#but then again who knows right! I regularly convince myself I have all sorts of problems and then my SyMpTomS change

[corpsegold]

ok so I started this therapy thing. And she got me to fill out one of those questionnaires like depression and anxiety. And she was like ok so what are your main problems then. And I thought to myself, idk, I was expecting you to tell me that? I went with social anxiety, because I’m coming out of a heavy drinking phase and drinking is the most obvious problem with my mental right now, and because afaict drinking is bc of social anxiety. She looked at the results and pointed out that actually I’m not that anxious at all and I wasn't drunk talking to her. I haven't been drinking much at all recently. Part of it is because my mood has shifted, but also I’ve run out of money. I left thinking about how actually its not social anxiety and that drinking probably started that way and then became about low mood, because its much worse in the winter. But I know that depression isn't the root of my problem. I have a strong hunch that there's something deeper that's wrong with me. I have this feeling that I actually WANT to be mentally ill. I don't think I'm actively trying to be, I think most of my mentally ill behaviour like drinking and being depressed are legit, but I don't think they stand on their own compared to other people with those problems. I can see from some of my reactions to things that have happened and been said to me that I’m eager to get labels, whatever they may be (some very much more than others I have realized) and given how I’m quick to take up and abandon various “ill behaviours” whilst voraciously researching them and the people who have them, probably none of it is genuinely legit as its own standalone problem. Recently whilst sobering up from drinking I had another realization which thankfully I can’t remember most of but it really got me down. Its something I’ve realized a few times before over the years but I kind of block it out? I’m not 100% sure, but I have this hunch. 

I basically realized how my problem isn't social anxiety, its being rejected. Its the reflection of failure. Its having to experience my failure and shortcomings and not have a buffer or a shield or an excuse. I’m starting to think that the reason I cant engage with hobbies, the reason I cant stand being around people, the reason I push friends away, the reason I have never gotten into a romantic relationship isn't because of strictly being paranoid (I’m not really that paranoid 99% of the time), or anxiety, or drinking. Its just all about being completely terrified of failure and unable to cope with it.

I avoid interacting bc its usually negative and I hate myself for it. I avoid relationships because I don't think I have the personality or skillset for it and it would blow up in my face and I’d have to actually face my shortcomings and I don't know if I would actually survive that long term.

I avoid my interests that are skill based because I will probably cry and panic when I’m not immediately good at it. I avoid making things because I can’t cope with not being as good at it as I imagine I am (or was). I collect disordered behaviours of all kinds and constantly make a hobby of thinking of myself as suffering from various mental illnesses because I want an excuse. I want to not be to blame for how I’ve destroyed my life and caused destruction to others. I want to be able to feel like life just dealt me a shit hand and its everyone else’s fault that this has happened.

Like don’t get me wrong I know I suck at lots of things. I know I can be a huge cunt. I don't want to be, but only because I want people to like me. I only have empathy for a handful of people, and its because I fear not being worthy of them or that they might hate me when I neglect or am insensitive to them. I’m very bitter about things my parents have done when they have actually sacrificed a great deal for me. I find it hard to feel grateful to them because I feel like I deserved that and more. Many of the things I’ve done that have upset or hurt other people make me feel guilty and ashamed but to be honest? I think its mostly because it reflects badly on me as a person, not because they're in pain. A lot of the time, anyway. There are times where I’ve definitely had some empathy, for a set group of people (that I’ve known a long time).

but for all I can admit that I suck at things, I struggle to actually accept that its entirely my fault or the result of my decisions. I want that responsibility to be taken off my shoulders. I want to be told that I’m not actually at fault or that I can help it. 

I think in the end I guess I want to be told I’m allowed to act this way?

I think about how my mood can flip flop- but really its not in the style of bipolar. I don't fit the criteria. Its just about self esteem. I go from feeling like I’m hot shit, fucking brilliant, “get out of my way before I run you over I’m the best at this and you can’t see it yet” because of some minor success or recognition, and then next thing I know I have some perceived (real or actual) small or large failure and I get completely distraught over it and start thinking I don't deserve to live.

What I actually should say to this woman in this therapy, is that my goal is to be extremely successful, and to be liked and respected by everyone I meet. I’d take just being wildly successful (fat fucking chance), but really I want both. I’d say I want to be loved and happy, but that actually I’m not sure I know what that feels like or if I’m capable of feeling it. I’d say that honestly, I think I’d rather be worshipped, if I could stand it without hating myself. I think the fact that I’m too scared to risk seeing that those things don't come naturally to me, or that I don't know how to secure them, is what makes me depressed and causes me to drink, or find ways to numb or distract myself, like using mental illness as a hobby. It’s what drove me to shagging over a hundred men in a few years (seeing how many I could fit in solo sessions in a week - the answer is 10 a few times over), its why I failed my degree (by not turning up), its why I feel shame when people bring up my treating them unfairly- but when they don't, and I think about it, I don't actually care, or I readily come up with a barrage of excuses. Because I want to think its not actually my fault and that I deserve it, or that its fine because one day I’ll be wildly successful and I’ll pay everyone back so I wont ever have to think about it or them again.

I learnt my lesson about self diagnosing. Its not about what I want to be told is wrong with me. I don't really understand the diagnostic language and I’m not qualified so its actively harmful to read deeper into it other than having a basic awareness at least at this stage. I do however have a strong hunch about what might be the root of my problems. Its why I doubt that I’m actually mentally ill, even though I might act like it. Its why I think I’m actually just a shit person. 

I want to be better and I don’t know how. I want to be nice to people. I want people to like me and I want to have successful relationships. I don't want to feel like a failure.

But yeah. I have a hunch. Its just a hunch. Its embarrassing and I don't know how I’ll handle it when they figure it out. I can’t hide it by throwing behaviours or symptoms in their face of other things. I can tell that they see through it and that something’s fishy with me. And I know I do genuinely experience these problems- like depression and drinking, but they're symptomatic of something deeper. I hope that the fact that I can recognize this sometimes means that there’s hope or that I’m wrong about this too. 

I dont know how to meaningfully apologize to people for being like this. 

My gut reaction when I start to think about how I’ll feel when I find out is anger towards my parents for taking my future away from me. That kind of confirms it in my book.

#i have small idea that the root of my issues is #having the thing where deep deep down you really hate yourself #and do everything you can to not face or feel it head on #I think my behaviours are because I'm not very good at coping with that #i think i have that self esteem disorder #I think I'm sorry to friends about it #I imagine if this is the case that they probably can already tell I'm really like this #they probably figured it out ages ago #but then again who knows right! I regularly convince myself I have all sorts of problems and then my SyMpTomS change #maybe I'm like. Muchhausens or whatever its called and just making it up #if i really had the self esteem disorder I wouldnt be able to tell right? #whatever I'm gonna take some sleepers and knock myself out #vent

[cryptidshadows]

Hey, I hope this is okay to ask.

So, I’m a trans guy, and I know this, but I get really heavy imposter syndrome and feel like I’m faking it.

I logically know I’m not faking it, if that makes sense, but I can’t stop the thoughts when I get super dysphoric.

Do you have any tips for that? Does it get better with time?

I’m pre-transition and the thought of transitioning scares me when I see all of these detransition interviews and stuff, but I can’t live as a woman, either, because that feels like living a lie.

Anyways, thanks if you answer this (even if you don’t, thanks for reading). I really appreciate it.

I feel you dude. The good thing here is that you recognize your imposter syndrome for what it is - a false voice in your head, something which isn’t true. It’s ironic that it’s when you’re most dysphoric that your mind can somehow convince you that you’re not. You’re literally suffering from living in a way that’s not compatible with who and what you are. I'll put my recommendations under the cut.

I highly recommend journaling for anyone who’s struggling with imposter syndrome, PTSD or self-worth. I regularly write out the things that are bothering me. Putting them on paper in a physical journal helps me sort out those thoughts, makes them something solid and tangible, and helps me to look at them from a logical standpoint. When it’s all in my head, it’s so messy and hard to untangle and look at through a different lens. Once it’s on paper, it feels so much easier to digest and rationalize, and then let go of the thoughts that are not useful to you.

Meditation is great for this as well. Even ten minutes a day can help clear noise, and there are great free guided meditations that are 10-15 minutes long, even on Youtube. Daily Calm has a series of them that I use regularly!

I know my opinion on this is likely not popular, but I think it’s good that you’ve chosen to expose yourself to detransition stories. Listening to different experiences can be valuable, caution is healthy and it can help you to determine if you’re on the right track for what’s best for you. However, some detransitioners are alarmist and purposely push an anti-trans agenda which can be very harmful to people who can benefit from medical transition. If you’re struggling with imposter syndrome, their stories could convince you that you’re also somehow faking it, or that your dysphoria isn’t real - or even that your dysphoria IS real, but medical intervention won’t help you. That's not true for the vast majority of us.

Another thing that may help you is to imagine yourself 10 years from now, or 20, or even late in life - what’s the picture you feel most at peace with? Are you seeing yourself as a man in his 30s or 40s, with a home he likes, doing something he enjoys? Can you picture yourself as an elderly man? Is that a picture that makes you feel content with your future?

You stated that you know you can’t live as a woman because it feels like living a lie. That’s exactly the realization I came to process and understand myself. I felt wrong, trapped, distressed in my body and day-to-day life. HRT helped me tremendously, as did a lot of change in my mindset towards my body and people’s perception of it. It was a slow process but it has changed things for the better in immeasurable ways.

The last thing I’ll mention is if you haven’t gotten yourself a packer or binder, or something else that you think could be affirming for you, do that if you can! I can’t put to words what my first packer did for me. Taking those first steps could really solidify things for you, and the best part is, you can take it off if you want to - there's nothing irreversible about it. I really hope this helps at least a little bit and don’t be afraid to reach out again if you need it.

#asks #ask me anything #ftm trans #hrt testosterone #imposter syndrome

[sucker-for-shifters]

For Day 15 of GtWAC:

