get that pasta to-go…”

#The Logger #Peter Kellsey #I bet you thought the slasher was gonna be the main bad guy... ha. #Jessica writes #slasher oc

[riddlesandqueries]

Somebody Sure As Hell Messed Up (Part 4)

(In which Music Meister, nee Dennis Prowell, and The Toyman, rarely known as Winslow Schott, have a revealing conversation over board games.)

"I like to know as much information as I can. It helps things run smoothly." said the Toyman.

Dennis took a deep breath in, then out. No theatrics this time. "Fine. You want the real story. Here it is.”

“...This was a team effort: I was showing her a night on the town. After that whole 2000 scare I just thought a day to celebrate the New Year was what she needed. What I said about breaking in was true. We were stealing ... miscellaneous goods when your bowl arrived. It wasn't until the building started to crumble apart when she pushed me into the hand though. So there it is. Are you happy?"

"Really? She actually pushed you? That's something I'd expect her to do to me, not you. You two were supposedly pretty chummy." Winslow leaned in.  "Goes to show you, she's a dangerous one."

"Well I would've expected Lyle to be more of the type to do such a thing. But I softened him up. I suppose I just didn't have enough time to get close to Darci. At least not to the point of being as chummy as you'd think." Dennis made a meek attempt to whistle to fill in the silence, but the mic on him kept making the pitch off key and weird. Definitely something he stopped a few seconds in. "I doubt she'll come over for some tea. You got no use keeping me around if that's the case."

"Oh she'll come. I've got my best man on it right now. And you'll be staying for a while. I can't help but be a little suspicious, you know? And we can keep each other company until our little reunion!" said Winslow, failing to hide the excitement in his voice.

"Suspicious? Me? Perish the thought."  Shit. You blew it, Prowell. Dennis bared a smile that was more than a little ingenuine. "So. We're going to 'keep each other company?'"

"Naturally! I haven't had a guest over in a very long time. Tell me, do you like board games?"

A very long time, huh? "Board games are fun." Dennis tried to match Winslow's energy. In truth, Dennis was much more fond of scrapbooking news articles about crime than he had been about board games when he was a child. The only board game he's truly interested in is D&D, but that was neither here nor there.

"I have quite a few, but be warned! I've had a lot of time to practice." One of the doors to the room slid open to reveal a tall shelf full of colorful boxes.

"Ah, well! It looks like you've got a lot of things to keep us occupied. Ha." God. I wish Hartley were here...

"How about Battleship? Or Chutes and Ladders?" Winslow hopped down off of his chair and went to the shelf to peruse the collection. "Or maybe Connect Four?"

Yeah... Hart's just the person I'd want to see right about now. "Now, Battleship's something I know haha!"

"Oh boy! Sounds good to me!" He grabbed the box from the shelf and took his seat again,  pulling the screens out of the box and sliding one down to Dennis. Winslow began setting up his side.

Dennis followed suit. "So you haven't had a friend over in a long time?"

"No, not since Peter. And I can't even remember the time before that. Mostly, it's just me and the friends I make myself. Uh, just say when you are ready."

He gave a thumbs-up in response. "G7. Merkel? Oh! He's been over at Sel's a couple of times. Very fond of Twister I've heard." Dennis then stopped for a moment. "Wait, then how did you meet Darci? Was it a henchgirl for hire gig gone to pot?"

"M-miss; J4" Toyman’s voice stammered as he placed a piece in his water. "You... you don't know do you? That's... kinda funny actually. You haven't noticed anything, well, peculiar about her, have you?"

"Hit. B2. No, nothing that would warrant suspicion. But that's coming from a Gotham resident. Maybe that sort of stuff flies past me." He stopped, just for a moment. "Then she's got something wrong with her, huh?"

"Oh no, she's perfect." He paused.  "Well, correction: she was a little bit more rebellious than I expected. Hit! J5."

"Miss. B3" Rebellious, he says. Rebellious. Sure you can call a student or criminal rebellious. But a lover? Not unless you got something wrong with your own methods... "Is that so?"

"Hmmm, Hit. You sunk my destroyer! J3?" said Toyman, considering his move. "You think you've got someone figured out, and they go and manage to turn your life topsy-turvy. I just don't know how she did it, but oh boy, did she."

"Hit. A1. You could say that about anybody though. Everybody's kinda got layers to them you know. Like tree rings. Or cake."

"Miss. J2. I suppose that's true, but she really isn't just anybody."

"Hit. A5. Then who is she?"

"She is mine." said Toyman, pointedly, before clearing his throat. “Ahem. Miss. H3."

... Noted. "I'll rephrase the question. What was she like to you? Miss. F6."

"At the start, she was my perfect doll. Then a switch was flipped, and she fled. Eventually, that Big Blue Bully got jealous when I tried to get her back, but we fled together. I thought it would be different, or rather back to the way things were, but she was just as manipulative as she was when she left. Hit. J1."

"Hit. The ship has sunk. F5." ... This bitch is lonely. If I connect the pieces together, then he's probably been wallowing in his misery ever since. "That sure sounds rough. I totally get it. Is there anything you've done for yourself since she left?"

"Oh, you know. Just a lot of work around here. Trying to stay busy. I started my blog, but that didn't really pan out...Miss. E7?"

"Hit. C9." Bingo. "Maybe you could benefit from getting out more. I mean more than just a blog. Get some friends with different perspectives. Live a little. You discover more about yourself that way."

"I don't know where to begin with something like that.” replied Toyman plainly. “It's not like someone like me can just go out and try to chat with random people. People would take one look at me and want to run. It might be different over in Gotham, but over here, they would never. Miss. F6."

"You started off with your blog. And that got Peter to talk to you. That was a good starting point.

 Maybe you could do the same thing. But you know. Without any alias or villain names. Then you wouldn't limit the people who share your niche interests to just rogues. Hit. C4"

"Miss, G7, And I don't think I can. I'm not much else but "The Toyman" anymore. I've devoted my entire life to get revenge on one man, and some alien takes him out before I got to try again. I'm not sure I am who I was anymore because I've been me for so very long."

"Hit. You sunk my ship. G1." Maybe that's why Darci ran off. Tch. "Then... Let's start off even smaller. Yeah. Bake the layers of your cake before you make the frosting! We'll just have to find some hobbies that click. Then we can go from there."

"Well, obviously I like toys. Uhhh, mechanical engineering? And movies.” He seemed curious, despite the mask. “Miss. C3"

"I'm sure there's plenty of other people out there who like movies and engineering too. Ever thought about joining a STEM group? Miss. F7."

"Hit. C9? There probably are, but what if they don't like me, or they find out who I am?"

"Hit. F8. If they're really your friends they wouldn't care, would they?" replied Dennis easily, although as his words settled in, he couldn’t help but wonder… I'm sure there's going to be someone to get me out of here. Hopefully not Darci… What if they've already forgotten about me? Or that they wanted me gone this whole time and they're celebrating my death as the minutes pass by? ...But that couldn't be the case. Almost everybody loves me!...Right?

"Hit. C10...I'm... not sure I want to talk about this anymore." murmured Toyman, presumably glancing away. "Do... do you like any movies?"

"Hit. F9." It's your funeral. "Oh, sure I like movies." Dennis smiled.

"Hehehe! Miss! C8? Do you have a favorite movie? O-or maybe a favorite genre?"

"Hit. E9, and… I only ever liked Quentin Tarantino flicks." he replied, with a blissful smile to accompany his lie. "I've always been enamored by the harsh reality of crime. It's just so intoxicating. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Miss. C7? Really? That's quite an interesting revelation about you, Mr. Prowell. I would have pegged you as just a musical fan, but that's what I get for assuming. I must admit it might not completely be my cup of tea, but I did enjoy Pulp Fiction."

"Hit. G9. Oh yeah! Crime's always been a big part of my life. My folks have always been a big inspiration for me when it comes to that."

"Miss. C6. Really? Your parents were criminals, then?"

"Hit. E5. Of course. Fine upstanding people they are. Looong before Big Blue came to town. Their old names were Songbird and Fireball. That ring any bells?"

"Miss. C6. They sound familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"You already played C6. Tch...They were part of an underground gang way back when. But they quit that sort of work before I came along. Never told me why though. Which is strange..."

"Oh, silly me. I meant to say C5. Hmmm... Where were they out of?"