Authors, share a little lore, be it from your main story or an AU.

~~~

I have to limit myself, because if I rambled about all the lore that's in my head right now, we'd be here for a week straight.

From Beyond the Grave:

During Wynn's initial life, he served under Queen Aurora, who convinced her kingdom that they were being threatened by supernatural beings that wanted to kill them. Wynn initially became a knight to protect people, but under Queen Aurora's rule, he regularly ventured out to stop "threats to the kingdom". His blind faith in his Queen (not to mention her threats towards those who didn't believe her) made him turn a blind eye to what he and the others were doing, and he quickly rose up the ranks to become one of her more favored knights. However, when he was off on one of his last missions, he broke when he saw them slaughtering entire families, and seeing for himself that their "protection" was actually more like genocide. His spirit completely broke, but the Queen refused to let him leave, instead sending him out on one last mission: Killing the green dragon that inhabited a nearby forest. Reluctantly, Wynn goes, and he proceeds to let the dragon kill him in order to make up for his wrongdoings. It's currently unknown why he resurrected a century later, but he's making a better use of his "life" knowing that he can make amends. However, even in "life", he isn't alive again permanently, having to absorb the life energy from other living things in order to survive.

In the meantime, Cen has been alone for many years, being seen as a burden by the other fae due to being unable to fly or use magic without passing out. He doesn't specify exactly what he's suffering from aside from describing himself as "unusually weak", but he suffers from something akin to chronic fatigue, with his most prominent symptoms being his near-constant insomnia and low energy levels. He labels himself as a paperweight, but in reality, he's very capable when put in the right situation. When needed, he is able to use magic and/or fly for short periods of time, but he can't do it for long before he runs out of energy. More often than not, he lets his mind do most of the heavy lifting, having idly studied all sorts of subjects over the years.

Inquisitive Minds for the Supernatural Kind:

While many different Supernaturals live in Umbra/The Underground, there aren't actually many other brownies living there, especially ones like Gray. In fact, Gray is quite an outlier, both physically and socially. Due to being so small compared to other Supernaturals (avg. 5.5" compared to a human-sized Supernatural), brownies tend to live in the shadows, using already-established buildings as cover and scavenging for the things that they need, much like borrowers. However, brownies have a few tricks up their sleeve, including the ability to turn invisible on a dime and, in some variants, turn into animals to disguise themselves. While you'd think that you'd find them in more established societies/groups, brownies are mainly lone wolves. While it helps them remain hidden, it also leaves them open to the dangers that you'd normally expect, like getting trampled, attacked by an animal, or freezing to death.

Usually, brownies stand about 5.5" (males) and 5.0" (females) tall respectively, and generally have darker hair, skin, and eye colors. They also have short pointed ears, and generally have freckles or other types of similar skin markings. Their hair is usually a bit more unkempt, and usually ranges from a dark brunette to a black color, though there are lighter variations. More often than not, brownies are assertive and don't take any nonsense, fighting back fiercely when they've been wronged, looked down upon/discriminated against, or are otherwise in danger. Gray, however, is a solid inch taller than average (standing at 6.5", where a normal male brownie would only reach his collarbone), has sleek silver hair, green eyes, and fair skin. He's also very meek when he's first introduced, not to mention a big pushover/people-pleasing.

This isn't touched on in the introductory story itself, but a thing that I really wanted to work on for worldbuilding.

#g/t #giant/tiny #gtwac #writer appreciation #g/t writing #from beyond the grave #detective light novel #tw violence #cw violence #tw death #cw death #tw death mention #cw death mention #tw murder #cw murder #disability

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

tw: grooming?, references/mentions to self-harm and suicide

hi so im just sort of. like. going through it right now and ive got like two weeks before i can see my therapist again and id just kinda like a spot to talk about it and stuff so. yk. here i am

for context, when i was like 12 i was Intensely lonely. i went to school in the most desolate, miserable "town" in rural ireland, and idk if you know this but ireland is Kind of Shit. like not terrible awful but just. not. Veery good in terms of bigotry and bullying (+ kids are cruel).

i have autism (that was only diagnosed AFTER i was out of primary school, go figure) which made me a prime target for bullying (mainly in the sense of intense exclusion and social neglect, briefly and rarely broken up by people walking up to me to laugh at me and make a joke out of me). i had like one friend who i hardly spoke to, my grandfather had died that year and i was knee-deep in a self-harm Deal (i refuse to say addiction for my own comfort).

so, as all lonely, mentally unwell children who had unrestricted access to the internet did, i went online to try and make friends. i joined one of those "mental health support" discord servers and started trying to talk to people. i was objectively a lot more Outgoing as a child, so i joined voice calls and spoke in there pretty often to try and socialise. and at one point, in one of the servers (i joined multiple), a certain guy joined the vc, and once everyone left he dm'd me. ill just call him H for convenience (+ iirc his name started with an h? i dont remember though)

i dont remember exactly how he started talking to me (in terms of like, how the conversation went), but we just sorta started talking regularly after.

he asked me about what music i listened to (which was, conveniently, one of the few things i was able to talk about with enthusiasm), asked if my parents knew i listened to music like that. hed ask me to send him picture of my cuts if i self-harmed ("to gauge how bad they were", according to him) ((though of course he specified to "not send them if they were on my tits" <- verbatim)), would just randomly talk about sexual topics (not often, but still). at one point he sent me a picture of a condom he found in a bin at work. sometimes hed just send me pictures of himself just like. hanging out. just of his face and stuff, yk? and idk when i started or why but id send him pictures of myself as well. i sent him a picture of my hair when i first had it cut short. he complimented me a lot. called me cute and pretty and stuff like that. and it was nice because of course it was. at one point im pretty sure he said i seemed more mature for my age (which he knew, since i TOLD him). he was like, 24 i think. hed vent to me a lot as well, and obviously id try to comfort him because i viewed him as like, a friend and stuff. we voice-called pretty often. iirc he specifically asked me to voice call with him. (a lot of this is vague because his account disappeared at some point. idk if he just unfriended me or if he deleted his account) and i vented back to him about how lonely i was and stuff and because i FINALLY had someone who would like. listen to me. someone to talk to, yk?

at some point he texted me at like. 9 pm or whatever telling me he was going to kill himself (a thing which he repeatedly talked to me about). he sent me a picture of himself crying and fucking obviously i panicked i was 12. so i tried to like, convince him not to (and asked another group of people i knew ((who were ALSO all adults)) for help and they didnt really do anything. and also didnt think this was fucking WEIRD. thanks for fucking nothing, tim.) but then H just kinda like. went offline at some point and left me to panic. he was fine though, but he just sorta started ghosting me after that and i had other stuff to focus on at that point so it just kinda. ended like that.

i only remembered any of this recently (which like, i have issues with my short-term memory as is, but like, all this shit happened ages ago and impacted me a lot. i cant talk to people online without being worried im being a creep and stuff) and i didnt really realise how fucking WEIRD it was. but like im still so, yk, confused and self-doubt-y about it. it makes me feel better to call it grooming but i also feel like a fake for it because "oh what if im WRONG. such trauma is not meant for me because such trauma would mean i have some sort of community i could get help from and be a part of, and im not IMPORTANT enough to have impactful, Real trauma" which is just, so dumb but i cant really stop myself.

idk what im expecting to get from sending this but like. i just want something, yk? sorry

-aries

Hey aries,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through. It sounds like there may have been some grooming involved that led to a very intense situation that, honestly, a 12 year old should not have to deal with. I can also understand the hurt and confusion around him being fine but ghosting you afterwards, as not having closure to an experience like that can feel betraying and disorienting. It makes sense that this had a major impact on you, especially considering that this happened at such a formative time of your life.

It sounds like you may be dealing with self-gaslighting or self-victim blaming surrounding this experience, and please know that you're not alone. But I think it's worth considering that what you went through could definitely be distressing, scary, and involves a life threatening situation with a lot of uncertainty, which is how a lot of people develop trauma, so please know that it's valid to feel traumatized by this experience. Additionally, you deserve support and sense of community, although it may be hard to internalize when you have thoughts that try to convince you otherwise.

If you can access or afford it, a mental health professional such as a therapist could be invaluable to you as you navigate your healing journey. A therapist could work with you to process this trauma and explore these thoughts that can cause obstacles in your healing process.

I hope I could help and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #tw abuse #tw ableism #tw emotional abuse #tw sui #tw death #tw self harm #tw sh #aries

[glowingbadger]

I loved the Ashe, Sylvain, and Hilda modern-day HCs. So….can I ask for….Marianne, Dima, and Claude now? They’re so so good.

Here's a quick list of the places I've touched on ModernAU stuff with these characters before, for anyone who's interested! General Modern HCs (Dimitri) W/ insecure Reader (Claude, Dimitri) W/ insecure Reader (Marianne) Soft HCs (Dimitri)

I'll try not to repeat myself too much, but the SFW portion might be a little sparse because I've written a good deal of my thoughts on that already :3

Marianne, Dimitri, Claude x GN Reader

Modern/College AU headcanons

SFW (not sfw under the cut)

Marianne:

- Definitely a veterinary student who has an incredible, intuitive way with animals. One of those "gets along with animals better than people" types. As a result, many others in her classes see her as aloof or difficult to talk to. Fortunately, when Hilda drags her to a party one night, you notice her keeping to herself and come to make casual conversation. It takes a bit for her to open up, but she's soon grateful for pleasant, relaxing company in the midst of the loud chaos.

- She needs a good amount of reassurance in a relationship, as she's so convinced you could do better. Marianne is totally the type to apologize for not being good enough for you, then apologize for bringing it up, then apologize for apologizing. But her love and admiration for you are so very clear. She'll shyly take your hand in hers, and just the way she looks at you, it's like you're every star and every sunset she's ever seen.

- Marianne spends some of her free time volunteering at a local animal shelter, and one of your earlier dates would involve her introducing you to some of the animals in her care. Here, it's like you see a completely different side of her- she's so much more confident and firm when she speaks to the animals, and she smiles so brightly and laughs adorably as she watches you attempt to make a good impression on them.

Dimitri:

- We've chatted about Modern! Dimitri a good deal so far- but I will double down here on the fact that, while he's outwardly extremely intimidating to your friends when you first start dating, you know (and they learn) that he's absolute Malewife material.

- He loves sitting on video calls with you and just staring at your adorable, lovely face. He's an excellent listener, and will gladly hear about your entire day from start to finish, even if you insist it was nothing special. He's just so soothed by your voice, and the chance to see you. While he's honestly not very good at social media in general, he does have a couple hundred pictures of you saved. Not to post anywhere, just to look back at with a goofy grin on his face.

Claude:

- Claude is the guy on campus that everyone likes, plenty of people want, but no one can really nail down. He seems to know everyone, but he's only actually close to a few good friends, and for the longest time, even they assume that he's the "doesn't believe in serious dating" type. It starts much the same with you- he figures you're interesting and cute as hell, so he may as well spend some time having fun and getting to know you. And then... the feels TM creep in.

- You'll be caught up in a sort of... friendly flirtation with him for a while. The kind where it would be easy to play off all of the corny innuendos and knowing glances as "just kidding around." Then, one night, after a long group study session or just lazing around with drinks and games with his friends, he offers to walk you back to your dorm. When you get caught in a sudden downpour and have to duck under the nearest building's awning for shelter, he gives you a strange lingering look that's so much heavier than any you've seen. And without a word, he leans down to kiss you. When you part, he's wearing a slanted smile, but he's fidgeting a bit when he says, "Hey, uh, Y/N. I wanna be with you- for real. So uh... how 'bout it?"

- Claude is just the most fun boyfriend ever. He's got an active and curious mind, so he's always game to try anything you're interested in, and you'll never be at a loss for date ideas. He's the kind who gets okay grades, though nothing incredible, but his brilliance shines in how he latches on to new information, turning a topic around in his mind until he's seen it from every angle. It's especially charming when he asks to hear about your interests or areas of expertise- he asks all the right questions and the conversation becomes lively just about instantly.

NSFW 18 + v

Marianne:

- You're definitely her first sexual partner (she hasn't even dated seriously until you), and she's going to take a long time to get comfortable freely exploring the physical side of a relationship. She's a big cuddler, once you've assured her that you like it too- she finds it immensely soothing to rest her head on your shoulder or on your chest, just listening to your breathing and feeling you warm against her. But as for sexual affection, she'll start slow, testing things by letting her gentle hands tentatively wander just a little further than before, or deepening your kiss a little more than usual.

- Best practice with Marianne is to let her be the one to suggest or initiate things, but to respond enthusiastically when she does so she knows you're happy with it and you want her as much as she wants you. Your approval and encouragement fills her with warmth she's never felt before, and a sense of bold desire she hadn't even known she was capable of. There's plenty of communication with her- there has to be -but in a way, that becomes its own sort of eroticism. Soft murmurs of, "is this okay?", "does that feel good?", or "can you take more?" mix in with affirmative sighs and moans, turning the negotiation of comfort into a wonderful, slowly escalating path towards satisfaction.

- She's absolutely mortified by the idea of sexting or sending nudes, but if she sends you an outfit she's considering and reply with a coy "You look amazing- can't wait to take that off of you" (honestly the cheesier the better with the pickup lines- being too smooth would intimidate her)- she'll only respond with a single blushing emoji, but you bet she'll be wearing that outfit to your next date.

Dimitri:

- Everyone on campus, including your friends/roomates see Dimitri as such a pure cinnamon roll that you might be surprised to learn he has a rather healthy sex drive underneath all of that sweetness and affection. Granted, he's definitely most likely to desire you when he feels emotionally close to you- but that won't stop him from fucking you nice and deep until your bed creaks. The first time someone overhears you practically screaming out his name, rumors start spreading that your ever-devoted Malewife is actually legendary in bed. It's mostly a raunchy joke, but as far as you're concerned, they're not exactly wrong.

- He's too nervous to actually save any of the spicy pics you've sent him to his phone, but that doesn't stop him from regularly scrolling back through your message threads to find them. Masturbating to porn is fine and good, but when he can look at you biting your lip as you show off your body to him, he pumps his cock and bucks his hips against his hand until he cums far harder than he's used to. Dimitri especially gets a thrill out of the implied part of this- the fact that you wanted to flaunt yourself to him like this and made sure that he would linger on the sight of you.

- A very fun game is to comment or imply something about how good Dimitri fucks you while you're hanging out with his friends. He stammers and turns bright red when you mention how, "Oh don't you worry, Dimitri keeps me nice and satisfied, don't you babe?" with your eyebrows quirked playfully. His buddies nudge him and laugh, and as timid as he appears about it, he'll need you as soon as you're alone together, and he'll hold you extra close and pound into you a little harder than usual.

Claude:

- Alright. Claude is hot, and Claude knows he's hot, and he has no problem using this to his advantage. He'll absolutely send you gym selfies, or raunchy messages when he knows you're with friends or family. During minor disagreements or when you're pretending to be mad at him, he'll slip an arm around your waist and nibble at your ear, whispering, "C'mon babe, don't be like that..." before pulling you close and kissing you until you can't think straight.

- He absolutely doesn't care if people overhear you- in fact, he'll tease you about it, murmuring in your ear that you can't keep moaning for him like that or you'll be heard. But the fact that he's fucking into you harder and deeper as he says it tells you clearly that he wants you to cry out for him. In general, he's pretty shameless about your shared sex life if you allow him to be. He'll practically strut out of your room to clean up in just his boxers, not caring a bit if your roommates get an eyeful. He's handsy in public as well (again, depending on your comfort with it), and will absolutely grab a handful of your ass while you're on a date together, or trail his hand up your thigh during a movie.