"Hit. You sunk my ship. A8, and...The Intergang, I think. That place used to be big on recruiting metas back in the day. I know that for sure."

"They were INTERGANG? I don't blame them for leaving. Miss. D10."

"Yeah it had something to do with a mix up that led to members getting killed. Least that's what my Pop told me. But my kidnapping was when my folks were especially put off by the business. The first one. Miss. D1"

"'Mix-up?' I wouldn't be surprised if that's just what Mannheim said to cover his tuchus. I still wish I could have been the one to finally stop that bully. Miss. B10"

"Wait, you were after Manheim? Which one?"

"Bruno. That awful devil sent my father to prison and ruined my entire life."

"I was fucked over by Moxie Manheim! Damn old coot must be in his grave by now... Anyways! You know how there's an initiation to join?"

"Ha! Well, it's a small world after all! I think I heard something about it somewhere. Why?"

"Yeah, well... Moxie didn't really enjoy that Songbird and Fireball ditched the Intergang to start a family, so he decided to keep tabs on them. Their weaknesses and all that. Now, Moxie also had some new recruits lined up waiting to be official members." Dennis leaned in, conspiratorial.."He's got a big criminal brain as you know, so he thought it'd be real wise to make me a part of the initiation. Killing two birds with one stone, as they say."

"D-did they do it?" asked Toyman, on the edge of his seat.

"Of course they did it! Stole me away while my folks were vulnerable! Nothing much I could've done, figuring this was back in 1977." Dennis collected himself. "But they weren't having it! This was the last straw, Winslow!" He held up his index finger rather righteously. "And you know what happened?"

Winslow leaned closer in anticipation. "What?"

"They snuck in there and took me back! But not without a musical number first!" said Dennis proudly. Plain as day, he looked up to his parents: it showed in the glow of his smile.

"That must have been an absolute delight to see. So, you inherited your powers from a parent? Songbird, I presume? What could Fireball do?"

"She shoots a flare gun." he grinned. 

"Truly fascinating! Um, also, it's still your turn. B10. Was that the last they heard from Mannheim and company?"

"Miss. B10. Oh no. not at all. A bunch of failed attempts were made afterwards. And well, since Moxie's departure, Bruno was the guy looking out to see if they were any trouble. But now that Bruno's dead and Vito doesn't really care. There's some peace." Something, just then, just clicked into Dennis' mind. And oh how ironic it was. "Until now."

"Miss. B5.” sighed Toyman. "If you are referring to me, please don't be so dramatic. I mean you no harm, unless you mean it to me. I only want a little incentive for Darci to come here. And if she pushed you into my robot's clutches like you said, perhaps her final capture will be something you can relish as well."

"Miss, B5...Hmmmm.” thought Dennis, smiling a bit. "Well... I just find it hilarious that out of all the villains who I fall into the clutches of, it had to be the one that happens to despise the Manheims the most." He started fidgeting with a red piece in his hand. "Call it a hunch, but this seems a lot like destiny."

"It was quite the coincidence! As I said earlier, it's a small world. I might not say destiny, but who knows? Miss, D5?"

"Miss. E2. Well, nothing's impossible, kid."

"Miss. I8...Perhaps." Winslow fell silent, awkward.

"Miss. H1...For someone called the Toyman, you're not much of an optimist are you?"

"Miss. H8. For someone named Music Meister, you're not much of a musical film fan."

"It's not my fault that musicals are better on the stage." He smirked. “Miss. J6. Much more of an experience, you know? To go out and see something like that live and in the present."

"Miss. I9. I... see your point. But you're right, optimism isn't my strong suit anymore..."

"Anymore? Then that means there was a point in time where you were an optimist!" There's still hope!

"When I was a kid, sure. But after my father was sent away, well, it hasn't been very easy."

"Have you been to therapy for that?"

"No, my foster families never wanted to pay for something like that."

"But your foster families don't control you anymore, you're a free man! If you're able to afford it, at least give it a try."

Winslow buries his masked head into his hands. "But can a wanted man like myself just waltz into some therapist's office without a dozen people calling the police on him?"

"People wouldn't recognize you without...the mask, would they?" asked Dennis, curious.

He looks up with a shrug. "I'm 4' 10", and have a rather distinct voice. They might not know my face, but they still might know me. If I'm lucky, then everything would be fine, but if I'm not, then I might be in a lot of trouble.”

"Jeez, Metropolis has got some shit health care, doesn't it? If that's what's keeping you from healing... Hmm." Dennis tried to come up with an appropriate counter argument.

“I9. Being a supervillain isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"...But being an actor is! I've got it! And it's brilliant! Maybe we can't do much about your height, but you can do something about your voice and movement!...Oh. Sorry. Miss. H3."

"C-come again?" Toyman was genuinely surprised. "I don't... I'm not really... um...Miss. G2."

"Yeah, okay. You'd have to practice speaking from your diaphragm, but that's gonna be a sinch cause you got a performer around!" Dennis pondered. "Maybe change the names a bit for this new persona... That'd work so you wouldn't have to lie in therapy per se. We all know that goes nowhere."

Dennis made a square with his index fingers and thumbs to frame Winslow.

"I can totally see your persona now Winn! Hit! I10!"

"I'm not... sure... what you're talking about? I.....?" flustered the Toyman before sighing. "Miss. F2."

"You seem so deadset on people hating you, right?  And the inability to socialize and get proper therapy is what's holding you back from being a healthy and paranoid free individual, right? 

So, we just need to make you a persona so people won't know you're the Toyman! So people won't ‘hate’ you! It's a genius plan! I swear!" smiles Dennis, putting heavy finger quotes on the word hate, as  he genuinely didn't believe that everyone everyone hates him. “Oh! Hit! F10."

"I don't think... Let me just say: I don't want to be anyone else. I am me, no matter how awful my life has been, I can't really change it. If I try to make a new me, that can only take me so far before I just go back to being me. I can't make people stop disliking or fearing me. But I have been trying to change the way I go about what I do. I wanted to stop Mannheim from ruining any more families' lives, and I want to help make sure no more families are robbed of their lives because of some self-centered sneak!" Winslow’s voice slowly rose to a shriek, before he finally settles back down into his chair with another sigh. "Miss. H2."

After a brief pause, Dennis gently pat Winslow in the shoulder. "You're gonna lose your voice if you keep yelling like that." sighed Dennis kindly. "I get that you're trying to be noble and save families and whatnot, but if you keep going about this like a self-deprecating martyr, then soon there won't be much left of you to save any families. Hit. I4."

He shrinks away from the first pat, but eases on the following. "...Yeah, I suppose. But at least I did help, right? Miss. I2."

"Yeah. Yeah you did. Hit. H2."

There was a pause as Winslow looked down at the table. Without looking up, he muttered “Hit. E2...and...thanks."

There's the ticket. Actually, this time… "No! Noo! It's just what friends do." A warm, glowing smile swept across Dennis’ face. "If you really think people won't like you, then I won't push it anymore. But I like you. I like your motives too. So don't stress about it that much."

"Y-you like me? I'm your friend?"  said Winslow, genuinely taken aback.

"Of course!" Dennis said, minimizing the situation.

"I... I've always wanted a... a real friend..."

"If you wanted a friend, then why didn't you just ask?" Dennis gave Winslow that same warm glowing smile as he stood up.

Winslow sat still for a couple seconds before his emotions did finally catch up to him. He sobbed slightly but collected himself quickly. "Thank you so much!" he said, much happier than he'd sounded before. "So...E2?"

#music meister #toyman #dcau askblog #btas askblog #darci mason #darcimasonusb #askthetoyman #musicmeisterandtheinbox #event post #off camera

[go-events]

GO Rom Com Spotlight: @ineffable-anathema

The splendid @ineffable-anathema (also teatales on AO3) has claimed High Society to adapt for Good Omens in the Good Omens Rom Com Event.

For reference, here’s a little background about the source material!

About High Society: Jazz artist C.K. Dexter Haven (Bing Crosby) is still hung up on his ex-wife and neighbor, socialite Tracy Samantha Lord (Grace Kelly), however Tracy is engaged to another man (John Lund). Matters are complicated even further when a magazine reporter (Frank Sinatra), in town to cover Tracy's wedding, also winds up falling for the beautiful bride-to-be. As Tracy tries to decide on the ideal husband, each suitor works hard to convince her he is the best choice.

We spent some time chatting about how the adaptation is coming so far, as well as future plans for it! Now, get to know @ineffable-anathema a little better!

* * *

goromcom: You know how if you open a Tumblr chat with someone you haven't chatted to before, Tumblr tells you two things they post about? I wanted to tell you that yours reports that you post "about #funs and #ineffable husbands" I think I've got a handle on that second one. ;)

ineffable-anathema: I didn’t think I used the funs hashtag that much! And I changed the second one to #ineffable spouses ages ago, thanks tumblr. But yeah, I like to think I have a lot of Good Omens related fun around here :)

goromcom: Ah, I also like the inclusivity of the spouses tag. <3 

You chose to adapt High Society as your rom com. Has this movie been a favorite of yours, or is there some other reason you chose it?

ineffable-anathema: High Society is definitely a favourite of mine (possibly my favourite movie-musical of all time, but I hate ranking things). I do adore rom coms and I love many that were on the list (and I’m beyond excited to see what my fellow writers and artists produce!) but I tend to feel a lot of pressure in adapting more popular things, so I went with what I tend to call “niche content” as is my fashion. I really hope I do it justice, though!

goromcom: I’m sure you will! And since it’s (possibly) your favorite, can you share with us your favorite moment of High Society (1956), and are you looking forward to presenting it in your adaptation? Any loose plans for that scene that you can share? 

ineffable-anathema: My favourite scene in the movie is definitely when Liz and Mike arrive, and Tracy begins her charade in being a Strange Rich Person™. The dialogue in it is hilarious. In my adaptation Aziraphale is in Tracy’s role and isn’t putting on as much of a charade, but I am excited for him to be Peak Bastard when Anathema and Newt arrive. And then they all become friends, because I’m dialing up the friendship to 11.

goromcom: Peak Bastard Aziraphale is one of my top 10 Aziraphales! 

Do you plan to stick very closely to the story beats of the original movie, or make bigger changes?

ineffable-anathema: That is the tricky question. I think overall I’m sticking to the original beats – Aziraphale is getting remarried to a square, his ex-husband is suddenly around and causing mischief, he starts to question whether he should be perfect or happy – but I’m also changing a lot. Including writing a 20k+ backstory because the film barely touches on Tracy and Dexter’s first relationship and marriage, and there’s so much to explore there. Disgruntled neighbours to friends to lovers, anyone? I like the journey of them getting to know one another and really fall in love, settle into the relationship, then start to breakdown and eventually get divorce. And then they reconnect and realise they never stopped loving one another. I’m writing the backstory first and I think it will give me a much better foundation to tackle the canon of the film (which I’m stretching over at least a week. Two days is not enough!)

goromcom: That sounds like a great approach!

What's an interesting decision you've made in your planning so far--a notable casting decision, a changing of venue, or some other plan you have to paint Good Omens all over your rom com?

ineffable-anathema: I don’t think it’s particularly interesting but I’m quite pleased with the casting so far: Aziraphale as Tracy, Crowley as Dexter, Gabriel as George, Warlock as Caroline, Tracy (probably) as Mother, Anathema as Liz, Newt as Mike. I’ve also changed Crowley’s career, which kind of snowballs into the rest of the story. He’s now a floral artist/sculptor/thing (don’t examine that too closely, yet) and so there’s a lot of artsy stuff and meanings to help express his feelings/make Aziraphale realise his own. It also means he may or may not be involved in doing the flowers for Aziraphale’s wedding, which Aziraphale doesn’t quite know about yet… Hence the shenanigans.

goromcom: I am blatantly stealing this last question from The Good Place: The Podcast, but here goes: Tell me something "good". It can be something big or small. It can be a charity you think is doing good work, or you can talk about how great your pet is.

ineffable-anathema: I volunteer with an organisation called The Harry Potter Alliance and I think they’re very good! Fandom has always been a big part of my life and being able to use one of my favourite stories to make real world change is amazing. Unfortunately not every piece of media is lucky to have such delightful creators as GO, but we’re very much the-books-belong-to-us-now and it’s a very healing community to be involved with as a trans fan.

* * *

I hope you’ll all check out the Good Omens adaptation of High Society, coming soon!

#goromcom #goromcom spotlight #good omens #ineffable-anathema #high society

[sncwbaz]

Shepard meets Gansey

| Carry On Countdown | Day 22 | 16 Dec 2019 | Fandom Crossover | ao3

AN: after meeting shepard in wayward son i literally couldn’t let go of the thought that he and gansey would make interesting pals, because in some ways they’re so similar. so, even though i feel like this is a very niche topic to write a fic on, and i feel like not many ppl would care about reading this, i couldn’t help but write a fic of shepard going to henrietta in search for magic and meeting gansey there. so that’s what this is. this clearly contains wayward son spoilers, even though it takes place before wayward son, it does have an actual spoiler in it revolving shepard. when it comes to spoilers for the raven cycle i feel like it only has mild spoilers for the first book? i honestly don’t know where in the raven cycle timeline this fic takes place. 

•-•-•-•

300 Fox Way, Henrietta, Virginia. That’s where Shepard was headed.

Henrietta was a name that often came up when speaking of magic. It was a location known for the high magickal energy radiating off of the town, and its strange supernatural happenings. It also turned out to be a hotspot for the appearing of peculiar magical artefacts, though that was a business Shepard preferred to stay at a distance from.

Henrietta, though. Henrietta he wanted to give a closer look.

When doing his research on the town, he quickly stumbled on the address 300 Fox Way. The address being home to an abundance of psychic women, well known for their accuracy. If there was anyone able to point Shepard towards the magic of this town, he figured it must be them. Or at least that they would be a good starting point.

He didn’t know what to expect from the psychic’s home. When he’d called for an appointment, it had taken him quite some time to cut to the case with the lady who answered the phone. She kept trying to give him predictions over the phone, when really he wanted to talk with the women of 300 Fox Way in person. He hadn’t minded much, though. Regardless of most of the conversation being inapplicable to Shepard’s search, he was still very intrigued by all the lady had to say.

Shepard, perhaps, had expected a rather large house, as it was supposed to house many people, but he found the size of the house to be very average. What he definitely had not expected was the bright orange 1973 Camaro parked in front of the house. It seemed quite out of place in front of this average looking home. The general aesthetic of the car was also one he didn’t associate with psychics. Though, who was he to make that judgement?

The surprise didn’t stop at the orange car. When he knocked on the door, he was quickly greeted by a young man who couldn’t be older than Shepard, though his actual age was hard to pin down. The white boy whore an expensive looking, yellow polo and khaki shorts. Everything about him, from his clothes, to the way he held himself, to the way his hair his hair was perfectly in place screamed expensive.

“Hello, you must be here for an appointment,” he said, allowing Shepard in.

“Sure am,” Shepard said cheerily. He held out his hand and the guy shook it. “I’m Shepard, from Omaha, Nebraska.”

“I’m Gansey,” he said, his head tilted a little as he took Shepard in. “You’ve come a long way, Shepard.”

“Ah yes, I consider myself an explorer of anything magical, and will allow my search to take me anywhere” Shepard said.

Gansey perked up at this, “Do you perhaps know anything of supposedly long dead Welsh kings, asleep on ley lines?”

“I know of ley lines, I don’t know anything about what might be asleep on them.”

A glint of excitement showed in Gansey’s eyes. “Well—” he began, but he was cut off before he could start his story.

“Gansey!” A woman shouted from inside the house. Her voice so loud and intimidating that it fully filled the air around Shepard. Had Shepard not already been acquainted with actual furies, he might have been slightly frightened of this one. “Stop holding up our clients with your king!”

Gansey seemed to take no offence in this command and lead Shepard into what Shepard guessed served as the living room—though, later he discovered it also worked as the reading room.

Here he was greeted by a rather large company. This company consisted of three women: a very short one, one tall and willowy and weirdly faded around the edges, and the one woman who, by the looks of her, must be the one who’d shouted earlier. There was also a short girl, must be in her late teens, with hair that could act like a birds nest—it being just as chaotic, yet just as precisely put into place the way it was. She looked curious and fierce, like a true daughter of the house Shepard found himself in. Besides the female company and Gansey, there was also another young man. He had a shaved head, and was all sharp edges. He had a raven perched on his shoulder, which somehow didn’t look strange or out of place in this environment. Shepard was practically beaming at the peculiar picture that the six of them made.