- Claude is adventurous and open minded about sex in general, as I've mentioned a couple times. Hell, he'll even send you a porn clip or a bit of smut, along with a brief "we should try this ;)"- and he obviously loves when you do the same for him. He sees no reason to be shy with his partner about your mutual pleasure. Communicating your preferences will make sure you both enjoy yourselves, and the process of even talking about it can be pretty hot on its own.

#marianne von edmund #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #claude von riegan #marianne x reader #dimitri x reader #claude x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #feh #fire emblem headcanons #modern au #fluff and smut #fire emblem x reader #x reader

[pitch-pearl-void]

Old birthday present for @ectoblood who wanted Phantom and Danny to go to prom together (AU where Danny met Phantom as his own person)

A hand touched Danny’s, but when he turned to look, no one was there. Danny returned his attention to the dance and spread his fingers apart. Invisible fingers slipped into the resulting gap and folded over his hand, squeezing. Danny’s lips twitched into a small smile, relief loosening his tense muscles, excitement quickening his heart.

“I was worried you wouldn’t make it,” he said. The music was loud enough to hide the conversation, and anyway, who would notice?

“I almost didn’t,” Phantom replied. Cool lips pressed a kiss to Danny’s cheek. “Johnny heard it was your prom night, and he insisted on giving me a lecture about human safety measures pertaining to an ‘after party dance’ that I completely blanked on. I think he was just making things up to scare me. It does explain why so many parents volunteered as chaperons this time, though.”

Danny bit his lip and willed his cheeks not to flush. “Speaking of parents, Jazz convinced mine to leave the ghost hunting equipment at home.”

“Oh, good. Perhaps I should stay invisible for now, though.”

Although Danny nodded, he felt something like disappointment sink into his stomach. The hand he held in his own was bare, the touch of Phantom’s skin as always sending little sparks of contact to dance along his nerves. Phantom wasn’t wearing the gloves of his repurposed jumpsuit, which meant he had to be wearing something else. He might have gotten dressed up. He might have borrowed one of Danny’s suits or an outfit more in line with his ghost heritage, but Danny wouldn’t see, couldn’t see, until they left the dance.

Which sort of defeated the purpose.

“Where are Sam and Tucker?”

Danny searched the crowd of dancers until he saw the flash of Sam’s dress pass beneath the shifting-colored lights above the dance floor. He pointed at her as Tucker spun her out, the two of them laughing at the annoyed looks the others were giving them. They were moving too fast for a slow song. They were having fun when they were supposed to stare lovingly into their partner’s eyes.

“Over there,” Danny said. “Sam wanted to ‘liven things up.’ The romance crowd has had a death grip on the DJ all night, and Tucker is helping her protest.”

“Do you think their scheme will work before we have a chance to dance?” Phantom asked, sounding a little worried.

Danny glanced at Phantom, though again he saw nothing. “Do you know how to dance?”

Phantom’s hand squeezed Danny’s, and his voice took on a proud tone. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve been practicing.”

“Human dances or ghost dances?”

Cold air gusted into Danny’s face like a reprimand, but the gym was so hot with so many human bodies gathered inside that Danny closed his eyes and welcomed the breeze. “Human,” Phantom said. But then he added in an undertone, “sort of.”

Danny opened his eyes again and gave Phantom an askance look. “Sort of?”

Phantom glided ahead of Danny and tugged gently on his hand. “I’ll show you.”

Danny resisted the pull and swept his eyes left then right. “Phantom, I’ll look like a total idiot dancing by myself, I can’t—” Cold energy rushed over Danny, and his hand disappeared from sight. He lifted his free hand to be sure it too was invisible. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Duh.”

Phantom chuckled. “Duh.”

He tugged on Danny’s hand again, and this time, Danny allowed Phantom to lead him forward. He located his parents for safety’s sake, but once he saw his mom dancing with his dad, her head resting on his chest, he returned his attention to where Phantom was leading him. Toward the dance floor, obviously, but how were they going to dance while invisible? People would be bumping into them from all directions. Even along the way, Phantom had to pause or weave around the partygoers crossing their path.

They reached the edge of the dance floor, and Danny still didn’t understand how they were going to pull it off, not until his invisible arm rose above his head, his feet lifted off the floor, and his tuxedo jacket floated off his back. Danny widened his eyes. Phantom tugged on his arm, pulling him higher and higher until they floated well above the dancers.

A moment later, Danny felt Phantom kiss his hand. “Ghosts float when they dance. Is it too much?”

The lights were brighter so close to the ceiling. The speakers—located beside the DJ’s table—were quieter and Danny could hear the nervous tension in Phantom’s voice. There was a part deep inside Danny that urged him to say yes. Turning invisible was one thing, allowing a ghost to dance with him in midair should have been another. It wasn’t so long ago he was as frightened of ghosts as the rest of the students, perhaps more so because of his parents’ experiments and lectures.

But things had changed, and the love and excitement stirring Danny’s heart into a wild rhythm were louder than the caution his parents had taught him.

“It’s perfect,” he said, trying to match his voice to his grin so Phantom would understand how happy he had just made him. “How long can you keep this up?”

Between the flight and the invisibility…

“Oh, perhaps two or three songs.” Phantom lifted Danny’s hand upward. Another cool hand pressed against Danny’s lower back and pulled him closer. It was a more traditional dance pose than Danny was used to, and he raised his eyebrows even as his stomach fluttered and swooped. “I should take a break afterward to keep from exhausting myself.”

Danny laughed, mostly due to nervous excitement. “Right! Yeah. Don’t want to fall on the others below.”

“That would be bad,” Phantom agreed. “Are you ready?”

Danny searched blindly for Phantom’s shoulder with his free hand, found his chest—it felt like Phantom wore a jacket, same as Danny—and slid his hand up until it could rest on Phantom’s shoulder. His other hand squeezed Phantom’s. “Ready.”

Phantom moved, rotating them slowly around a fixed point in a waltz. Danny moved his feet out of reflex, but it wasn’t like dancing on the floor at all. Phantom controlled the dance. He spun around Danny and pulled Danny along with him, unrestricted by gravity and the slow steps humans had to take. It felt graceful, effortless, like flying. Danny didn’t have to worry about knowing the steps to a waltz, he just had to enjoy the ride. He grinned out of reflex and relaxed into the dance, allowing Phantom to twirl and spin them around each other. The slow song ended and a faster, more upbeat song began. He laughed, and Phantom echoed him. Sam had won her protest.

Phantom spun Danny out and pulled him back in without Danny needing to do anything more than hold onto his hand, but without being able to see Phantom or Phantom him, Danny crashed into Phantom’s chest with a little grunt of surprise. 

“I suppose,” Phantom said, his own voice light with cheer, “we’re high enough no one will notice us if we’re only transparent?”

Given the frequent ghost attacks, Danny doubted they would go unnoticed for long, the humans were too well-trained by this point, but what was life without risks? He wanted to see Phantom, not just feel him.

So even though he knew it was a mistake (and Phantom probably did too), Danny nodded and said, “Yeah, that should work.”

The cold aura of Phantom’s powers still surrounded Danny, but a moment later, Phantom popped into sight. He was transparent, allowing Danny to see the lights and streamers through his head and chest, but there was enough definition there for him to make out his boyfriend’s pleased smile. Phantom’s white hair was messy—his hair was as resistant to being tamed as Danny’s, maybe worse due to the wind he regularly flew through—but he had dressed up in a tux. It wasn’t one Danny recognized, Phantom hadn’t stolen one from his closet, but then where had he gotten it?

It fit him surprisingly well…

Phantom’s smile widened, revealing sharper-than-normal teeth. “Let’s try this again.”

He swung Danny into motion. It was even easier for Danny to lose himself to the aerial dance than the first time. Danny could see Phantom’s expression, the softness in his eyes, the happy smile matching his own. They spun and twirled around each other, sometimes losing sight of one another, but always held together by their clasped hands. Danny laughed freely, unafraid of being heard over the loud, cheerful song.

So high above the other dancers, Danny saw only Phantom and the streamers hanging from the lights. They could have been dancing alone up there, surrounded by music and bright, shifting lights.

“When we can finally dance on the ground together,” Danny said, beaming as Phantom spun them around without any effort on Danny’s part, “I’m going to lead.”

Phantom laughed. “Only fair,” he agreed.

The song ended soon after. Another slow song took its place, and Danny swore he heard Sam cry out “Oh, come on!” but he didn’t mind. Before Phantom could settle them into position for another waltz—seriously, where had he learned to dance? From Dora?—Danny grabbed ahold of Phantom’s shoulder, let go of his hand, and set his other hand on his opposite shoulder. Phantom looked startled.

“You just place your hands on my waist,” Danny explained. “Then we sway to the music.”

Phantom followed his instructions, though his head tilted in confusion. “That simple?”

Danny smiled, feeling soft and warm inside. “Yeah. Most of us don’t know how to do those, uh, traditional dances. We just want to hold each other and let the music set the mood.”

And this song in particular suited Phantom. It was about finding your hero in someone unexpected; an old song, but Danny’s heart swelled as he and Phantom stared at each other. Phantom floated them in a gentle sway, no longer trying to match the beat. He looked as content as Danny felt, but soon his cheeks flushed green, and he looked down at the crowd.

“This song suits you,” he told Danny. “It’s like you’re singing to me.”

Danny widened his smile. He slipped his arm around Phantom’s neck, pulled him closer, and laid his head on his shoulder, his other hand sliding down to rest over his core. Sometimes he thought he could sense emotions from it, though at the moment he only felt it vibrating beneath his hand. Phantom encircled his arms around Danny’s waist and gently rested his cheek on Danny’s head. He continued to rock gently to the music, but it was even slower than before, as though Phantom wasn’t really thinking about the dance anymore.

Inevitably, it had to end.

“Oh my gosh!” someone shouted over the slow song. “Is that—that’s Phantom! Phantom is dancing with someone up there, look!”

Phantom swore and Danny tensed. Before Danny could lift his head from Phantom’s shoulder, Phantom lifted one hand and cupped the back of Danny’s head, pushing Danny’s face against his neck, hiding him.

“Ghost kid!” Jack shouted, sounding both excited and frustrated. After all, Jazz had convinced him and Maddie to leave all their ghost hunting equipment at home for just this reason.

Others began shouting too, disturbing the song to the point the DJ simply stopped playing it. Danny groaned.

“I doubt they will calm down even if I turn us invisible again,” Phantom whispered in Danny’s ear.

“Probably not,” Danny reluctantly agreed.

“Would you like to go somewhere else?”

“Where?”

“The park? I flew past on my way here. Fireflies were lighting up the walkways, but there weren’t very many people around.”

Danny’s breath caught. Leave the dance? Take a romantic walk through the park, just the two of them? That actually sounded so much better than attending prom, though he wouldn’t say no to dancing with Phantom again. “Yeah,” he said, a little breathless. “Yeah, let’s do that. We can walk toward a restaurant. I can buy you dinner, make this a proper date.”

Phantom laughed and then kissed Danny’s ear. “Sounds wonderful.”

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #pitch pearl #pitchpearl #au where they were never the same person #fluff and not much else lol

[forever-rogue]

Christmas Trees and Picky Bees

A/N: Nothing much to see here, but some holiday fluff of the softest variety featuring our lovely Frankie Morales. This is for @bestintheparsec for no other reason than being one of the most wonderful and amazing friends. I hope you all enjoy! xx

Pairing: Frankie x Fem!Reader

Warnings: too much fluff; implied sex

Word Count: 5.6k

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Brilliant idea,” you mumbled under your breath as you rubbed your hands together to attempt to keep warm. Despite the thick gloves and multiple layers you were wearing, the cold and light snowfall was pervasive and all consuming. It would take years to get warm again, but at least soon you could be under the fluffiest of blankets with the heater cranked, “brilliant idea to volunteer and pick out the damn office tree by myself.”

You trekked around the tree farm, looking at a seemingly endless amount of trees as you tried to pick the right one. But nothing, despite how many you had looked at, seemed to be the one. They were all either too tall or too short, with too few branches or ones that were too long. Or maybe you were just being too picky. Just like always, you thought to yourself, or so everyone seems to think. 

When you reached the end of the trees, you still had found nothing. You groaned as you realized you’d either have to find another tree farm or lot, or break down and purchase a fake one. The fake ones just weren’t the same...it just lacked the heart. Maybe another place would have the right tree....

“Did you need any help?” you were so consumed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.  You looked up and almost instantaneously your breath caught in your throat at the handsome man. He was tall,  dressed for the weather, but still sporting a baseball cap under which you could see some dark brown curls peaking out, and a lazy smile tugged across his features with one dimple on display. He wasn’t what you would consider traditionally handsome, but he definitely was in a rough, roguish way; soft brown eyes that crinkled in the corner with patchy scruff and a mustache that should have looked silly but somehow worked, and an aquiline nose that suited him perfectly. 

“Umm...’ you opened and closed your mouth a few times as you tried to figured out if you indeed need help or if you should just play it off and try to get away before making a fool out of yourself. He watched you with such an ease that you decided it would be silly to just throw the help, “yeah, actually, I do. I just need help finding the right tree. A lot of these are a little too big, and it’s just for the office so I was wondering if you knew where the smaller ones are?”

“Definitely,” he seemed relieved when you didn’t just chase away his advances, almost as if he was expecting it, “I can show you, I’m sure we’ve got something here that will work.”

“Thanks,” you grinned at him, falling in step neck to him as he started to lead you over to the other side of the farm, “I’ve never done this on my own before and it’s surprisingly hard to find the right one!”

Gods, you almost rolled your eyes at yourself, willing yourself to stop rambling. One handsome stranger and you immediately couldn’t shut up; this wasn’t a Hallmark movie you reminded yourself, this was reality. 

But the man didn’t even seem phased as he easily made conversation with you. Surprisingly there were no awkward silences and everything felt natural. Before you knew it, you’d located the perfect tree for the office and the man had it wrapped up for you, going so far as to bring it back to your car for you. 

“Are you going to have help getting this down and setting it up?” he asked as he finishing tying the tree up to the roof rack. A wicked little part of you wanted to say no and somehow convince to come along with you or something, but you knew that would be a long shot. Besides that, you knew that there were plenty of people back at the office that could help you. Unfortunately not him. 

“Yes,” you promised softly, “I’m sure I’ve got it from here. Thank you for all of your help. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” he offered you a gentle smile as the two of your stood there in silence for a few moments, neither wanting to end whatever you had started up just get, “I realized I didn’t catch your name...”

You took his outstretched as you told him your name and he told you his. Frankie, well Francisco, but call me Frankie. You decided that you immediately liked him, as your heart fluttered softly from the touch of his hand. You hadn’t felt anything even remotely close in some time, “well, I guess I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Frankie.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” he agreed as he opened the car door for you to slip inside. Despite not wanting to leave, not yet anyway, you had no real reason to stay. The thought of asking for his number or something crossed your mind, but you weren’t able to muster up the courage. Instead you turned on the car and Frankie shut your door, giving you a small wave before you slowly drove away. 

You regretted not making some sort of move almost immediately. As Frankie watched you drive away, he realized he had exactly the same regret. But it was too late now; it wasn’t like people regularly needed Christmas trees, and the season would be over soon enough anyways, and the Garcias would close the farm again until the fall. 

It was no matter, Frankie shrugged to himself, at least he’d gotten to spend a few moments in your magnetic orbit. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Okay, so when are you going to tell me what's going on?" Kelly nudged your leg from under the table as the two of you ate your customary Sunday brunch in relative silence. You could blame it on the delicious food that you were eating, but you knew she'd be able to see right through your lie. Reaching for your coffee, you took a long sip and offered her a noncommittal shrug, "you're deflecting. Nice try, but I'll just keep asking until you give me a good answer."

Rolling your eyes dramatically at her, you set down the steaming mug and swallowed the sweet sip, "what do you mean? Nothing is going on."

"I've known you since we were children and I know a lie from a mile away," she reminded you, "you've been so down lately. Did something happen?"

"No," you admitted softly, sighing before leaning back in your chair and giving her a half hearted smile, "its more like what didn't happen."

"Oh well by all means, tell me what didn't happen," she encouraged you to go on as huffed lightly, "come onnnn! Tell me!"