“Hello, I’m Shepard from Omaha, Nebraska. I’m here for a reading.”

Everyone in the room stared at him. The three teens (were they teens?) seeming rather relaxed as they eyed him curiously—except for the guy with the raven, who looked cold and brutal. Though, Shepard decided that that must simply be his way of being. The three women, though, all gave him intense stares. Shepard couldn’t decide what exactly  to make of their stares;  they eyed him with a caution that he felt was very unnecessary. After all, he was only a simple guy coming by for a reading. How was he different from any other client they would have over?

“I called in for an appointment,” Shepard said, in the hope it would ease some tension in the women, but none of them loosened up.

“What are you?” The blonde woman asked, her voice was light and airy, yet there was an alarmed tension in it. This question raised suspicion from Gansey and the other two youths in the room.  

“Uh, just a human guy,” Shepard answered. Shepard didn’t understand what he’d done to raise suspicion. Normally, he’d be ready for a cautious reaction like this one, while meeting various magical creatures. In this case, however, he hadn’t done anything that he would assume to be anything but normal procedure for these psychic women. Gansey had greeted him normally, knowing he must be here for an appointment, why didn’t these women act the same?

“Liar,” the fierce one of the three hissed at him, but the short lady interrupted her before she could start threatening him. “No, Calla, I think he’s telling the truth.”

“I am. I’m here because I have an appointment. Shepard’s the name. I’m just a guy, curious about magic.”

“He is telling the truth,” the blonde one says, her tone puzzled. “But then why is there something dark in you?”

Oh. Right.

Something must have shown in his face, because the woman who he now knew was named Calla snapped, “So there is something off about you.”

“There is, yes. But it’s something I’m willing to tell you all about if you’re willing to hear me out. It’s really not as bad as you might think.”

All of the company except for Gansey and the blonde woman kept their looks of suspicion, but Shepard was nonetheless invited over to the reading table. The blonde woman introduced herself as Persephone, and then introduced the shorter woman as Maura, and the scary one as Calla—though he’d already fingered her name out.

“Start talking,” Calla said, bluntly, as soon as the four of them were seated, the three teens looking on at them from the sidelines.

“Well, as I said, I’m Shepard from Omaha, Nebraska. I’m perfectly human, though I am possibly more aware of the magic in this world than the average human is. I go on journeys to find magical creatures, simply just to get to know them, if they’re welcoming enough.” The guy with the raven snorted at that. “If not, I leave them alone. I promise. Though—um, I did once come across a demon, who didn’t want to let go of me so easily.” Shepard took off his jacket, under which he was wearing a t-shirt. He held out his arms to show the women the black markings there. “So, you know, I’m cursed. That’s probably the darkness that you’re sensing.” Shepard tried to read the expression of the three women as they examined his arms, but failed. All their faces were focussed, but besides that it was impossible to tell what they were possibly thinking. Calla looked angry, perhaps, but she’d done so from the moment Shepard had entered the room. The three teens had moved closer to the reading table to get a look as well.

“Shit,” said the one with the raven, though he sounded more amused than concerned.

“Blue,” Maura said, gesturing to the short girl, “you might want to move back a little, I don’t know if you’d be amplifying anything wrong here.”

Without a question, but still with a curious look in her eyes, Blue moved backwards. Shepard gave her a curious look back. Amplifying?

Calla snapped his attention back to the three psychics by asking “So you’re here because you think we can help you with that, then?”

Shepard leaned back in his chair, surprised. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to involve anyone else into this messy business,” Shepard said, gesturing at his marked arms. “I’m really just here because Henrietta is often talked about when it comes to magical energy. I came here to explore and figured that the house of highly acclaimed psychics would be a good place to start.”

“You just want to know about magic?” Maura asked, voice flat.

“Yup.”

“And none of this has anything to do with the possible involvement of a demon?”

“The demon has no involvement in this,” Shepard clarified. “I do this out of my own free will, purely because it’s a hobby of mine.”

“The dark presence within you will likely affect any reading we’ll do with you,” Persephone said.

“Oh, it’s fine. I don’t really care about the outcome of the reading, I’m aware that most stuff doesn’t actually work on me. I only booked a reading because I figured that it would be the most fitting thing to do if I wanted to talk to you about the magic energy of this place.”

Both Maura and Calla gave him raised eyebrows, while Persephone nodded solemnly.

“And you say you have actually met magical creatures before?” asked Gansey. Shepard turned his gaze toward Gansey, who looked like he couldn’t possibly keep himself from asking for any longer. From the corner of his eye he saw Calla roll her eyes.

“Yes,” Shepard said, brightly. “I’ve met and befriended plenty.”

“Befriended,” the guy with the raven echoed in a mocking tone.

Shepard looked at him, over Gansey’s shoulder. “Yup. Befriended. See, most magical beings live in hiding. If you’re just honest and friendly with them, most of them are very happy to finally be able to tell you all that they have to share—most of them are just glad to finally have someone to talk to—or someone to boast about themselves to.”

At this, Gansey turned around to look at the guy with the raven, a grin on his face. The guy with the raven, however, returned both Shepard’s and Gansey’s looks with a flat stare, his amusement from before gone at once.

“I think,” Maura said, “that maybe it’s not us you should be talking to.”

Shepard looked back at the three women sat before him. “What do—?”

“We have nothing to offer you, but our psychic abilities. And those will be likely misled due to the… curse. Gansey, however, will literally never shut up about Henrietta and the magical potential of this place. You’ll find that he’ll be much more use to you.”

“Besides,” Calla interjected, “I’m not in the mood to deal with another one like him.” She jerked her head towards Gansey at the word ‘him’.

“Yes, that too,” Maura agreed, which Blue made chuckle.

A bit confused, Shepard looked from the women to Gansey, who looked nothing but delighted about getting to tell Shepard everything he had to share. “Uh—alright then,” Shepard said, his face slowly transforming into a brilliant smile.

____

Shepard soon discovered that the bright orange Camaro in front of the house belonged to Gansey. Gansey allowed Shepard to ride shotgun, while Blue and the other boy and his raven—who’d gotten introduced to Shepard as Ronan and Chainsaw (Chainsaw!)—rode along in the back of the car.

Shepard had asked Ronan how he’d gotten the bird. “Took her out of my dreams,” Ronan had answered, in such a tone that led Shepard to believe that Ronan had been screwing with him, and that further questioning wouldn’t be appreciated.

After that, Gansey took over all conversation by monologuing for the entire length of the car ride about his search for an ancient Welsh king who was supposed to be asleep on a ley line, and will grant a wish to the one who wakes him. Even though it didn’t sound like the type of magic that Shepard was normally on the lookout for, he found that it was a pure joy to listen to Gansey tell his story.

After a drive long enough for Gansey to tell his tale, Gansey parked his car in the middle of nowhere.

“Here we are,” Gansey said, and the lot of them got out of the car.

Shepard must have looked confused because Gansey started explaining. “I’m taking you to the ley line. We’ve only discovered it quite recently.”

Ronan didn’t look all too excited about the idea of letting Shepard in on their discovery, but clearly wasn’t in a position to speak up against Gansey. Blue, however, did speak up. “Are you sure we can just trust him?” She asked Gansey, sounding awfully judgemental.

Instead of answering her, Gansey turned to Shepard. “Can you promise me that you won’t cause harm to whatever I’m about to show you, and that you won’t just lead everyone straight to this place after leaving it today?” he asked.

“You have my word,” Shepard replied. “Like I’ve said, I’ve met many—and I mean many—magical beings before. All of them still live hidden in uninterrupted peace.”

Gansey seemed satisfied with that answer. He turned to Blue and said, “I trust him, Jane. Do you?”

Blue (Jane?) shrugged, and so they began their walk to the forest that lay ahead.

Ronan muttered something under his breath, but all Shepard managed to catch was “Parrish wouldn’t,” which went ignored by both Gansey and Blue.

As they entered the forest, something in the air around them changed. Shepard knew about magic—about Speakers, about dragons, about faeries—but the magic of this forest was something unlike anything he’d ever seen or experienced. It felt like the forest was an entire beast of its own. He held his breath as he looked around the ancient trees; as he listened to them whisper.

“Welcome,” Gansey said, his voice overflowing with pride and excitement, “to Cabeswater.”