"Alright, alright," you looked around as lowered your voice, almost as if you were expecting to see him there suddenly, "it was last week, when I went to get that tree for work. I went to the lot and couldn't find a good tree and I met this nice guy that worked there. We talked for a while and he helped me and then...that was that."

"That was that!?" she almost shrieked as you buried your face in your hands, "you didn't get his number or anything?"

"I chickened out," you groaned, "I want to, but I talked myself out of it! What if I was just thinking too much about it and he wasn't...flirting or anything. What if he was just being super nice?"

"Listen, I love you, but you are a fool," she chided playfully, "clearly you liked him if you're still thinking about him! And let's be honest, that doesn't happen very often-"

"Because I'm too picky," you finished for her, pushing around a bite of food on your plate.

"No! Because you have high standards and aren't willing to lower them just for a relationship or whatever you want to call it," she corrected as you gave her a faint smile, "which is not a bad thing at all! The best things come to those who wait. But if someone did catch your eye like that, then maybe...its worth pursuing."

"I don't want to set myself up for failure," you whispered as you stared at your plate, "I could easily be taking everything the wrong way."

"There's only one way to find out..." her face lit up with glee as it took you a moment to catch onto what she was saying, "you don't have a Christmas tree for your apartment yet!"

"Oh no," you shook your head lightly, "I couldn't...it would be so obvious. Besides I already got a tree!"

"For the office," she reminded you, "he knows that! Obviously you'll need one for home too. It makes perfect sense. I'll even go with you if you want, and we can pretend it's for me."

"I dunno," you shrugged lightly, "I dunno if it's a good idea..."

"Of course it is," she disagreed, "now hurry up and finish and we can go!"

"Fuck me," you sighed softly, Kelly could see there was a little smile tugging on your features, "fine..."

»»————-　♡　————-««

You’d walked through the whole tree farm at least twice and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Frankie. Maybe he had the day off, or only worked certain hours, or he’d seen you and tried to purposely avoid you or...something.  Clearly it wasn’t meant to be and this had turned out to be a colossal waste of time. 

“He’s not here,” you said softly to Kelly, who simply looped her arm through yours in a sign of reassurance, “this was silly, a long shot anyway...we can just go.”

“We can try again tomorrow, or maybe ask at the the front? Just ask about him and tell them that he was so great you just wanted to thank him?” she was chalk full of suggestions as you stared at your boots and remained silent for a few moments.

“There’s no point,” you insisted, “better to just let it go than waste my time.”

“It’s a not a waste of time-” she started but quickly stopped when your name was being shouted out. Your face went through a wave of emotions as you looked up and found your allusive Frankie from the prior week. Kelly beamed at you as she dropped her arm from yours and shoved you gently in his direction, “go!”

“H-hi,” you said softly as you turned to face him, trying to give off a nonchalant vibe while your heart was practically fluttering and stomach was doing somersaults, “Frankie! It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Hey,” he stopped in front of you, his cheeks pink from the cold winter chill. His eyes crinkled at the corners just as you had remembered, giving him a youthful appearance, despite his age, “it’s good to see you too. I didn’t think you’d be back.”

Was that a note of quiet disappointment in his voice?

“I...yeah, my friend Kelly needs a tree for her place and I told her about how great you were at helping me find the perfect one, so obviously we had to come back,” you stumbled lightly over your words as Kelly shook with silent laughter as your nervous tone, “if you have any suggestions or time that is.”

“Yes,” he said eagerly with a nod, “of course. Come on, let’s find you the perfect tree!”

“Jiminy Cricket,” she snorted quietly to herself as she followed after the two of you, thoroughly resigned to the idea that she was going to be a third wheel on this little adventure. But it didn’t matter to her, she wanted to do this for you, and if this simple thing was all it took to get you some happiness, then she was more than willing to do it. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was several hours later when you’d finally settled on a packed up a tree for Kelly. The tree was the easiest find of all, it had taken almost no time once you’d actually stopped walked around aimlessly and worked on finding it. Instead you and Frankie walked around the farm and the conversation quickly turned from Christmas trees and holidays to a little bit of anything and everything. Conversation with Frankie was easy and followed naturally, and there was never a single moment of awkwardness. 

Was it always this easy or was it just easy with him?

When you reached the front, you told both of them you were going to pay for the tree while they got it onto the car. As soon as you were gone, Kelly pulled Frankie close to her and lowered her voice. 

“She really likes you,” she told him softly watched a large grin cross his features, “she was thinking about you since you helped her find that first tree. I finally pulled it out of her and convinced her to come back. It’s obvious, to me anyways.”

“I’ve been thinking about her too,” he confessed, gnawing lightly on his bottom lip, “I wanted to ask for her number last time, but chickened out. I didn’t even know where to begin to look for her...I’m glad she came back.”

“She doesn’t like a lot of people,” she carried on, as Frankie tried to still the wild beating of his heart, “really. So it’s kind of a big deal when she does. Consider yourself lucky, Francisco. She’s amazing, truly. And my best friend, so if you were so anything to hurt her, I will hunt you down myself.”

“I-I won’t,” he promised as you came over to them, tucking away your wallet. Kelly gave him a little nod of encouragement as he turned to you and sweetly said your name, “I was wondering...are you free for dinner tomorrow tonight? It’s just...obviously if you want to, if not it’s totally fine too....I just...yeah.”

“I’d love to,” you said eagerly as you tried not to bounce on your heels too much, “it’s yeah...I’m free. Definitely.”

“Oh boy,” Kelly sniggered at the awkward exchange between the two of you.

“Can I get your number and I can text you later and we can settle on a time and place?” he asked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it before handing it to you. Taking it gentle from his hand, you put in your number before giving it back to him, the two of your grinning like excited children, “great, so I...I’ll text you later.”

“I look forward to it Frankie,” you grinned as Kelly opened the door to the passenger side and got, pointedly clearing her throat, “talk to you later.”

“Yes,” he replied as he once again held open your door and helped you in, “until then.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Honey?” his voice was gentle and soft as you called back to him and informed that you were in the kitchen. You heard the soft tread of his feet before you saw him, your grin matching his when you met his eyes, “hi Honey Bee.”

“Hi Frankie,” you wiped your hands on the teatowel over your shoulder, tossing it onto the counter when you were and rushing over to him. He opened his arms for you, wrapping them up and trapping you within in his tight grasp within seconds, “I’ve missed you.”

“I was only gone for a few hours. It didn’t take long to start getting the farm all set up for the season,” he hummed in content as you scooped off his trademark hat and tossed it onto the couch. Carding a hand gently through his dark curls, you tugged at them before pressing a kiss to his lips, “I missed you too.” 

“As you should,” you teased, patting his bum before moving back to the pie you were preparing. He snorted with laughter as he took a seat at the bar and watched you closely, but not before asking if you needed help with anything. You insisted that this was better left up to you and politely reminded him that the last time he was tried to bake anything, he’d set a pot holder on fire, “what do you want to do tonight, Frankie? I think this is the first evening since the holidays started that we have time to ourselves.”

He let out a long exhale of satisfaction as you nodded. It wasn’t that the two of you didn't enjoy the holidays, it was just that you were always doing something, between both of your jobs, his family, your family, and friends, it was rare to get a moment of downtime. 

“I have an idea, if the lady would be so kind as to hear me out,” you raised an eyebrow at him as you started to pour the pumpkin pie filling into the crust but not before motioning for him to go, “date night.”

“Date night,” you repeated as you gave him a curious look, “I like the sound of that Mr. Morales, go on. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, Mrs. Morales,” you couldn’t help but beam at his words. It wasn't even that it was a new thing anymore, you’d been married for just over a year, but it still made your heart flutter every time. Especially when Frankie said it with that deep, rich timber of his voice, “I was thinking we could get dinner at the diner with the pancakes we both love, and then maybe go ice skating, and then dessert at that new bakery? Apparently their cookies are killer, especially their soft chocolate chip kind! What do you say? Will you let me take you out?”

“You are amazing, Frankie,” you gave him such a soft look that he felt his heart melt all over again, just like it had the first time he meet those five long years ago, just like the day he asked you to marry, just like the day of your wedding, just like so many wonderful times. You made quick work of shoving the pie into the over before leaning over the counter to give him a kiss, “I’d love to. It all sounds perfect. Have you been thinking about this haven’t you?”

“Of course,” he admitted, “it’s about we had a night to ourselves to relax, isn’t it?”

“I wholeheartedly concur,” you agreed as you sighed contently, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he grinned, “we still have to go and pick out a tree soon. Maybe we can go this weekend?”

"Hmm, now that sounds perfect," you agreed. Ever since the fateful year when you had met him while tree hunting, looking for a Christmas together had become a tradition, and one of your favorite parts of the season. Everywhere you went back to the Garcia's Tree Farm and sent the afternoon picking out the perfect one. You wouldn't have it any other way, "I can't wait to see what we manage to find this year."

"I've already found everything I could ever need," he whispered softly as your face flushed with warmth, as he reached for your hand, "but a tree won't hurt either."

“See, now how do you expect me to compete with you when you say things like that?” you stuck your tongue out at him as he gave you a cheeky grin before shrugging innocently, “I’m going to go and shower while the pie bakes...care to join me?”

“And that’s exactly how you compete with me,” he trailed after you, reaching for your hand as you laughed, leading him into the master bathroom, “saying things like that.”

“Oh Francisco,” you pulled him in and reached for the hem of his shirt, “I love you so much, but right now I’d like you to use your mouth for things other than words.”

“Now that I can definitely do.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I think maybe we have to wait an hour to do this,” Frankie swallowed nervously as he started to lace up the ice skates on his feet. Your eyebrows raised so high that they almost melded into your hairline as you finished tying your own skates, “you know, since we just ate.”

“This isn’t like swimming,” you laughed at the nervous expression on his face, “have you ever been ice skating before, Frankie?”

“Yes, obviously,” he insisted as you moved his hands out of the way and took over the lacing job for him, “once, twenty years ago when I was a kid.”

“Oh my - Frankie!” you shoulders shook with laughter as you noticed the sheepish expression on his face, “I thought you would have gone more recently than that, you silly man.”

“I never really had any reason to.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? Just remember this was your idea after all!”

“Of course I do,” he insisted, “just umm...will you hold my hand? And maybe we can take it slow?”

“Like I wasn’t going to hold your hand anyway,” you shot a wink before slowly standing up and reaching for both of his large gloved hands. You held them up, palms pressed together and studying them for a moment before lacing them together, “see? They fit together perfectly. My hands were meant to hold yours.”

He remained silent as he grinned at you, his cheeks flushed from your words and the cold breeze swirling through the open air ice skating rink. Shuffling slowly towards the entrance to the ice, you were glad that not many people had picked tonight to go skating, it would allow you both some time to adjust. 

You stepped onto the ice and reached for the side to ground yourself before reaching for Frankie and pulling him towards you. He was shaky on his feet, trying to best not to fall, not because he was worried about the embarrassment of falling, most because he didn’t want to deal with soreness for days afterwards. He traded places with you, clutching the railing tightly in one hand the yours in the other as you beamed at him, “slow and easy does it.”

“You’ve got this, Frankie,” you promised, finding your own balance bit by bit as you reacquainted yourself with the feeling being on the ice, “can I ask you something?”

“That would be preferable,” there was a nervous shake to his voice as you nodded, “it’ll distract me from feeling like I’m going to eat shit every second.”

“Why did you want to come ice skating?”

“I know you’d like it,” he stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “you’ve always mentioned wanting to go and we never have. I figured now was the perfect time. Besides, it’s romantic and winter-y!”

“You are the best, Frankie,” you shook at your head lightly; there were some days when you still wondered how you got so lucky as to have him in your life, not just as a random figure, but as your husband. He really had been worth the wait and you thanked your lucky stars for him every day, “this is very romantic, and I couldn’t asked for a better partner.”

The two of you skated for some time, going around in slow circles at first and then gradually pulling away from the railing as Frankie grew more confident with his skating ability. Eventually he was able to let go completely and you both skated around hand in hand, giggling and laughing about anything and everything. 

At one point, you’d gotten a little too confident and the tip of your skate caught on some phantom nick in the ice and you took a tumble, unable to stop yourself from landing on your bum. You’d had at least enough time to let go of Frankie’s hand to stop yourself from dragging him down, but as he tried to scoop you up, he lost his own balance and landed next to you.

“Frankie! Are you okay?” you asked when you as to tried your best not to giggled at the surprised look on his face or how his beanie had slid down and covered his eyes. Reaching over, you pushed up the beanie so he could again, stopping to brush a few snowflakes out of his curly locks, “after all that fuss and it was me that actually fell. See you had nothing to worry about!”

“Are you alright?” he looked you up and down, hands finding your face to check you over, “my silly little bee.”

“I’m alright,” you promised, “you?”

“Yes,” his eyes studied yours before he crashed his lips onto yours and gave you a few soft kisses. He still tasted sweet, like the hot chocolate and pancakes you’d both had for dinner, and let his lips linger against yours, “as much as I enjoyed that, I think we need to get up before we freeze to death.”

“Good plan. This is going to take a moment and I don’t want to hear a single word,” you started to scoot across the ice and back to the wall, dragging him behind you as you both held onto it and scrambled to your feet, “maybe next time we won’t fall at all.”

“Ahh, it would be worth even if we do, so as long as we have fun,” he pulled the scarf from around his neck and wrapped it around your own when he noticed you shivering lightly. You’d forgotten yours at him, but of course weren’t going to ask for his, but had made a mental note to leave on in the truck for occasions such as this, “better?”

“Frankie-”

“Don’t argue with me,” he booped your nose as you both slumped back onto the bench and pulled off your skates, “ready for dessert?”

“Absolutely,” you almost bounced to your feet as you slipped your boots back and patiently waited for Frankie. You were watching with him nothing but sheer adoration in your eyes. This was your husband, you remembered, this amazing marvel of a human was yours. You loved him and he loved you; what a beautiful world it was. 

“What?” he asked as he grabbed your skates and his to return, easily grabbing both pairs with one hand, “something on my face?”

“No,” you promised, “just thinking about how much I love you.”

“Oh,” he looked at you for a moment as a slow smile brushed onto his features, “oh. I love you, con todo, mi vida.”

“And that’s very sexy of you,” you laughed as he wrapped an arm around your waist, “I told you that you always know just what to say.”

“I’ll be sure to speak even more to after dessert,” he commented innocently as he opened the truck door for you to get in. You knew exactly what he meant; there was something about the way he managed to slip into Spanish while you were making love that was just...heavenly. 

“I’m counting on that hot stuff,” you teased as he got into the driver’s side and turned on the truck making sure the heater was set to exactly how you liked it. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I don’t know where you heard about this place from, but it’s amazing,” you couldn’t help but mumble through a mouth stuffed with cookies and ice cream. The cookies were warmed and soft and the vanilla bean ice cream was melting perfectly onto them. Frankie raised an eyebrow at you as he took a bite of his own pie. You wolfed down your bite before trying again, “these cookies are so good it’s almost sinful.”

“Santi told me about this place,” he took his fork and offered you a bit of his apple pie. You opened your mouth and eagerly accepted it, savoring the sweet flavor on your tongue to get a good taste of it, “for once his suggestion turned out to be worthwhile.”

“Francisco! You’re so mean!” you laughed as you gathered a bit of cookie and ice cream in your spoon and held it out for him. He grabbed your wrist and locked those honeyed eyes on your eyes as he slowly took the bite and licked the spoon clean. It was pointedly much more sexual than it needed to be, but you weren’t going to argue with that, “no more bites for you. If you’re going to keep doing that. I want to eat in peace, mister.”

“Honey, dessert is what’s happening at home,” his voice dropped an octave to that tone that always managed to send shivers down your spine as his eyes grew darker, “this is the foreplay.”

“Umm, why don’t we go home now and we can save the rest for later?”

“Excellent plan,” he agreed as he turned the truck on again and pulled out of the parking lot of the small little bakery that you would definitely be coming back.

»»————-　♡　————-««

By the time Frankie pulled into the driveway, you felt more like teenagers sneaking around than the grown adults you were. You’d been stealing kisses and touches from one another as he drove him, leaving the two of breathless and with flushed faces. He practically jumped out of the truck and swooped you out of the passenger seat before heading for the door as you peppered his neck and jaw in kisses. 

But when he got to the front door, he slowed down, taking his time to open the door and walk into the hallway, turning on the light. You stopped what you were doing, reaching up and touching his scruffy cheek, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“It’s...do you promise not to laugh?” he adopted a serious tone as he watched your face for any shift of expression.

“Never, my sweet Frankie,” you gave him your most serious tone as you silently encouraged him to go on.

“Okay, well, when we first got together and went to that Christmas party at your office there was Mistletoe,” he explained as he slowly set you back down on the floor, making sure you were steady on your feet before letting go, “do you remember?”

“I do,” the memories instantly flooded, technicolor and vivid in your mind. It was a few weeks after you’d first met Frankie and the two of you were spending almost every waking moment together. Naturally, you’d asked him to come to your office Christmas party, and it had turned out to be a night of many firsts, “I swear it was hanging in every doorway.”

“Do you remember what you said?”

“Hmmm...” you tapped your chin thoughtfully as you tried to recall but drew a blank, “no? What did I say?”

“You said you’d never been kissed under the Mistletoe,” he explained, “and that you thought it was outdated and cheesy and you would never kiss someone under it unless you were positive they were the one.”

“I did,” you laughed lightly at the memory, remembering now that you had told him all of this while the two of you had been lightly buzzing from all the wine and champagne, “I...you remember. I can’t believe you remember such a silly little thing.”

“It’s not silly,” he insisted, “not to me. But I have a little surprise.”

“Another surprise?” your mouth gaped as he took your and slowly pulled you towards your bedroom, a wicked little smile on face.

“I didn’t forget anything when I came back in before we left,” he admitted, “I came back in to hang this.”

With a flourish he pointed to the door frame and watched your face light up as you took in the fresh little bundle of Mistletoe that he had carefully hung up before you’d left on your little date night.

“Francisco,” his name fell from your lips softly, reverently, as you looked back at him, “this is...I can’t believe you did all of this. You remembered this...”

“Because I love you,��� he pressed a kiss to your forehead as you tried not to let the tears that were welling up in your eyes spill over, “but remember, you said you’d only kiss someone under it if you were sure they’re the one. May I kiss you?”

“Of course,” you offered him a teary little smile, “you are the one. You have always been and always will be, Frankie. I don’t think I can properly put into words just how much I adore you.”

“I know,” he wiped away the tear that had rolled down your cheeky as you wrapped your arms around him, “you are everything.”

And then he kissed. Because he was the one. 

And always would be.

You were never more thankful for agreeing to trek out and get that Christmas tree by yourself those five long years ago. 

It had given you everything and then some. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[hb-writes]

Ignored Advice

Summary: Part II of the Alphabetical Outcast Series. Sylvie (OC) is the eldest child of Hugo Bridgerton, a cousin raised alongside the infamous Bridgerton brood. Born in-between Daphne and Eloise, Sylvie has made it her mission to delay her season again and again. As her deadline to put a stop to her entering the marriage mart this year approaches, Benedict gives his cousin a little pep talk. 

Characters: Sylvie Bridgerton (OC) & Benedict Bridgerton

Bridgerton Appreciation Week Prompt: Do it, be bold.

Part I - The Firstborns - Sylvie Bridgerton & Anthony Bridgerton

Part II - Ignored Advice - Sylvie Bridgerton & Benedict Bridgerton

--

Benedict caught Sylvie’s approaching palm half a moment before it collided with his shoulder, her attempted slap and the groaning of his name an exaggerated response to his sudden presence in the garden she believed to be occupying all on her own, a rather silly assumption seeing as it was nearly impossible to singly inhabit a single space in Bridgerton House, not with ten children, if you could still refer to them that way, regularly milling about its halls and grounds. Even with several of them being married or having their own quarters, the house never seemed empty or quiet.

Suffice to say, Sylvie shouldn’t have been surprised that someone had come upon her in the middle of her endeavor to forge a dirt patch into the perfect lawn with her incessant pacing. 

“Don’t do that!” she shouted at Benedict’s playful grin, freeing her hand from his grip to swat at him again as her heartbeat slowed. “You’re always sneaking about.”

Despite being a large man and the tallest of the Bridgerton brothers, Benedict was quiet and he moved in ways that weren’t always noticed, blending in as the color green could do among certain shades of blue, or a pink among certain purples. Somewhere along the line, he had taken a certain liking to using his natural stealth to rile his siblings and cousins.

“I have just as much of a right to enjoy my mother’s lovely flowers as you have.” 

Some would argue that Benedict Bridgerton had more of a right to occupy the space, that as second in line to the title, it was nearly his garden, and the cousin whose thoughts he had interrupted had not a single claim on the flora, but Benedict had no interest in his claim. He’d happily settle for being second in line.

“What are you so worked up over this morning?” he asked when his comment received nothing but a return to pacing, the space over which she marched stunted by a few steps due to his presence. 

“Who says I’m worked up?”

Gregory and George and Hyacinth had told him so over his eggs, but Benedict had no plans to tell Sylvie that, and he had no need to seeing as she’d just swatted at him, supplying him with plenty of evidence to support his accusation. Benedict simply raised his eyebrows and gave her a gentle smile, something not quite as smug as a smirk gracing his lips. 

It took only a moment for Sylvie to give in, her shoulders heaving as she took a seat on the bench, hiding her face in her hands while Benedict moved to occupy the space beside her.

“I suppose I’m not so subtle.” 

Benedict snorted at that. Bridgertons weren’t very good with subtleties. They communicated more in grand gestures and loud declarations, even the passive aggressive moments were rambunctious and obvious in nature, with silent treatments emphasized by the blatant actions that accompanied them. 

“I shouted at the little ones over breakfast,” Sylvie offered. “They were being dreadfully vexatious. I couldn’t help myself.”

Benedict nodded. The kids towed a fine line between entertaining and exasperating. It had once been them getting chastised for their boisterous nature at the breakfast table, and some mornings it still was, but more often it was the youngest set with their endless source of energy primarily used for running about and arguing and shouting. He didn’t really fault her for a little outburst. 

“And my deadline is approaching,” she mumbled.

“Deadline?” 

Sylvie rolled her eyes.

“Now Ben, don’t pretend Anthony hasn’t already told you,” she answered, figuring that Anthony had pulled his brother into his office at the earliest opportunity after their last discussion. “I suppose he’s employed you to convince me to give this up and fall in line.”

Sylvie was surprised the whole lot of her elder cousins hadn’t descended upon her to bring her along to Anthony’s way of thinking. She had been expecting conversations with each of them, but the subject hadn’t been raised since she left Anthony’s office nearly two weeks before. 

Benedict leaned back as he set his ankle over his knee. “Well, I must admit you having your season would go a long way in helping my dear mother forget that she has a marriageable son.”

“But?” Sylvie prompted.

“But I understand your plight.” 

Society acted as if a woman’s life didn’t begin until one was married, until one was a wife and a mother, but to Sylvie marriage felt like an end, like the death of some part of her she hadn’t even gotten a proper grasp on yet, a part of her she felt certain was a part she rather liked. She wasn’t ready to let it go.

It didn’t make any difference to see that her married cousins were deeply in love, seemingly changed only for the better by the matches they’d made because Sylvie didn’t trust the odds of that sort of happiness for herself.

Of course, much of the married Ton kept up appearances, seemingly content in their hastily made matches, but Sylvie didn’t trust appearances either. 

Appearances showed a world of people happy, a world of people content with their station and society and their lot in life, but she knew well enough that most people weren’t happy. Most people didn’t receive a true love match. Most people didn’t have a life that showcased the things they truly loved. Most people had lives that showcased the things society expected, the majority of people more engrossed with impressions and opinions of society than anything else. 

The Ton smiled and danced and wed, but beneath all that was a layer of torment. 

Sylvie knew Benedict understood that, knew they had a bit of shared appreciation for that bit of truth because Sylvie knew of his art, had seen the remarkable portraits he’d done of each of them, and though Benedict hadn’t been able to take her complimentary words to heart, hadn’t been ready to really accept praise for his art, Sylvie knew they shared a certain understanding about the world.

Sylvie envied Benedict a bit for knowing what his passion was when she had neither knowledge nor the ability to act on such a thing, and furthermore, she begrudged her cousin just a bit for not acting on it, for keeping his talents and desires hidden, for keeping up the very appearances they knew were expected.

“So, you can speak with—” 

“Anthony? Oh, no. Definitely not,” Benedict said.

“But you—”

“I haven’t convinced Anthony of a single thing in my entire life. I can’t imagine I’ll have any luck where you haven’t.”

“You're his brother.”

“And you’re his favorite cousin.” 

“I believe George is everyone’s favorite.” 

“Well, George is a bit easier to manage, I suppose,” Benedict said, tilting his head back and forth as he considered it, his face scrunched a bit. “A more of a charming demean—”

The heel of Sylvie’s palm made contact with her cousin’s shoulder again, a barking laugh pouring from Benedict’s lips as he nudged her back. 

“You prove the point far more often than you’re aware.”  

“Yes, and that’s all the more reason for me to not enter society. I’m afraid I’m simply not ready, not well-behaved enough.” 

Benedict hummed. “Yes, Anthony did mention you were exploring that angle.”

“I’m not exploring any angles,” she answered. “It’s simply my natural charm, as you’ve just said.” 

“Maybe use some of that charm on my mother, then. Present your case? Prove your point? You know she’s the one who needs the convincing. If she agrees, Anthony has no choice.” 

Sylvie shook her head. “I’m not ready.” 

“To tell mother or to marry?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Both, I suppose.”

Benedict set a hand on her shoulder. “Do it at the weekend, then. Wait until she’s relaxed, away from everything reminding her of the impending season. Present your argument then. You may recall a rather wise Bridgerton once said ‘do it, be bold.’ I believe the same words apply here.” 

Sylvie snorted, unable to prevent herself from smiling at the memory of late summer nights passed on the swings with Benedict and Eloise, cigarettes passed between the three of them and a handful of secrets too. 

“If I recall, you ignored that wise Bridgerton’s perfectly splendid advice because you’re an absolute fool who refuses to see reason.”

Benedict’s eyebrows shot up, but an easy smile held on his face as he shook his head. 

“Ah, yes, and there we have your natural charm on display once again.” 

#bridgerton appreciation week #bridgertonevent2021 #BridgertonWeek2021 #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton #sylvie bridgerton

[silenthillmutual]

hey for the prompts thing, maybe artemy's children and daniil? Also if you wanna stretch your utopian characters writing muscles, something with peter and grace(artemy helping him parent her, since the man was ready to feed her worms)? eva and daniil in the friendship way?? idk, something of that sort. I love your work, you have a delightful grasp of the characters and the english language itself

this isn't my best bc i've just been practicing writing to keep that skill strong, but i decided to do a little of all three :)

-----

“Please, Eva, you have to help me.”

Eva tilts her head at Daniil, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder. Daniil knows she’s not that dense; it’s not the with what question, but the why. “Really, Daniil. I think you have a handle on things as it is.”

He absolutely does not have a handle on things. He is in way out of his depth. Over his head. However the saying goes - what’s been expected is far beyond him. Cats, he can watch over easily. They’re mostly self-sufficient, independent, but children? Daniil does not know the first thing about children.

“Humor me, then,” he says. Eva ducks her head, struggling to hide a smile. “Pretend for a moment that I don’t have a handle on things. How am I meant to keep children entertained?”

“Ah, I would think you would remember what it was like to be a child!” Daniil only scowls at the floor, shuffling his feet. “You remember how you wanted to be treated, don’t you? It’s not that different from now. You treat them with respect.”

“I know how to talk to children,” he says, and hopes he isn’t lying, “but how do I keep them entertained?”

“It’s only for a few hours. I think you’re worrying over nothing.” Daniil looks over his shoulder. They’re already seated at Eva’s piano, fingers toying with the keys. Every once in a while they will make contact, a soft plonk as a flat note plays in the open space, accompanied by a giggle. “Besides, Artemy left you in charge, not me. He trusts you.”

“He trusts everyone.” It sounds like more of a complaint than it’s really meant. The haruspex’s undying faith in others is admirable, really. Burakh’s favor is probably the only thing that’s kept the town’s inhabitants from running Daniil out into the steppe. But in this one occasion, that faith seems misplaced. “I should have said no.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Daniil has no answer. Or at least, he has no good answer. Judging by the smile creeping its way onto her face, Eva knows the only one he has. He tries to fan away her concern, and is met with her soft laughter, like the tinkling of glass. “Anyway, I’d feel much safer if you were here to help me.”

“Safer? Daniil, they’re just kids. You’ve done much more dangerous things in the time you’ve been here.” Daniil purses his lips, and Eva sighs. “I’ll help you, on one condition!”

“Name it.”

“Yulia.” Eva huffs, fiddling with her gloves. “I’ve invited her over to dinner, but she hasn’t sent her response. I think she’s nervous about seeing the Stamatins again - tell her they won’t be coming if it makes her so upset! Whatever you have to say, just make sure she agrees. I’ve been dying to see her.”

Much as he’d rather not get involved in anyone else’s affairs, he is sort of desperate here. Yulia can be difficult to convince when her mind is made up on something - impossible, even, he’d say - but he knows how fond the two women are of each other, and maybe his assurance that Andrey will be otherwise occupied will be enough. And really, all he has to do is try. “Fine,” he says, and Eva squeezes his arm in excitement before turning to the kids in the sitting room.

“I see you’ve found the piano. Would you like me to teach you a few scales?”

-

When Artemy agreed to help Peter prepare for Grace’s visit, he had no idea what it was he was signing up for. He’d thought an hour or so - enough time to leave his kids with Daniil and see how they fared together without overwhelming the other man. But it’s been two and a half hours now, and Peter doesn’t seem to be any closer to grasping the basics.

“You need milk, Peter. And eggs. Basic food items.” He stops just short of asking if the man is even aware of what constitutes food. He can’t be certain that the man even eats. He’s malnourished for someone of his height, and from what Artemy can tell his main consumption is twyrine. And that won’t be good for poor Grace.

That’s the main reason Artemy’s stayed so long. He wants to get back to his kids, to spend time with Daniil before the man returns to his work, but he worries about how Grace will fare here when Peter can’t seem to grasp the importance of a clean cooking surface and fresh ingredients. “Forgive me, old boy. It’s been so long since I have sought these things out for myself.”

Artemy tries not to groan. That’s about what he’d figured, and it’s not exactly what he’d call promising.

At least the apartment is looking marginally nicer. There’s space enough for them to walk around in, the empty bottles of twyrine have been discarded and the couch has been cleared of its debris. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and Artemy can appreciate how difficult even this was for the architect.

But it’s still not quite enough. Grace will be over within the hour, and Artemy’s not sure how much more help he can be to the man.

Before he can suggest they hold Grace’s visit off another day, a knock comes at the door and the girl herself enters. She doesn’t look quite sure of herself, her fists curled tight around the fabric of her dress, her eyes cast down; but she enters all the same, and stands just outside the door, waiting.

Artemy is the first to address her. “Grace.” He nudges Peter with his foot under the table. “It’s good to see you.”

Peter looks at Artemy, solemn, and follows his lead. “Welcome, girl.” There’s an awkward pause, and Artemy kicks his shin again. Peter stares at the table. “Come in from the door. There’s room for you by the couch.”

Grace smiles shyly and tucks her hands behind her back as she enters. Her eyes widen, taking in the apartment as if seeing it for the first time. And since Peter doesn’t seem to clean regularly, she very well could be.

“What happened to your paintings?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“I’ve moved them.” Artemy is preparing himself to nudge Peter once again, but this is something he’s more well-acquainted with. He’s slow to stand, one hand on the table to steady himself, and makes his way to what passes for a bedspace in this loft. Artemy watches from the table, chewing his lip, as Peter presents a painting to her.

At least it’s one of the more appropriate ones, though there’s something frightening about the splashes of paint. He’s no art critic, and he won’t pretend to understand, but there’s something very angry about this painting. Artemy wonders how obvious it is to Grace, who hasn’t seen much outside of the graveyard. He can’t imagine there’s much experimental art in the Saburov’s house.