#the reason that adam's not in this is because i'm scared of writing him because he means too much to me and i can't handle the thought- #-of doing him wrong so yEa #he's a busy boy he's just got work or homework or something ajsdhsakj #also this was my first time writing any of these characters and it was kind of terrifying #idk if i'm satisfied with the outcome but oh well #carry on countdown #carry on #wayward son #shepard #coc 2019 #carry on fic #the raven cycle #trc #carry on fanfic #trc fic #richard gansey #anna writes

[chocoluckchipz]

Forbidden Love That Wasn’t - 5

< Previous                                                        Read on A03, FF.net, WattPad

The upbeat tunes pulsating through the room did little to soothe Adrien's nerves. If anything, it only intensified the rush of blood in his veins. People, moving around, dancing, chatting, greeting him, filled the room with chaos, edging on a border of overbearing. Adrien looked around, searching for the person who was on his mind, both hoping and dreading to find her. How in the world would he be able to talk to her today, Adrien didn't know, but that had to be done.

"Hey, Adrien! Kagami! We are here," Nino called from one of the private niches somewhere to the side. Kagami grabbed Adrien’s arm and pulled him in that direction. Alya, Nino and Luka were already present, sitting on couches encircling the niche and chatted. Nino stood up to meet them as Kagami, slightly nodding at the group as a greeting, proceeded to sit in one of the empty seats.

“Yo, dude!” Nino wrapped his arm around Adrien’s shoulder and grinned. “I see you made yourself extra pretty today.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Adrien nervously chuckled, scanning the crowd around. If Luka was here, that could only mean that-

“Looking for someone?” Alya quirk an eyebrow, observing Adrien.

“Ah, no.” Adrien snapped his eyes back to his friends, sitting down beside Kagami. “Actually yes. I was checking if any of the people I need to talk to were here already.”

“Like?”

“Mostly Father’s acquaintances and colleagues. Business relations. Why?”

“Someone I might be interested in?” Alya asked, sipping from her drink.

“Only if you want to write for a fashion section of your magazine.”

“No, thank you,” Alya puffed. "But do inform me if any of them will get involved in any kind of political intrigue or a scandal.”

“Will do," Adrien nodded. Alya turned to Kagami and his eyes briefly returned to the crowd. This time he was more careful, though, switching his attention to his friends regularly and even somewhat upkeeping the conversation.

“I should probably go find Marinette,” Luka said, standing up from the couch. "She's been gone for too long and might need help with those drinks."

"She'll be fine," Alya said, placing her glass on a coffee table in the middle. "Knowing her, she probably just took some extra time powdering her nose at the lady's room before getting to the bar."

“Speaking of drinks,” Kagami perked up. “Adrien, would you mind bringing me Rose Cocktail?”

“Not a problem." He immediately rose up. “Does anyone else want anything?”

“Nah.” Nino yawned. “We've got ours already.”

“Marinette’s getting mine,” Luka added.

“Alright,” Adrien said. “I’ll be right back then.”  

With an eager stride, he headed into the bar’s direction. The crowd got pretty thick by now, and he couldn't stop looking around, often stepping ahead without watching. So, it was no surprise that a dozen or so steps into his route Adrien bumped into someone. The woman gasped and tried to balance glasses in her hands. She didn't fall down herself only because Adrien had caught her on instinct just in time. However, whatever was the content of those glasses spilled all over her dress and his outfit.

"I'm so sorry," Adrien apologized as soon as he straightened them up and let her go. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and only then looked at the girl before him. His breathing halted because locked on his were the eyes of the sky colour, framed in the longest of the eyelashes, set on flawless porcelain skin, entrapped by the dark hair of the person he knew very well. Her lips were slightly parted as she blinked at him and whispered, “Adrien?”

A treacherous smile sneaked onto Adrien’s face. “Marinette,” he breathed out, afraid to move an inch, in case she was a mirage. She looked gorgeous. Her dark pink knee-length dress looked simple and comfortable for a night of dancing, and yet it presented sophisticated enough to fit into Gabriel’s standards for the high fashion after-party. Her hair was gathered into an elegant updo, and Adrien instantly regretted that Marinette rarely wore that hairstyle - it looked incredible on her. He noticed she wore the necklace he gave her for her last birthday – a cherry blossom flower set in pink gold with a diamond centre and surrounded by a trio of pearls. His eyes darted to her ears to check if the pair of matching earrings had finally made it to her ears but no such luck. Yet just for a moment, Adrien found himself gawking. Marinette did have a great taste and knew how to present herself. Even his father recognized that and took her under his wing after years of refusing to even entertain the idea of a protégé. Just look at her now. Adrien dropped his gaze, feeling his heart tightening. It was irrational, he knew, but the thought that Marinette dressed up for Luka tonight somehow didn't sit right with him.

A moment later, Marinette's exasperated groan as she assessed the damages brought Adrien out of his trance.

“I’m so sorry.” He rushed to offered her his handkerchief, his sight following hers to a bright red stain starting from her chest area and all the way down to her hips. "I ruined your dress,” he murmured lost for anything else to say.

“No, that’s fine.” Marinette smiled at him. “I should be able to save it. With my level of clumsiness and years of experience, I've developed an almost foolproof system for such accidents, so don't worry."

Smiling, she looked at him the way she always did, full of love and kindness, but this time Adrien's heart skipped a beat. Gosh, she was so beautiful and he missed her so much and all he wanted to do was to wrap her up into his arms and give her a tight squeeze and-

"Your shirt is ruined, though," Marinette remarked. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Adrien replied, not taking his eyes off her. "It's old, so an excuse to throw it away is more than welcome."

Marinette skeptically raised an eyebrow. “It’s from this season’s collection, Adrien.”

"I guess then I am a spoiled, filthy-rich brat who doesn't wear anything a month after it's out."

“Sure you are,” Marinette giggled. “Tell that to your pants. They are at least three years old.”

"They are classy and wear well," Adrien pouted, ignoring the warmth that covered the tips of his ears - Marinette was paying attention to his pants? "I happened to love them a lot."

"Adrien? What- Oh!" Kagami stopped in her tracks once she noticed the red stains on the pair's clothes.

"I'm so sorry, Kagami," Marinette rushed to apologize. "It's all my fault. I was carrying-"

“Hey!” Adrien protested. “It was me who bumped into you. How is it your fault? Clearly-”

“Yeah, but if I would’ve paid more attention to where I was going, then-"

“Not buying it, Marinette. Let’s just agree that it was my-”

“Girls! Girls!” Kagami interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You are both pretty and both guilty. Still such children, I cannot take it."  

"What happen- Whoa! Girl!" Alya whistled coming from behind Kagami. "I thought you said you wore red for luck today, not for another disaster."

“I guess it’s not red enough.” Marinette shrugged her shoulders, a soft smile playing on her lips as the rest of their company joined them. Nino was more or less accustomed to those kinds of accidents but Luka looked concerned.

"I assume you don't have a spare, gorgeous dress on you by any chance?" Alya asked skeptically.

“Despite my reputation, I didn’t exactly plan to soak myself in wine, Alya.”

“Then I should probably take you home to change,” Luka offered. “I’m sure we can make it back in an hour or so.”

“I guess that’s our only solution,” Marinette nodded.

"No wait," Kagami interfered, folding her arms over her chest. "Adrien has to go home to change as well, right?"

“I’m afraid so,” Adrien agreed. “Red stains on a light shirt isn’t exactly trending these days.”  

“Then why don’t you take Marinette-” Kagami suddenly paused as her eyes fell on a security officer by the door. “Say, Adrien. You do have access to the offices upstairs anytime you want?”

“Well, technically yes, I do,” he replied, frowning. “Why?”

“There are rooms full of clothes over there, are there not?" Kagami asked, not really expecting an answer. “I am sure Gabriel wouldn’t mind if you two borrow a few of his pieces for the night.”

None of the group said a word for a few moments because the truth was that the party was held on the first floor of Gabriel’s offices and there were indeed rooms full of clothes upstairs. And Adrien, had unlimited access to go anywhere he wanted to go and to take anything he wanted to take. So, if he wanted, he could borrow clothes and let Marinette do the same.

“Well, theoretically-”

"Good," Kagami nodded. "Then it is settled. Go change and give something to Marinette, so no one has to leave anywhere.”