A sudden pang hits him, watching the two interact. He may be frustrated with Peter, but it’s obvious the man is trying his hardest. It’s just been too long since he’s even taken care of himself, that of course it will take a while before he’s able to take care of another person. And Grace has such different needs that Artemy’s unsure the Saburovs will be able to meet. The way they talk to each other, he can sense an understanding between them, even when they’re not talking about exactly the same thing.

He’s going to wind up regretting this, for sure. He didn’t mean to leave his kids with Daniil for so long, but he can’t just give up here.

“It’s about time for lunch,” Artemy says. The two turn to look at him with matching looks of surprise. “Why don’t I show you how to cook something?”

-

Artemy dropped his children off around ten. Daniil expected him back around noon. He doesn’t mind making food for the children, except - well, he’s not the one doing it. Eva caught him attempting to make some excuses to head into the kitchen and beat him to it. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, with a look in her eyes Daniil found almost threatening, “I can handle it. You stay in here and get acquainted.”

“We’re already acquainted,” Daniil pointed out, but it didn’t matter much. Eva was determined to ignore him, making her way out of the room and leaving Daniil with two bored kids.

Murky had moved on from the piano some time ago, laying on the floor with charcoals and sketch paper Peter had left out the last time he’d come to visit. She didn’t ask for permission, but if Eva wasn’t going to tell her off then neither was Daniil. He can’t imagine Peter minding much or even remembering he’d brought the items with him, and as long as it’s keeping the girl occupied Daniil doesn’t have it in him to complain. Sticky, on the other hand, has taken to snooping around the house.

“Looking for something?” Daniil asks, watching him open up an end table drawer.

Sticky shrugs. “Not particularly.” He closes the drawer with a little more force than necessary and turns his gaze to the staircase, his eyebrows near to his hairline. “What’s up there?”

“My room.”

“Can I see it?” The sudden excitement catches him off guard. Daniil fiddles with his gloves. “You have a microscope, right? I’ve never used one. I know Rubin has one, but he won’t let me see it. Do you have slides? Can you show me something? Can you show me blood?”

“One question at a time,” Daniil says, huffing with amusement. Maybe this isn’t so bad. I was the same at his age. “I suppose you can come upstairs and see it, yes. I do have a few clean slides, yes, but I don’t have any samples lying around. I suppose I can come up with something, but…” he turns to look at Murky.

“She’ll be fine,” Sticky assures him. “It’s not like we’re going far, right?” He turns to his sister. “Murky, we’re going upstairs.”

She pauses in her drawing, looking at Sticky before her eyes turn away. “Do I have to come with you?”

“I don’t suppose you have to, no,” Daniil answers. “But if you need anything, you can come up and get us, alright, dear?” She doesn’t seem all that comfortable with the term, her mouth turning into a little scowl. She doesn’t answer, either, going back to her drawing as if no interruption had occurred.

Daniil leads Sticky up the stairs, listening to his babbling about the things he’s managed to glean from listening to Artemy and attempting to follow in his footsteps, from his discussions with Rubin when the man’s come to visit. Once they’re upstairs, he wanders around the room, picking up Daniil’s books and looking at them carefully, trying to pronounce the words aloud to himself. Daniil takes his distraction as a time to prick himself for a blood sample, readying the slide and pulling the chair back out from the table.

He clears his throat, and Sticky spins around, nearly dropping the heavy tome in his hands. “You wanted to see a blood sample, yes?” Sticky nods, scrambling his way over to the desk. Daniil has to guide him in how to use the microscope, in how to get a clearer picture of what he’s looking at. And Sticky has plenty of questions for him about what he sees, about how blood works in the body, about cells and warmth and movement.

As he’s speaking, Daniil simply forgets to be nervous. It’s not all that different to lectures - and to have someone honestly listening to him is actually quite nice. He’s so engrossed in directing Sticky that he doesn’t notice when Murky joins them. When she speaks, it startles him. “Why do you have a bunch of grass in a jar?” Sticky stifles a laugh as Daniil nearly jumps, moving around to the bookshelf where Murky is on her toes, peering at a glass jar. “They’re not even the right herbs. You can’t make anything out of that.”

“It’s not all grass. Take a closer look.” Daniil takes the jar off the shelf and holds it out for her to better see it. He watches her squint, and directs his finger about halfway up the jar. “Do you see the eyes here? This is a conehead grasshopper.”

Her eyes widen. “You keep a bug in a jar?”

“Well, I’d like to get a terrarium eventually, but you don’t seem to have any in town. I’d have to order one from the Capital.” He pauses. People usually find his collection of insects strange, but Murky seems fascinated. “I have books on insects, if you would like to…” Can she read? “Take a look?” Murky nods, and Daniil takes the jar back, looking through the bookshelf for the guide he’d brought with him.

Sticky’s not particularly interested in the bugs, but he entertains himself looking through Daniil’s medical textbooks while Daniil reads passages off of the insects Murky points to. When Eva comes to get them for lunch, he has to agree to bring the book downstairs with him to get her to go.

“Dad won’t let me keep bugs,” she mumbles around her food. “Says they don’t belong in the house.”

“My mother felt the same,” Daniil tells her. It feels strange to admit it, when it’s been so long since he’s spoken of his parents to anybody. Murky turns the pages of his field guide very carefully, silent as Sticky speaks up to ask him more questions about blood flow and circulation.

Now that he’s found ways of connecting with the kids, communication isn’t nearly as difficult as he’d thought it would be. He feels a little silly for winding himself up the way he had this morning - and these are Artemy’s kids, why had he imagined they’d be such a handful? Sure, they’re precocious, but not any worse than the other children in town.

They’ve just made their way back into the main room when the door to the Stillwater opens and Artemy appears. He looks exhausted, and Daniil can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. He knows what dealing with the Stamatins can be like, especially given how poorly Peter takes care of himself. He can’t begin to imagine what took Artemy so long, but things must have been pretty bad if it took him such a long time.

Artemy offers Daniil a small smile. “Thanks for looking after them, emshen.”

“It was my pleasure,” Daniil says, and he finds that for once it’s not simply a nicety. “They’re wonderful children, Artemy. Clearly you’re doing a fantastic job in raising them.”

“Truth be told, they raised themselves.” His smile is fond, turning from Daniil to his kids. “You guys ready to go?”

Murky looks up from her drawing - a new one, an attempt to freehand an illustration of a phasmid from Daniil’s field guide. She still has a slight frown on her face as she looks up at her father. “Now? Bachelor was going to show me how to catch insects with a net,” she tells him.

Artemy looks back at Daniil with some surprise on his face. Daniil can feel himself flushing as he tries to look anywhere but at Artemy. “Why don’t you come another day, Murky? It’ll give me time to get a second net.”

“I’ll be ready to go in a minute,” Sticky pipes up. “I just gotta finish -”

“Oh, you can borrow the book,” Daniil says, waving his hand. “Don’t mind the markings I left in it from school. And if you have any questions, well - you know where to find me.”

#icarus.docx #icarus.txt #pathologic

[gyucore]

in the orb

pairing: trapped soul! beomgyu x reader

tags: fluff, angst if you squint, reincarnation au, supernatural au

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: implications of death, light swearing

— you were cleaning your grandmother's attic when you stumble upon an old glass orb that just happened to talk on its own

A cloud of dust scatters around the room after you drop the glass orb on a particularly dusty couch. You've lost it. You've definitely lost it. You're quick to cover your face with your sleeve, fighting back the urge to sneeze. The orb sits still on the couch as it should, a sheet of gray still masking its surface.

This was supposed to be an average weekend. Your grandmother had invited you to her house for some quality time together during your break, and you thought you'd offer to help her clean her mess of an attic, to which she was more than happy to accept. And right now, the sweet old lady was tending to her garden downstairs while you were up here, freaking out.

It's said that people often imagined hearing strange noises when frightened and alone. And you were in a dark and creepy attic at an old person's house. This could just be another case of the common I'm-so-lonely-I'm-starting-to-hear-voices scenario. It's simply wasn't possible for a dusty old orb to start talking when you pick it up. It's just not.

“Hello?” You call out, immediately finding yourself silly for even attempting to communicate with an inanimate object.

The dust in the room eventually settles, and yet still no response. “See, Y/N? You were just hearing things.” That conclusion seemed convincing enough. You felt the need to give yourself a good pat on the shoulder for going along with the sane route.

With that dilemma out of the way, your attention couldn't help but wander back to the large piles of junk occupying nearly every space in the vicinity. One could only hope for your grandmother to clean regularly. “Right, now back to work.”

“What work?”

“Oh, you know. Cleaning.” You answer its question from earlier.

You freeze, eyes wide, a chill running down your spine. There it was again. You weren't sure if you heard it right this time or was just hallucinating, but there was one way to find out.

Silence. You almost called it a day after considering that you were probably just tired and needed some rest.

Half a step outside the door and the voice spoke once more. “Are you still there?”

You pause, brows raised, and back still turned. Somehow, you didn't know if it was safe to face the big ball of dust just yet. “What do you mean? Of course I'm still here. This is my Grandma's house.”

Thank the heavens for modern technology and the invention of smartphones. Speaking of which, you fish for yours in the depths of your pants’ pockets. The voice recorder app should come in handy during times like this. You know, to confirm you're not crazy. With the app on, all you needed to do was have the orb talk again.

“Grandma? Oh! Then you're her grandchild?!”

“Uh, yeah?” The orb apparently knew your grandmother. Strangely enough, that was the least odd tidbit of information you obtained today.

“Her grandchild.. Wow, to think I'm finally meeting you! Or at least your voice?” The orb lets out a giggle and the more you heard it talk, the more human it sounded.

“Sorry, can you excuse me for a minute?”

Never in your life had you thought the day would come where you'd be excusing yourself from a conversation with some sort of decorative object but life has its ways. You were never a stranger to off days anyway.

“Oh, sure, uh, go ahead? I can wait.” The orb swiftly replies. For a second, you could swear something was moving from inside the orb after the light outside the window had hit a clear spot in the crystal.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the room as you dash downstairs, taking your phone out and bringing it closer to your ear, replaying the recording. Sure enough, the voice was caught in the audio loud and clear.

“Holy shit. I'm not crazy.” An exasperated sigh leaves you as you slump back on the wall in disbelief. For a moment, you considered running away and warning your grandma about the cursed object, but part of you was curious enough to disregard the warning signs, and possibly risk your life by going back up there and approaching the thing. You decided to go with the latter.

“Are you back?” The orb asks once you've gotten close enough for it to hear your footsteps.

“Yeah. Just had to do something real quick.”

“I see.”

You wait for the orb to continue but it doesn't. It continues to lie on the couch lifelessly as if it hadn't been speaking to you in the past few minutes.

“Um..” You clear your throat, hoping to get another response

“Oh!" The voice from the orb seemed startled after hearing you talk. “How are you're still there?”

You frown. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Well for starters, a talking glass orb isn't quite the public friendly concept you'd think it'd be.” It answers. Only now have you noticed that the orb had a particularly low masculine voice. “People don't usually stick around long enough to find out why I can talk in the first place.”

You blink. “Fair point. Though, I don't see the need for you to ask over and over again when I already said I was back.”

The orb chuckles. “You'd be surprised how many times people have reassured me of their presence only to leave halfway. Plus, I can't really see you right now to actually know you're there.”

“You can't see me?”

“The dust.”

“OH.” Not knowing what came over you, you immediately lunged forward and started wiping the orb with one of the dust rags you had lying around. It didn't take long for the thing to clear up and look like its old glorious self again. “How about now?” You ask, inspecting the orb as you hold it up.

“Better.”

It takes everything in you to resist dropping the orb on the floor when a glowing face of a man appears from the inside, smiling brightly at you. “I think I'm gonna pass out.”

The man visibly panics, pressing his face closer to the glass. “Wait no! If you pass out now, I won't have anyone to talk to! I haven't spoken to a single person in decades!”

“But you mentioned my grandma earlier, I thought you—”

“She could never hear me, but I could see and hear her.” The man explains, his voice a little quieter than before.

You bring the orb down, still cupping it in your hands. “How is this possible? Are you a ghost or something? How did you get in there?”

“Wouldn't you like to find out?” He winks, resting his head on his hand. “Take a seat and place me down somewhere soft.”

This seemed ridiculous by all means, but you oblige. The couch should be soft enough, and so you place him down gently while you take a seat on the floor, making yourself comfortable. “You were saying?”

“I—” The man accidentally bumps his head onto the glass as he leans forward, chuckling as he rubs his head gently. “Ow. Sorry. I'm just so happy to finally have someone to talk to. You can't imagine how long it's been. How the world survived without a single soul hearing my heavenly voice for all those years is beyond me.” He cracks a joke and you couldn't help but laugh.

“It's okay.” You say, shifting in your spot. “Go ahead.”

The man nods, the smile slowly fading from his face. “My name is Choi Beomgyu. You can call me whatever you like. I had a friend once, and she was a witch. Oh— not the kind that you hear from stories, no. She was really nice and cared a lot about nature, her friends, and her family. That type of person, you know?”

You nod along, assuring him that you were listening, and he smiles again.

There's just something about his smile that just seemed so happy and endearing. Perhaps it had truly been so long.

“She was this ball of sunshine. And back then I was a pretty different guy. Our personalities might've clashed and we butted heads a few times but somehow we ended up becoming close friends.” A faint smile graces his lips before disappearing as quickly as it came. “But then I got involved with the wrong crowd.”

The statement piques your interest and you draw closer. Beomgyu notices this and tries to talk louder.

“Remember how I said she was a witch unlike the ones in the fairy tales? Well, there were also people who were exactly like those witches. The ones that used their knowledge and abilities for their own nefarious purposes.” Beomgyu continues, his hair slightly covering his face as he looked down. “Let's just say that I got myself in a situation where they ended up hunting me down for my soul.”

“What?”

He frowns. “My friend saw me being chased down the streets one night and helped. We both knew that even when together, we were too weak to go against all of them. They had us cornered in her home, and that's when we knew it was the end for us.”

Beomgyu's voice started to waver as he spoke and you were about to ask him if he was alright, and tell him that it was okay if he didn't continue but the look on his face when your eyes met was enough to tell you that he needed to do this. He must've wanted to talk about this matter for so long, you think.

“She.. pushed me towards her workroom, telling me that she'll keep me safe no matter what. I didn't know what she meant until she cast a spell on me and I passed out. The last thing I heard were her screams. I never found out what happened to her after that, and I can only assume the worst.” He shakes his head, trying to getting himself together in front of his new friend. “Next thing I knew, I was inside her old glass orb. I've been trapped in this thing for years with no escape. No one to talk to— forever regretting how I didn't stop her that time, and regretting getting in the way of those witches in the first place.”

His story nearly brings you to tears, and before you knew it, your hands were reaching out for the orb. “Beomgyu, I..”

“It's alright.” Beomgyu smiles. “In the end, the orb ended up in her younger sister's possessions.”

Your eyes widen. “You mean.. Grandma?”

“That's right.” Beomgyu chuckles. “Though she had never able to see or hear me, unlike you.”

“Oh. That's uh, too bad.” You smile awkwardly, releasing the orb. The two of you sit in silence for a while, both needing a little mental break after that.

Shortly, your attention was brought forth back onto the orb when you hear Beomgyu laugh. You find yourself chuckling along. “Entertained are we, Gyu?”

The laughter stops and his eyes shoot up at you. You hear him mumbling something incoherent before hesitating to speak. “No, no.” Beomgyu shakes his head. “It's just.. It's kinda funny. I'm trapped here repenting for my whole life because of what I've done to her, or thinking about what I could've done.. but you know what? To be completely honest, I was starting to forget what she even looked like. But looking at you now, and hearing your voice..”

The idea popped up in your head and you weren't sure if it was even possible to begin with. But then again, you were talking to a soul inside an orb.

“You were easily granted access to the true nature of the orb, and are the first person to have ever done that without running away.” He kids. “Could it be?”

“I wouldn't count on it.” You tell it to him straight, getting up from your spot on the floor and dusting off your jeans. You knew what he was implying and there was no way that you were even considering yourself to be your great aunt's reincarnation no matter how ridiculous the situation already was. “I'll get back to cleaning. Feel free to talk while I do that.” You tell him before rushing to the other side of the attic, avoiding his gaze as much as possible. You'll figure out what to do with him later.