Adrien glanced at Marinette. She was looking at Alya, then Nino and Luka, then back to Alya with a lost expression on her face.

“Marinette?” Adrien said, touching her shoulder lightly. “If you don’t want to do that, I can take you home or—" he sighed, “—Luka can take you home-”

“Nonsense,” Kagami interfered. “It looked like raining when we were coming in and as far as I know Luka doesn't have a car, right?” She glanced at the young man in question, and he shook his head. "Adrien will be changing here so if you go home with Luka, Marinette, I doubt either of you will come back. You do not want to miss this party, do you? And frankly, I don't see why you would even consider wasting our time going home if there are clothes available right here.”

“Well, it does make sense," Alya added. "Plus, I'm sure Gabriel has some impressive dresses up there. Come one, Mari," she nudged. "Don't you want to wear a Gabriel exclusive for the evening?"

“I-”

“He won’t fire you,” Adrien ensured her. “I promise.”

“Go for it, dude,” Nino added and winked. “You might not get another chance.”

It took her another moment, but then Marinette sighed and finally murmured her agreement.

“We’ll be back soon,” Adrien said, taking Marinette by her hand and leading them through the crowd of people to the security guard to pick up an access card. They walked in silence until Marinette tried to apologize again and voice her doubts about borrowing from his father's collection. Adrien only insisted that the fault was entirely his and as long as they would return the pieces intact the next day there were absolutely no issues with loaning some clothes.

“In fact, we’d be a walking advertisement for him, and people usually get paid for this," Adrien was convincing her. "Father is lucky we're so nice to do it for free. And I mean I'm a supermodel, and you are gorgeous, so he is saving a lot of money right there."

Rapidly blushing, Marinette giggled and Adrien chuckled himself. Yet despite the usual banter, it felt awkward. It felt stiff. Adrien couldn’t focus. He yearned to ask more, longed to know about her week, about how she’d managed and if she’d learned whatever lessons his father insisted she had to learn this time, but all he could focus on was one thing – this was possibly his chance to finally talk to Marinette. They'd be alone for some time, and Kagami promised to entertain Luka for the time being. Technically Adrien could- He shook his head and tightened his hold on Marinette's hand. He delayed breaking up with Kagami to let her enjoy this party. Why would he hurt Marinette at the same time? She deserved more than anyone to have fun today. She worked so hard these past few weeks. He couldn't do this today. The talk needed to be done, but it could wait a little longer.

The needed room was soon reached, and upon entering, Adrien flicked on the lights. Marinette immediately headed towards the women’s wardrobe, pulling her hand away from his grasp. Adrien stilled for a second, disappointed by the sudden loss of warmth and comfort in his palm. He didn’t even realize they were still holding hands so natural it felt.

“I’ll take this one,” Marinette blurred out, clearly picking out the first dress off the rack.

Adrien frowned and shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” Marinette protested and glanced at the garment in her hands.

Adrien couldn't hold back a chuckle as she groaned. “Yeah. I didn’t think you were into the whole ‘Dracula meets the Fairy Queen in Wonderland while attending the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party’ look.”

Pouting, Marinette narrowed her eyes at him and put the dress back. It was one of those utterly ridiculous pieces every high designer had to produce. “Art for art’s sake,” Gabriel told her. “A creative expression that is made to marvel at rather than be worn." That specific dress was amongst a few other similar pieces that Marinette absolutely despised.

“Here,” Adrien walked a little further and pulled out a different dress. It was a shimmering floor-length gown with full sleeves, high neckline and a flared skirt. Despite the complete coverage, its fabric and cut made it look elegant and airy, almost ethereal. Gabriel called it “Moonlight.”

“You’ll look stunning in this one,” Adrien smiled, offering the gown to Marinette. That dress was one of her favourite pieces this season. Adrien knew that. She had told him that multiple times herself. A chance to wear it would be like a dream come true, and even Adrien could predict that in that gown Marinette would look absolutely stunning.

“I don’t know,” Marinette replied quietly. “It’s a bit too fancy for this party.”

"Come on, Mari," he almost begged. "With how much you've worked for this week to be a success you deserve to look fancy. You deserve this.”

“I won’t be able to move around much in it.”

"I'm sure it's more comfortable than it looks," he insisted. "Just try it on, and if it doesn't work, we can always find something else.”

He could see the hesitation lingering on her face for only a few more moments before she gave in. “Alright. But it’s only fair that I pick your outfit. And I think I know exactly what would fit you, M Agreste."

“I am intrigued, Mlle Dupain-Cheng. Do you really think you can make me look more gorgeous than I was before the unfortunate accident, oh great and powerful, the one and only protégé of Gabriel Agreste?”

"Just watch me," she winked and disappeared somewhere between the racks. In a few minutes, she emerged back with an ensemble in her hands.

“A black shirt and black jeans?" Adrien pouted. "That's so-"

“Don't rush with your verdict before you put this on,” Marinette interrupted. “Black is your colour. This shirt was tailored specifically for you and as such will bring out the best of your features and these jeans, as you say, are from your father’s formal wear collection. They’re still complying with the party’s dress code despite being a bit more casual than a pair of regular trousers but you'll also look a lot sexier in them.”

"I don't think I can look sexier than I already am," Adrien claimed with a straight face.

Marinette couldn't help but laugh. "You are so humble, you know."

"Well," he grinned laughing. "If no one else around here going to compliment me, why can’t I do that myself?”

"You are very pretty," Marinette smiled at him, and Adrien felt the world stop. “But I’m sure Kagami won’t mind you looking even better and will appreciate my efforts.” She pushed the clothes into his hands and took the dress out of his. “I’ll turn off the lights and change behind that screen. No peeking or you are dead.”

“That would be the sweetest death possible,” Adrien teased, fully expecting Marinette to rebuke him or, maybe, playfully smack his shoulder. Possibly, threaten him. Yet she said nothing. Her face went crimson, and she silently stomped away to her side of the room, switching the lights off on her way.

With the room back to darkness, Adrien didn’t waste any time. He quickly hid behind some of the racks and changed. The sky outside was dark and covered with clouds in preparation for a storm, but there was still some light coming in from the streetlights so Adrien could see himself more or less clearly in the mirror standing by one of the windows. Marinette was right – he did look rather good in those seemingly simple pieces. Perfect fit and sizing and one of his favourite colours. Satisfied, he stuck his soiled clothes in one of the bags lying around and sat on a nearby random box to wait for Marinette who still hadn’t emerged. He finally heard her whisper only about five minutes later, "Adrien?"

“Yes!” Jolting to an upright position, he tried to distinguish where she was, but the room looked as human-deprived as before.

“Could you—” the voice was coming from behind the screen by the window on the opposite side, the one Marinette vanished behind earlier. “Could you- help me?”

“Ah. Of course. Should I cover my eyes or are you in the clear?”

“You can keep them open if you don’t mind seeing my back.”

“Well, after our photoshoot-” Adrien chuckled coming closer but stopped as soon as Marinette came into view. She stood half turned to him, bathing in the soft light trickling from the window; her lips a bit ajar, eyes, though shyly, focused on him. The dress- Marinette in that dress looked absolutely breathtaking. Adrien sucked in air. If he didn’t know who she was, there would be no doubt in his mind, that that was Aphrodite herself, the pinnacle of Beauty who for some inexplicable reason was allowing him, a mere unworthy mortal, to behold her presence. His mind went blank, heart sprinting in a mad rush it’d never gone before. Breathing had never been so hard.

“I’m sorry,” Marinette whispered, her sight falling to the floor. “I was trying to deal with them myself, but I guess it's impossible. Could you help me out a little?”

Adrien swallowed and nodded, slowly walking closer. Marinette turned to face the window, revealing to him a row of tiny buttons going from the small of her back all the way up. She’d only managed a few from the bottom, and as he was fastening the rest, Adrien couldn’t help but steal a peek at the perfect, graceful curve of her back. His hands trembled, aching to touch, as the memory of just how soft Marinette’s skin was hit Adrien. Instinctively, he leaned closer and caught her scent. His throat went dry, and everything around seemed to blur. Adrien closed his eyes and almost growled, his hands working slower and slower on those buttons. This wasn’t happening. Not again. He couldn’t. She was his friend- This was not how it-

The thunder struck somewhere in the distance, splitting the silence of the room. Adrien snapped his eyes open and looked at Marinette. She seemed to be frozen in place. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing, she stood so still.

Barely breathing himself, Adrien finally allowed the thoughts that he’d been suppressing for the last two weeks if not longer to avalanche into his mind. He loved Ladybug, but she didn't want him. He gave Kagami a chance but spending more time together only proved that that was a mistake. Kagami wasn’t what he needed. Yes, she was very similar to him, but she also was everything he was trying to escape from. Rules, expectations, perfection, achievements. Adrien had had enough of those for his whole life. He wanted something more. Something different. He wanted warmth, laughter and trust. He needed intimacy. He ached for love. For different reasons but neither Kagami nor Ladybug could give that to him.

Marinette, on the other hand- Marinette was warmth and comfort, she was laughter and smiles, she was tears of joy and hugs to make him feel better, she was acceptance and love. His best friend, someone who liked his lame jokes and baked him treats. Someone who loved him and cared about him so much that she’d put aside her own happiness for the sake of his. Someone who wasn’t perfect but who also knew all of his quirks and accepted them, accepted him just the way he was. Someone who could understand him, and when she couldn't she tried her best. Someone incredibly beautiful inside and out. Spending time with Marinette only left him hungry for more. Being away felt like torture. She was everything Adrien craved for, everything he lacked. And she managed to be that for him while being his ‘just a friend’.

However, now- now he found himself yearning for more. Marinette- The memories of their photoshoots- The warmth of her embrace, the comfort of holding her close, his fingers against her skin, running along every curve of her body, teasing, enticing, her touch on his chest, his face, his arms, her lips so close, her breath burning against his lips-

The thunder struck again, concealing a low rumble from the back of Adrien’s throat, as he struggled to restrain himself from pressing Marinette against the wall and kissing her senseless. His hands came to a standstill as the question he was dreading to ask himself finally broke through. Was he- was he still in love with Ladybug if that was Marinette who constantly hovered on his mind these days? If it was Marinette and not his partner who made him feel like this? If it was Marinette without whom he couldn’t imagine his life anymore? Not Ladybug. Slowly Adrien got used to seeing her less and less, and to be honest, he didn’t even feel that bad about it. But if the last week had proven anything, it was that Adrien's days were bleak and grey without Marinette. Sure, they still texted every day, but that wasn't enough. Not even nearly enough for him. And Nino was right. Adrien did spend more time than usual preparing for today. How could he not? He was going to see Marinette. Being with her was just so- Was it really only lust or was it something more?

Boom!

The loud sound roared through the room once again, followed by a sound of heavy rain finally coming down. A soft whiff of air escaped Adrien’s lips as he smiled to himself. Of course. How did he not realize it sooner? His heart had changed owners and he didn't even notice. As if on autopilot, his arms, leaving the buttons, slowly reached forward and wreathed around Marinette's middle from behind, pulling her flush against his chest. He leaned forward and buried his face at the base of her neck, letting her name slip from his tongue, and as it did his lips brushed lightly against her skin. Marinette stiffed and half-turned her head to look at him.

“Adrien?”

He only hummed in the crook of her neck, nuzzling her skin.

“I didn’t know you were that afraid of thunder," she said quietly, her body feeling more and more tense in his arms with every passing moment. Adrien smiled. There it was – a classic Marinette. Giving him an escape route, as always. All he had to do now was to admit to suddenly developing an astraphobia and laugh it off, and they could go back to their normal selves. Only Adrien didn't want that anymore. So instead he asked, "Is it too late to hope that you're still in love with me?”

Marinette froze. Adrien couldn't even hear her breathe, yet he was confident that the wildly-paced heartbeat he felt was hers. He pressed her closer. “Please, tell me I’m not too late.”

“You knew?”

“For a few weeks now.”

“How?”

“The day I told you about Kagami in that café, I returned for my keys before Nino saw them.”

Marinette flinched. “Adrien, I- You don’t have to- I’ll be fine- and Kagami- She is perfect for you-”

Adrien stopped her by turning her around to face him, never letting her out of his embrace. His eyes locked on Marinette’s as he tenderly brushed away the hair from her cheek.

"None of that answers my question."

"It doesn't matter." Marinette smiled, her lips trembling, eyes quickly filling with tears. "You made a choice, and I respect it."

"I made a mistake, and I want to fix it," Adrien replied. "Marinette, I-" His sight fell on her lips, and he swallowed. "I- I think-"

Adrien wanted to explain, but tears slowly started to roll from Marinette's eyes despite her desperately trying to smile and show him that everything was alright, that she was just fine. His heart ached at her struggle, arms tightening around her fragile frame in the acute need to protect and to comfort the one he now knew he loved. He didn’t know how, though, and he didn't have time to contemplate. So, without thinking, Adrien did something that surprised even him. Holding her gaze, he leaned forward excruciatingly slowly and caught Marinette’s lips in a kiss. He kissed her gently, his lips barely moving, silently whispering to her everything he wanted to tell - apologizes, confessions and promises- in touch so seemingly insignificant yet so intimate, tender and profound, it changed his world instantly. The kiss was short, but when Adrien pulled back there was no doubt in his mind – Marinette was the one he was looking for.

“I’m -” Adrien breathed out. “I’m in love with you, Marinette. Please, tell me I didn’t realize it too late.”

Marinette replied with a quiet voice as another lighting stroke, and her face shined again. “I always loved you, Adrien. I never stopped. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able not to love you.”

Without hesitation, Adrien pulled her into another kiss, this one full of passion and fervour he couldn’t contain anymore. Marinette gasped at first, but as Adrien drew her flush against himself, she melted into his embrace. Her hands wrapped at the nape of his neck, as he, taking her by the hips, lifted her up and seated her on a nearby wall side-table to even out their heights. Briefly, Adrien let her lips go and trailed kisses down her neck and back up – thankfully he didn’t fasten all of those buttons – capturing her mouth once again. In that short period, Adrien heard his name slipped from Marinette's lips, and that was the most arousing sound he’d ever heard, so instinctively he pushed forward, pressing Marinette against the wall and deepening the kiss. This was where he belonged - in Marinette’s arms. His own arms tightened around her so much he didn’t know anymore where was he and where was Marinette. It was just them. Them as a whole, as a unit, unified by love and this kiss. And when Marinette pulled away he didn't want to let her go, trying to follow but she withdrew even further, getting off the table and stepping aside.

“I’m sorry, Adrien, but we can’t do that,” she whispered, looking what Adrien deemed to be upset or even scared, though, the reasons for that remained a mystery to him. “You have Kagami. I can’t do that,” she repeated.

Confused, Adrien tried to reach for her. “But I love you, Marinette.”

“Yet—” She stepped away even more. “—you’re dating Kagami.”

“I’ve already decided to end it.”

“Adrien,” Marinette insisted, her voice suddenly breaking. “I can’t do that. You can’t do that. You aren’t thinking clearly right now. It’s just a momentary weakness.”

“It’s not a momentary weakness, Marinette,” Adrien protested. “I honestly-"

“No! You’re just not realizing it," Marinette said stepping away even further. "It’s just lust- from that photoshoot- I went too far- I’m so sorry- it can’t be love-”

“Why? Marinette, why can’t it be love?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense!” she cried out, tears starting to spill out of her eyes again. "I was always there for you but always a friend- you always said I’m nothing more than a friend- you told me that for years. You told me that last week- and now suddenly you love me? Adrien- this- No- it's because we were- that photoshoot- it can’t be love- you would’ve seen me before- you would’ve noticed- but you- you never did- never- you never saw me, Adrien! And now you suddenly do? After that photoshoot-”

“Marinette-” Adrien tried to reach out to her, but she just shook her head and took another step back.

“I can’t do this- You are Kagami’s boyfriend- I can’t-”

“Marinette-” Adrien made a mistake of stepping closer because as soon as he did Marinette snatched her purse and her clothes from a nearby stool and dashed away. After a short hesitation, Adrien rushed after her, and since running in a high-fashion gown that was a little long on her and with a bundle of clothes in her hands wasn't very efficient, he easily caught up, sped right past, stopped ahead and caught her in his arms.