Beomgyu watches you fondly. You had told him to not even count on the thought of you being the one he's been hoping for all these years but it was too late for that now. 

“Entertained are we, Gyu?” Her voice rings in his mind, and he shakes it off.

“How do you always manage to do such amazing things? I'd appreciate it if you'd stop stirring my heart.” Beomgyu's gaze rests upon your busy silhouette, and he smiles in content.

“It's nice meeting you again, Y/N.”

#txt #txt fic #txt imagines #txt x reader #txt fics #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu imagine #beomgyu fic #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu angst #txt au #txt reincarnation au

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

#gwenpool #fanfic #deconstruction #outofloveiswear #fortheoriginalwritersnotmarvelordisney #tw mental health #tw mentions of suicide #tw mentions of drug abuse #tw violence #tw gun violence

[mimisempai]

I have found solace in you

Summary:

There are missions that sometimes weigh heavily on Sam and Bucky, they are happy in these cases to be able to have each other.

🌈 Happy Pride month ! 🌈

To celebrate, 1 day, 1 story.

Be ready for smiles, laugh, fluff, tooth rotthing fluff, positive vibes and a lot of love!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31989373

1148 words - Rating G

Bucky had a favorite position when he shared a loving moment with Sam. Sam would sit at one end of the couch, and Bucky would lie on his back or side with his feet on the armrest, Sam's hand on his belly or hips and Bucky's head in his lap.

Each time, after a few seconds, his hand would return to Bucky's hair. Passing lightly his fingers in the hair that had grown back. In the privacy of their life together, Sam had many tender gestures, gestures that showed the depth of his feelings for Bucky. But in Bucky's eyes, it was one of the most precious moments, like precious seconds when time stood still, when he felt loved and safe from everything.

These last days had been difficult for both of them, Sam had asked him to accompany him on a mission that concerned Hydra.

They had found evidence of the existence of other people like Isaiah Bradley in a Hydra facility.

While Sam had been searching for these people, Joaquin and Bucky had been at the base's Bunker where these soldiers had been "trained".

It had been a difficult mission for both of them, for different reasons. Each one had to face their own wounds and demons, not the first time nor the last.

But unlike the very first time, they understood each other.

Bucky knew that this was going to be one of those nights where they would turn to each other for comfort.

He knew that this evening would be all about solace and caring for each other.

One finding in the other proof that there was more to life than the ugliness they regularly faced.

So when Sam had sent him the message that he was coming home, he had prepared a light meal, he knew that neither of them would have the stomach for heavy food, he had dimmed the lights, and contrary to what one might think, no alcohol. Sam and Bucky had long since stopped drinking on these occasions, as the respite offered by the alcoholic haze was fleeting and the wake-up call even more brutal.

So they had gotten into the habit of making tea, a mixture of herbs that Bucky's mother used to make when he was an energetic teenager who couldn't fall asleep at night.

He made this tea, letting the smell of the brewed herbs spread through the open kitchen into the living room. Now he was waiting for Sam, sitting on the couch when he heard the key turn in the lock.

He watched him enter, going through the usual motions, taking off his shoes, putting down his suitcase and walking over to Bucky, opening his vest and tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair as he passed. This last gesture was a sign to Bucky that Sam was far from well. Sam never carelessly threw any of his clothing accessories anywhere. The only time he did so was when they were caught up in other activities that could not leave room for order and thoroughness.

As Sam continued to move forward, Bucky wanted to get up to give him room but Sam simply said, "Stay where you are".

Bucky, stopped in his tracks, stayed where he was at the end of the couch, a little surprised.

Sam sat down next to him, squeezed his hand briefly before lying down on the couch, his head in Bucky's lap, facing away from him. Bucky, a little confused because it was the first time their positions were reversed, didn't know what to do with his hands. Then, as always in this kind of situation, he let himself be guided by his instinct and put his hand on Sam's chest. Sam seized it immediately, brought it to his lips, kissed it and tightened it against him before pushing a long sigh.

They remained long minutes like that, the silence being broken only by their heavy sighs.

Then Sam turned onto his back and Bucky looked down at him.

Sam raised his hand and placed it gently on Bucky's cheek and said in a breath, "Thanks."

"Thanks for what babe?"

"For not asking me any questions. For being here."

Bucky swallowed before replying, "You would have done the same thing. You do the same thing."

Bucky took Sam's hand that had remained on his cheek, kissed the knuckles before continuing, "Sam, you know I don't believe in fate and all those clichés, but I do believe that each of us is what the other needs. Before you, before us, I would have gone home, had a bottle of some sort to knock myself out and woken up the next day in a worse state than before. There will always be a "before you", a "before us" and an "after". I don't tell you this often, doll, but you really changed my life. You put your light in all those dark places where I was hiding. They're still there, but I no longer feel like the darkness is going to take me with it."

Sam, his feelings raw from their mission, made no attempt to hold back the emotion that overwhelmed him.

He whispered in a broken voice, "Bucky..." before straightening up and kissing him. Then he put his head back in Bucky's lap, lowered his hand and intertwined his fingers with Bucky's, then continued, "Bucky, I know that for you too, this mission was not easy."

Bucky cut him off, "Yes, but I..."

"Let me finish, I know how you felt when you saw the Hydra facility, which must have looked like it did in your past. Joaquin told me he'd never seen you so angry. You have the right to feel that way, you have the right." Sam insisted, his eyes in Bucky's.

"Yeah, but I almost killed that guy. The security guard! He wasn't even fighting."

"Don't start down that path of 'ifs' and 'buts.' Because in the end, you stopped. And I know you always will, because you're not who Hydra wanted you to be anymore, Bucky. I wish you could see yourself at least half as good as I see you. But I also know that's part of you. So I'll keep trying to convince you of your qualities and you'll keep trying to convince me that the world isn't as dark as I sometimes think it is."

Bucky could only reply, "I love you."

Sam whispered as he looked at him tenderly, "I know Bucky and you know I love you."

Then he turned again, his head against Bucky's stomach and wrapped his arms around his waist hugging him. Bucky curled around him. And tightly wrapped around each other, they let the last traces of those horrible days evaporate in that embrace, replacing them with the warmth and comfort they brought to each other.

Once again, each finding solace in the other.

_____

Not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

#established relationship #married #sambucky #sambucky fic #sam wilson #bucky barnes #tfatws #caatws #as always fluff

[notapaladin]

Obsidian and Blood, an overview

Do you like fantasy? Do you like mysteries? Do you like Mesoamerican mythology? Do you like ALL OF THOSE THINGS TOGETHER, set against the lush backdrop of Tenochtitlan in 1480? (Or maybe you just want to know more about the series I have been going feral over since August.) Then buckle up, because oh boy have I got a series for you!

*drumroll, please*

OBSIDIAN AND BLOOD, written by Aliette de Bodard (better known for her Xuya and Dominion of the Fallen series)

There are two kinds of people: Those who see the words “Aztec fantasy/murder mysteries set in very well-researched 1480s Tenochtitlan BUT WITH MAGIC, investigated by the HIGH PRIEST OF THE GOD OF DEATH” and immediately ran off to buy them, and those who clearly need convincing. So here I am, shamelessly plugging my new hyperfixation!

Obsidian and Blood consists of three semi-standalone novels and three (free!) prequel short stories, all featuring 30-year-old Acatl as our first-person POV mystery solver. Acatl is not, however, your average historical detective; aside from being set firmly in Tenochtitlan in 1480 with all that implies re. the acceptability of slavery and human sacrifice, he also is the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli in a universe where the gods regularly meddle in mortal affairs and magic spells are powered largely by rituals and blood—animal, human, or your own. You’d think this would make Acatl really, really good at solving murders, but you’d be wrong. He is the least of the Triple Alliance’s three High Priests, and his god doesn’t come at his servant’s beck and call. Not to mention the other gods, who have their own deadly agendas. That’s not even getting into the people around him, who might be the most dangerous of all. Luckily, he has more allies than he thinks—if he has the strength to actually reach out to them and admit he could use the help!

(He doesn’t need to reach out to his student Teomitl. Teomitl, a confident young warrior of imperial blood, keeps volunteering. This gives Acatl roughly one heart attack per book.)

You will like them if…

I did just say “magic murder mysteries in 1480s Tenochtitlan,” right? It’s real Precolumbian Mexico hours up in here! The history of the Aztec Empire and their Triple Alliance actually forms multiple key plot points throughout the series!

you’re into Aztec history/culture in general

if a DnD fan, you are REALLY into the Raven Queen

you think blood magic is super cool and wish it wasn’t treated as the realm of The Bad Guys

you get incredibly hyped over lesser-known mythologies treated respectfully but also very awesomely (the thing where the Aztecs thought human sacrifice kept the sun in the sky? Yeah, in this universe it is literally true and plot-relevant)

you are big into chaste heroes, lots of snarky asides, highly opinionated narrators who let their own prejudices destroy them, “from an outside perspective this is cosmic horror but for the characters it is a Tuesday,” mysteries with twists you will NOT see coming, and themes of trauma/memories/family legacies

you love reading about dysfunctional family relationships in various states of repair/further destruction

you’ve ever thought “hey this historical mystery is cool but what if there was MAGIC”

you like noir detective stories but want them with magic

you like urban fantasy but want them to have historical settings instead of vaguely modern-day ones

Plot/character summaries below!

SHORT STORIES (prequels to the novels, blurbs by me)

Obsidian Shards

Warriors have been found dead in the town of Colhuacan, obsidian shards embedded in their hearts. Acatl, priest of Mictlantecuhtli, suspects a creature of the Underworld—one he already calls a foe, for it slew his first and last apprentice.

Beneath the Mask

In the Tenochtitlan suburb of Coyoacan, Acatl’s childhood friend Huchimitl begs him to save her only son’s war captive; the man whose sacrifice will make the boy a proper warrior is paralyzed from an unknown curse, unable even to rise from the floor. But who could have cursed him, and is it connected to the mask Huchimitl now wears?

Safe, Child, Safe

A toddler is slowly wasting away, the mark of the Underworld on him, and Acatl is tasked with finding the cause. But no creature of the Underworld kills so slowly, and so Acatl must turn his investigation to the living.

THE BOOKS (blurbs taken directly from the book listings, you don’t HAVE to read them in order but I do recommend it)

Servant of the Underworld

Year One-Knife, Tenochtitlan; the capital of the Mexica Empire. Human sacrifice and the magic of living blood are the only things keeping the sun in the sky and the earth fertile. A Priestess disappears from an empty room drenched in blood. It should be a usual investigation for Acatl, High Priest of the Dead—except that his estranged brother is involved, and the more he digs, the deeper he is drawn into the political and magical intrigues of noblemen, soldiers, and priests—and of the gods themselves...

(Neutemoc: I didn't mean to sleep with her! It was an accident! Acatl: I don't understand. Did you trip?) (Acatl: I don't want a new apprentice! Teomitl: :D? Acatl: ...I will make an exception)

Harbinger of the Storm

The year is Two House, and the Emperor of the Mexica has just died. The protections he afforded the Empire are crumbling, and the way lies wide open to flesh-eating star-demons—and to the return of their creator, a malevolent goddess only held in check by the War God's power. The council should convene to choose a new Emperor, but they are too busy plotting against each other. And then someone starts summoning star-demons within the palace, to kill councilmen...Acatl, High Priest of the Dead, must find the culprit before everything is torn apart.

(Teomitl: I've only had Acatl and Mihmatini for a year, but if anything happens to them I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself) (Quenami: Playing With The Big Boys.mp3)

Master of the House of Darts

The year is Three Rabbit, and the storm is coming. The Mexica Empire now has a new Emperor, but his coronation war has just ended in a failure: the armies have retreated with a paltry forty prisoners of war, not near enough sacrifices to satisfy the gods. Acatl, High Priest for the Dead, has no desire to involve himself yet again in the intrigues of the powerful. However, when one of the prisoners dies of a magical illness, he has little choice but to investigate. For it is only one death, but it will not be the last. As the bodies pile up and the imperial court tears itself apart, dragging Teomitl, Acatl's beloved student, into the eye of the storm, the High Priest for the Dead is going to have to choose whom he can afford to trust; and where, in the end, his loyalties ultimately lie...

(Teomitl: I am no longer Baby I want Power) (Acatl, to Teomitl: What have you got there? Nezahual, gleefully: A coup! Acatl: NO!)

THE MAIN CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)

ACATL “By my face and by my heart, I’ll bring you justice.” High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, god of death and the underworld. As such, his duties include both the obvious ones of arranging funerals and standing vigils for the dead, and the less obvious ones of investigating magical crimes and keeping the boundaries between the heavens, Earth, and the underworld intact. When Servant of the Underworld begins, he’s only recently been promoted and hates it. Has a strained relationship with his living family, due largely to not having lived up to his (dead) parents’ desires for him to become a warrior like his brother Neutemoc. Bitter, cynical, and grumpy, but devoted to justice and fairness.

Has an official character sheet.

CEYAXOCHITL “Everyone has to grow up and take responsibilities. Even small, humble priests.” Guardian of the Sacred Precinct and wielder of the power of the Duality (Ometeotl), which makes her the sworn protector of the Mexica Empire and its Revered Speaker from all sorts of mainly-magical threats. Somewhat past middle age but still very strong in her magical abilities, and something of an antagonistic mentor to Acatl. (She nominated him for the position of High Priest. He is not appreciative.) Serious and devoted to her duty, with a keen eye for potential in others. Dies in Harbinger of the Storm and you WILL cry.

NEUTEMOC “Priests hide and run away. Warriors don’t.” Acatl’s older brother, a Jaguar Knight with five children and a failing marriage. Resents Acatl for not helping to support their aging parents by becoming a warrior like he did. The central suspect during most of Servant of the Underworld’s plot, though by the end he and Acatl have begun to repair their relationship. He is strict, stern, and bitter, but truly loves his family. (In the case of his younger brother, that love is buried very deep down.)

TEOMITL “If we don’t believe in ourselves, who is going to?” Acatl’s student, an enthusiastic warrior who yearns to prove himself worthy of his power and noble rank, as well as live up to the memory of the mother who died birthing him. During Servant of the Underworld he swears himself to Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of fresh water and lakes, gaining (among other things) command over the man-eating water monsters called ahuitzotls. He is courting Mihmatini during Harbinger of the Storm; by the time Master of the House of Darts takes place, they are married. He is abrasive and proud, but also honest, loyal, and brave. And very, very ambitious. You will want to punch him several times. This is normal. (Also, I will swear that it's not just my ship-goggles being on too tight that has me thinking his relationship with Acatl is much more weighty and personal than the one he has with his ACTUAL WIFE.)

MIHMATINI “Better laugh, and smile at the flowers and jade. Life is too short to be spent grieving.” Acatl and Neutemoc’s youngest sister, a powerful magic-user who finds herself thrust into the position of Guardian during Harbinger of the Storm. Though she has no great ambitions herself—she mostly just wants to be a mother and raise children—she is ferociously protective of her family and will fight anything that threatens them. Even themselves. (Especially themselves.) Kind, caring, and light-hearted, but her acid tongue and sharp temper are not to be dismissed. "Fuck Around And Find Out" given human form.

ACAMAPICHTLI “We have always endured.” High priest of Tlaloc and a reoccurring thorn in Acatl’s side. Though he’s primarily out for his own gain and has no patience for Acatl’s refusal to play on the field of Imperial politics, they eventually form something like an uneasy truce following the end of Harbinger of the Storm. He is snarky and sardonic, but truly cares for his clergy. During Master of the House of Darts he somehow became one of my favorite characters.

TIZOC "I've always known that priests couldn't be trusted. You have just exceeded my expectations." Teomitl’s older brother, first Master of the House of Darts and then Revered Speaker. (Look, it’s not a spoiler if you can Google it.) He is cowardly, ambitious, and the closest thing this series has to an overarching antagonist. Among other things, tries to have Acatl executed during Harbinger of the Storm. Events at the end of that book only manage to make him measurably worse. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #1.

QUENAMI “Oh, Acatl. Such lack of tact. You are so unsuited for the Court.” High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, appointed by Tizoc between Servant of the Underworld and Harbinger of the Storm. Comes from a noble family, and is much better at diplomacy and playing politics than he is at magic. When push comes to shove, however, he can display some surprising determination. He is arrogant, scheming, and takes joy in cutting Acatl down, but presumably has some good qualities...somewhere. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #2.