Marinette couldn’t stop in time to avoid Adrien but once she found herself pressed flush against his chest, she didn’t pull back. Instead, she let her tears flow and whispered, “Why do you do this, Adrien? Why do you not see me for years and only when you become unattainable you say you love me? I was working so hard to get over you.” She trembled in his arm as tears rolled down her cheeks. He only pulled her closer as she added, “Why do you have to hurt me so much?”

“I’m sorry,” Adrien whispered into the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Marinette. I am an idiot. I admit it. It was dumb and stupid of me not to notice you before. I-" he paused and inhaled before murmuring, "I had my attention somewhere else."

Marinette tensed as he continued, “I'm only human, Marinette, and I make mistakes. It takes me time to realize things, and I take wrong turns all the time, and I'm sorry, I know my obliviousness doesn’t help my case- and yes, you’re right - that photoshoot did help me to see you in a different light but, Marinette it helped me it didn’t start the process because you’ve already meant so much to me. I just needed a little push to see that, and that did it.”

Adrien felt Marinette almost curl on herself in his arms so he lightly nuzzled her hair and added, "I know the situation isn't ideal, but can we at least try? I love you, and you love me so can we give us a chance?”

“You aren’t free to give us a chance,” Marinette replied. “I would never forgive myself for stealing a boyfriend from a friend. Kagami loves you.”

Adrien sighed. "I was practically forced into that relationship. My father had this weird idea that I absolutely needed a girlfriend, and I thought that maybe it would help me to move on from someone who never returned my feelings, so I agreed. But he didn't give me much time to choose, so I made a mistake. I choose Kagami because I knew she liked me and I thought she would be perfect for me, but I was wrong. I mean, Kagami is great, and I am sure she'll make someone very happy, but it isn't going to be me. She isn't what I need. You are. I was trying. I swear, I was trying to fall in love with Kagami, but it isn’t happening. And at the same time, I’ve been trying my best to resist these newfound feelings for you and I can’t. They completely overwhelm me. I love you, Marinette. I love you so much I don't know if I can handle it.”

Marinette hid her face in his chest, her purse and the clothes in her hands falling to the floor as she gripped his shirt and cried. She tried to say something through her sobs but couldn't. There were only a few coherent words that Adrien distinguished, but those were enough to understand that Marinette hated the idea of breaking up someone's relationship. She loathed to be the other woman or steal a boyfriend from a friend who she knew loved him.

"Kagami knows I don't love her," Adrien responded, softly running his hands up and down Marinette's back in an attempt to comfort her. “I was always honest with her about that. I know it will be difficult, but she is our friend. She’ll understand.”

Marinette only snuggled closer to him.

"And," he continued. "You aren't breaking up anyone. I told you I’d already decided yesterday that it has to end. I'm just waiting for Fashion Week to be over so we can deal with it in private."

Marinette raised her face to him. Her eyes were full of tears, and yet he saw a little hope glimmering amongst the hesitation. His first instinct was to grab onto that and- Adrien stilled. The last thing he needed now was to push. He spent years pushing Ladybug, and it got him nowhere. If anything, it got him farther from his goal. He could lose Marinette too if he continued this way and that was the last thing Adrien wanted. He couldn't lose her as a friend; he dared to dream of a much happier ending than that. Therefore, this had to be done the right way.

“You aren’t stealing anyone from anyone. I promise,” Adrien reassured her, pulling away. He leaned down, picking up Marinette’s things and added, “I am done pretending I'm fine with stringing a friend along while loving another. It isn't fair to Kagami or me or you, but, please, please, don’t guilt yourself. It couldn’t be your fault. I hadn’t even realized I was in love with you until just now and in fact, I was planning to talk to you tomorrow and tell you I knew about your feelings and- and I was going to tell you I don’t love you so you could move on.”

“Oh."

“Yeah,” Adrien nervously chuckled. “But then I saw you in there, and you were so beautiful, and I couldn’t even think about losing you, so it just all clicked and- and I realized how helplessly in love I'm with you."

There it was – that adorable blush on Marinette’s cheeks and a tiny genuine smile on her lips.

“But I won’t force myself on you, Marinette. I'm sorry for my behaviour back there. I should’ve kept myself in check.”

“I let myself go too,” Marinette replied. “I-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupted.

“Kissing someone else’s boyfriend is not exactly the pinnacle of decency.”

“I kissed you first,” Adrien rebuked, his eyes glazing over her lips. “You would’ve never kissed me back if I didn’t do that first.”

"You're right," Marinette suddenly smirked. "It’s your fault-”

“Meanie,” Adrien pouted. "Couldn't we shared the blame?"

“Your fault," Marinette continued. "For being so handsome and charming, I couldn't resist you."

Adrien snorted and laughed. "Alright, alright. I accept my defeat. I'm to blame entirely."

Marinette stuck her tongue at him and fell silent. He locked his eyes on her as well and didn't say a word. For a few moments, they simply stood there, looking at each other until Adrien cleared his throat and asked, "Will you think about it? About us? We could wait for things to settle down before deciding on anything if you want. I’ll wait for you - it’ll be worth it. And if you decide that we’d better remain friends, then I’ll accept that too. I promise.”

Without words, Marinette nodded and took her things from his hands.

“Thank you,” Adrien whispered, gently brushing her hair in its place. "Should we go back then?"

“Would you mind if I go home instead?”

Adrien shook his head. “Not at all. I don’t feel like going down there myself.”

“But unlike me, you have to.”

"I do," he groaned. "The perks of being an Agreste."

“You’ll survive,” Marinette giggled. “But do apologize to Luka for me.”

“Of course. Do you have a ride?”

“I’ll take a taxi.”

“That won’t do,” Adrien protested. “I’ll have my driver take you home.”

“Oh, no need. I can manage-"

“Marinette,” Adrien interrupted. “It’s night and storming out there. I want you home safe and don't blame me, but I don't trust random taxi drivers at night with you looking so incredibly beautiful. Someone might steal you away, and then I'll die of sorrow,” he wailed dramatically. “We'll be the New Age Romeo and Juliet, and Alya will write our tragic love story that never happened in a play with Nino composing the most touching music for it. Do you really want that? People will be devastated after watching it, crying in anguish and misery for our lost happiness. Plus," he coked his head to the side and winked at her. "Just think about what my father would do when he finds out that one of his precious dresses was in a public taxi. Can you imagine the horror?"

The corners of Marinette’s lips twitched in a smile. “You are still such a dork even in situations like this.”

“Your smile’s worth the trouble," Adrien replied with a smile of his own before pulling out his cell and calling Gorilla. Then he quickly finished fastening her buttons, and they walked in silence all the way down to the foyer to pick up Marinette’s coat and out to the back door where Gorilla was waiting for them.

“I’m sorry for spoiling this evening for you,” Adrien said, once Marinette climbed into the back seat of his car.

“That’s fine,” Marinette timidly smiled at him. “You aren’t the only one to blame for everything.”

“I’ll take the full responsibility as we agreed,” he said, leaning down and tenderly kissing Marinette’s forehead. “You should go home and rest and then think about what I said, okay? And call me. I’ll wait for your call.”

“Okay.” Marinette nodded “Good night.”

“Good night,” Adrien replied and closed the door. He watched the car to turn the corner and then directed his attention back to the venue. Walking back into the building, he stopped in the main foyer. A huge "G" hung from the ceiling, overpowering everything else in the space. Adrien silently scoffed. It was about the right time he grew a pair and finally told his father to back off ordering him around. He was done playing games and blindly following the rules. He finally knew what he wanted, who he wanted. He finally had a real chance to be happy, and he'd be damned if he would let his father and his stupid “No Dating Internally” rule to stand in the way. The only one who was allowed to stop him now was Marinette. His eyes shifted to the entrance of the hall where people were busy celebrating. Somewhere inside were his friends and Kagami. He hoped she'd understand. He knew she wouldn't like what he was going to say, and he hated hurting her, but that had to be done. Neither of them could carry on like this. One breath in and one out for bravery and with a silent prayer in his heart Adrien went in.

The necklace Adrien gave Marinette for her birthday - 

The dress Adrien chose for Marinette to wear -

The necklace can be yours just for 1700 EURO - https://www.cwsellors.co.uk/products/mikimoto-18ct-rose-gold-diamond-akoya-pearl-cherry-blossom-necklace-pp-20322d-z 

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#miraculous ladybug #ml fiction #aged up adrienette #kagami tsurugi #forbidden love #fltw #Adrien can't resist her forever #he's had enough