Maps of the series’ primary setting

Setting Primers

Official Character Index

Glossary

#obsidian and blood #aliette de bodard #aliette bodard #servant of the underworld #acatl #teomitl #mihmatini #obsblood primer

[letstrywritingmaybe]

Love, Learned

Eighteen

Their marriage is going well, it’s almost perfect, the only problem is she’s still convinced it isn’t real. He doesn’t know what to do at this point. He’s tried telling her but get interrupted each time, take her out on dates, buying her gifts, making sure to spend quality time with her, talk to her about things unrelated to his cases and checking in with how she feels, having sex regularly and putting her needs first every time. He’s literally following the blueprint to a perfect relationship and somehow she thinks it’s all pretend.

“I should’ve known, this is why you shouldn’t get married.”

“What?”

“Shinichi, are you okay? It’s not like you to space out during an investigation, even if it’s over now.”

“Sorry, I have a few things on my mind.”

“I’ll help you with the paperwork so you don’t have to spend the night here again.”

“I didn’t spend the night last time, I just didn’t get home till four in the morning.”

“Only to leave again a few hours later, you should keep some extra clothes and other necessities here. You literally had a working shower installed, you should use it. There’s no need to come home every day.”

“I just don’t want you to miss me too much.”

“You don’t give me a chance to miss you.”

“Am I smothering you? Do you want some time alone?”

“Um… I don’t really mind it. I am used to being alone, but I’ve kinda forgotten how it feels now.”

He takes this into consideration as they enter his office, she sits on his desk while he takes his seat. Both naturally go into work mode as they begin looking over the reports. He should grab his laptop from his secretary after they go through all the files. It only takes them a couple hours to get it all sorted out, Shiho stands up to stretch, eager to be done with everything. Picking up the case brief, she continues their previous conversation.

“Who would’ve thought? Thirty years together, in what seems to be a happy marriage, then he kills her.”

“His insecurities got the best of him, he married way up. Instead of talking things through, he convinced himself she settled for him.”

“She might have… but so what? It happens.”

“True, but this guy was crazy in love with her. The thought of her possibly leaving him one day was killing him.”

“So he kills her instead. Because he loves her. What an asshole. Just let her go if you think she wants to leave, or just ask her.”

“Do you think she would have told him the truth? If she really didn’t love him?”

“In this situation, no. He obviously has problems so either way she would be in trouble. Knowing that I would die anyways, I would probably tell the truth. Would you?”

“I don’t think I would ever be in that situation.”

“I hope not, it’s pretty shitty.”

“… you can relate?”

“A little, but not to this extent. Good thing we don’t have to worry about that.”

“You’re right, we don’t.”

“But maybe you’ll have to worry about your next wife.”

“I’m not going to have another wife.”

Pushing herself off his desk, she smiles, moving in to straddle him in his chair. Her arms wrapped around his neck playing with the ends of his hair. He places his hands around her waist to keep her from falling.

“You never know, you’re not going to stay single for the rest of your life.”

“I’m not single, we’re married.”

“Hm… you know I think this is the longest I’ve ever been in your office.”

“I usually do the paperwork by myself.”

“Do you ever wish I was here to help you?”

“You’re here now.”

“Yes, I am.”

She leans in to kiss him, hands gripping his hair forcing him to open up. They have to break apart when the chair moves, it’s not wise to start something on wheels. She seems to have other plans from the playful smirk on her lips, she gets up in favor of kneeling before him as her hands work on undoing his belt.

“Shiho…”

“Shh, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I just want a taste.”

“You have?”

“Mm… you’re a giver and all I do is take, so now I’m going to take what I want.”

He’s half hard when she pulls him out, stroking him twice she licks her lips. She doesn’t give him any warning taking him into her mouth, he has to grip on his chair for support. She moans at the feel of him, the vibration sending a wave of pleasure to his core. Tongue swirling at the tip before taking him deeper until he hits the back of her throat, he has to quiet the urge to fuck into her mouth when she begins to bob her head. He almost lets out a loud moan, but a knock on his door stops him, she doesn’t stop her assaults. It’s his secretary asking if he would like her to bring in his laptop he hastily left on her desk, he manages to tell her he’ll get it later.

“It’s really no trouble Mr. Kudo. I’m about to leave anyway, and I know you need it to finish up with this case.”

He makes the mistake of looking down at Shiho, a mischievous look in her eyes, her hand reaching up to cup his balls fondling it. He has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out when she somehow takes him further. Does she not have a gag reflex, it must be her sheer determination to make him suffer. The door handle jiggles, he’ll never be more thankful he opted to have a lock installed in his office. Except he doesn’t remember locking it, his eyes narrow at his wife who lives to torture him. She tries to keep an air of innocence but it’s not believable when she’s so close to making him cum. He can’t help bucking his hips up, she adjusts her position accordingly. Another knock.

“Mr. Kudo, are you okay in there?”

“F-fine. Just g-goo…”

“… if you’re sure…”

“Poss…itive!”

“Okay, good night.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived, apparently his lovely wife has been holding back. Now that they’re truly alone, she turns it up a notch bringing his attention back to her. Fuck, how is she good at this? She moans again, letting him know she’s enjoying this as much as he is, this combined with the way her mouth is working on him is enough to push him over. He barely gets a warning in, but it doesn’t matter, she was prepared to swallow down every last drop he has to offer. He leans back on his chair, watching with hooded eyes when she releases him with a pop. There’s some leftover residue on the corner of her lips, she wipes it with her finger putting it inside her mouth. She never breaks eye contact, a wicked smile on her lips as she compliments him on how well he handled himself. She slowly stands up to lean against his desk.

“You didn’t let anyone interrupt our fun, you deserve a reward.”

“You almost got me in trouble, you should be punished.”

“How are you going to punish me?”

“I’m not going to do anything. I know what you want.”

“But we want the same things. You can't tell me you’ve never thought about having me here with you late at night… bending me over while you fuck me on your desk.”

“I haven’t…”

“Don’t lie to me Shinichi, I know you thought about it.”

“I… how?”

“Because, it’s the first thing I thought about when I walked into this room.”

“That was before we started having sex.”

“Uh huh. You have no idea how much I wanted you to just take me, I didn’t care who would hear us.”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t even have to cum, use me for your own pleasure.”

He jumps up, the chair rolling somewhere behind them as he pushes her on the desk kissing her. She smiles against his lips knowing she’s going to get exactly what she wants, he can’t deny her. She lets him have control, set the pace where they go, this is technically a punishment after all. He’s eager to undress her, removing her shirt over her head unbuttoning her pants pulling them down. She’s stripped to her bra and matching panties, he groans when he sees her. She definitely planned this and he’s falling for it. He allows her to unbutton his shirt while he works on getting her naked, he kicks his pants and boxers off completely. He tells her to turn around and bend over his desk just as she wanted, she happily obliges, spreading her open he can see the slick between her legs. He slides in with ease, she shudders, this angle allows him to brush against her clit with every stroke. He doesn’t waste anymore time, hands on her hips as he moves in and out of her. He’s relentless, pushing back into her almost immediately after pulling out, she grips the top of his desk for something to hold on to. Pushing back against him, meeting his every thrust, a fast pace rhythm, neither of them are going to last at this rate. He knows the telltale signs of her orgasm, feels the way her walls begin to clench, he pulls out of her leaving her hanging.

“Shinichi.”

“You can’t cum until I say so. There’s no one around, I want to hear you beg for it.”

She thinks it over, but he’s run out of patience, flipping her over onto her back he sinks into her again. Sucking on her pulse point leaving a mark, hands pressing down on her hips to keep her still. His pace is the same as before, she can feel the build up coiling inside her stomach, she tries to reach down between them, but he pulls her hand away. Placing a light peck on her lips he reminds her again what she needs to do if she wants to cum.

“Remember what you have to do.”

“Shinichi, please.”

“What was that?”

He shifts the angle of hips to brush against her clit, a sigh of content slips past her lips, he doesn’t do it again. She tries to distract him, sitting up to kiss him, his hands loosen giving her some control as she brings it between them. He purposely presses on her bundle of nerves, but only for a brief moment. His movements are agonizing slow as he continues fucking into her. She can’t take anymore of this.

“Shinichi, please let me cum.”

“You look so pretty like this, just waiting for me. Maybe I should keep you like this.”

“No, please…”

“Tell me, you’re mine and I’ll let you cum.”

His thumb rubs against her, not giving her a chance to question him. She’s so close, just a little push and she’ll be over the edge. He wants to hear her admit she needs him, then maybe she’ll realize this is real.

“Yours, only yours Shinichi.”

“See, that wasn’t so bad?”

He swallows her protests before it can even begin, picking up the pace, finally giving in to what she wants. She wraps her legs around his waist, hands scratching his back chasing her release. She cums hard with his name on her lips, he follows soon after spilling inside of her. Their heartbeats are hammering wildly, catching their breaths as they recover from their high. He kisses her again before beginning the clean up process.

“I’m never going to look at my desk the same way again.”

“That just means I’ll have to come over more and help you with your work.”

“Somehow I doubt knocking all my files over is going to help.”

“At least they’re not mixed in, I just have to pick them up.”

It doesn’t take long for them to sort out the mess they made and look somewhat presentable, so that they can finally go home. It’s well past evening with the sun set hours ago. The click of the door as they leave is what prompts him to ask if she planned this. She plays coy, but he knows she was the one who locked the door behind them.

Also available on ao3 <3

#shinshi #coai #Love Learned #aka the marriage verse or the green card verse #I forgot I didn’t post this chapter and was confused cause I just finished with the next one

[infernwetrust]

Easy To Fall [Xavier Plympton x Fem Reader] Pt 1.

PART 2

Summary: The one where you’ve just gotten out of a bad relationship and he’s just gotten out of a bad relationship. Fortunate enough he’s able to catch your eye one faithful night. What was suppose to be just a fling, turned out to be so much more.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug use, drug use, fluff, emotional, pre-smut, let me know if I missed one!

WC: 3.7k

A/N: This came to me in the spur of the moment one night lol. Part 1 of a 2 part series! Hope you enjoy. Thank you for reading! -Juno

It was suppose to be nothing more than a short fling you told yourself. He was suppose to just be the rebound and then he became so much more. Xavier Plympton. How the two of you ended up meeting regularly for brunches and movie nights were astonishing to you. You learned quickly too that he was also recovering from a break up. He let it slip out on accident at one of the brunches. And you soon learned that maybe you were suppose to be his rebound too.

But he was so damn persistent. He never stopped calling and he always popped up randomly, as if he knew where you were at all times, but it's LA, certain faces stand out and his was one of them. After the first time you two had sex and he demanded that you go out to brunch with him, he had you hooked. He was a total sweetheart despite his playboy charm. Behind all the cockiness, the attitude, and the drugs, Xavier was the easiest person to talk to. You haven't felt that close to anyone in a while.

Today was the day that he finally convinced you to come to one of his aerobics classes and even meet some of his friends. You watched as he moved flawlessly throughout the room, swaying his hips. He was so fucking cute. He glanced over at you, watching as you stumbled over your own two feet, trying to keep up with everyone else. He chuckled as he leaned against the mirror, taking a sip from his water bottle.

"Keep going, everyone!" he shouted as he made his way over to you. "Struggling to keep up, Ms. Y/L/N?" You gave him a sarcastic chuckle before you stopped completely, needing to catch your breath.

"You're cute." you began. "But you're also a fucking asshole, you know that?"

"Awww, babe. You're so sweet. If you want me to help you just say that."

"I'm gonna choke you."

"That sounds fun, but come on, lemme show you." He took a confident stance next to you, running his hands through his sweaty hair. "Just follow my lead okay? Don't be afraid to tell me to slow down." He winked at you after that last sentence, causing you to blush. He started to move and you jumped in where you felt comfortable, following his every step, not missing a single cue.

"Remember to breathe while you're moving as well." he added. "A lot of people don't remember to take breaths when they exercise and it makes you tired faster." You nodded at his advice. "Think you can keep up now for the rest of this first half? I'm gonna go coach one of my buddies real quick."

"First half?!" you asked confused.

"Yeah we've only been in here for like 20 minutes."

"Feels like a fucking hour. Wow I'm so tired, X."

"You'll get use to it, should you keep joining me."

"We'll talk at the end of class blondie. Go help your buddy."

"Here. I'll give you a partner." He shouted half way across the room for a girl named Montana who came running over.

"Whats up , X?" she questioned, slightly bouncing her body to keep on rhythm with the still playing music.

"This is, Y/N. She's a first timer. Mind keeping up with her for me." Montana's eyes widened at the name and a grin came across her face. Xavier must have been talking to his friends about you. "Y/N, this is one of close friends, Montana."

"Yeah, sure. I got you."

"Don't scare her away please. You're usually good at doing that."

"Fuck off, Xavier." He chuckled before looking between the two of you, giving a reassuring nod before swaying off to help someone else.

"So." Montana said, starting to move next to you. "You're the Y/N, Xavier can't stop talking about. He must really like you."

"I mean, I would hope so. We've been talking for like 6 months."

"6 months and I'm just now meeting you? Oh yeah, he definitely likes you. He's usually quick to show us a new girl he's talking to. Steady in competition with our other two friends, Chet and Ray." That almost made you feel special and you tried to hide your smile. "They're never going to give him the end of it when they find out. They've been questioning him like crazy and he's been making up all sorts of excuses."

"I'm sure it's nothing. It's like a friends with benefits thing. X and I are both good where we are. He hasn't show any interest in taking it any further and I'm sure he's talking to other people."

"Why so sure?"

"X came off as a huge playboy when I met him." you shrugged, pausing a moment to reset yourself. "I watched as he danced with any pretty girl he came into contact with that night in the club. He tried it with me, but of course I put up a fight, but he was so fucking persistent. I basically caved in and leaped into his arms. We made out the rest of the night and I found myself back at his place and you know, in his bed."

"Mhmmm." Montana chimed in to let you know that she was listening.

"I slept over and then the next morning he demanded that we have brunch together and we talked for a really long time. He never stopped calling, never stopped popping up by my place and we've just been talking ever since. We have sex every now and then, but I feel it's more of a friendship with benefits than anything."

"I don't know, Y/N. I haven't seen any other girl around, not even when we go out. He's usually drunk and dancing in a group with the guys. And he's been like that for about... 4 months. Adds up to me, yeah?" It did add up and that scared you. You glanced over at Xavier who was laughing extra hard with another man, almost the same height as him, but a lot more buffer. He gave him a playful punch in the shoulder before the two resumed dancing throughout the room. You assumed that was one of his other friends. You bit down on your bottom lip, squeezing your eyes shut, replaying some of the memories you've shared with Xavier.

"You seriously just eat chocolate ice-cream?" Xavier asked, his face full of disgust as he watched you devour your ice-cream cone.

"Yeah." you simply responded, not seeing the issue. "It's fucking delicious."

"It's horrible. You could have any flavor you want and you choose nasty chocolate."

"I sure did. It does not get any better than chocolate ice-cream. What's so nasty about it, huh? Tell me."

"It just taste like cold."

"No, that's vanilla."

"You take that back right now."

"Or what? What are you gonna do?"

When you went to take a another lick of your cone, he smashed it again your face, chuckling as he did.

"I'm... gonna kill you. Yep. I'm gonna kill you."

"I'd like to see you-," . Without warning, you grabbed his cone, taking it, and tried to smash it against the side of his face, but he was fast. He caught your hand, taking his cone back and instead smashing it against your face.

"Run." you said, jaw clenched.

"Or what."

"Run."

***

"Say it louder." Xavier moaned in your ear as he thrusted in and out of you. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you sunk your teeth into his shoulder, barely hanging on to life as he made you feel so good. It didn't help that the two of you got out of the ass high before this started, your bodies basically floating. "Let the whole neighborhood hear you, baby."

"Mmm, fuck me daddy." you whimpered.

"Louder." he said, speeding up the pace. You repeated yourself, twice as loud, your nails now digging deep into his back, so deep that it drew a little blood.

"That's a good girl. God you're so fucking pretty." He leaned in for what was suppose to be a sloppy kiss, but what was instead a passionate one and the both of you held each other close, your hands running gently through his blonde hair.

***

"Are you sure this is something that you want to try, Y/N?" he asked as the two of you sat across from each other in the sand, a small fire lit, joint in his mouth. "Just because I'm doing it, doesn't mean you have to." He firmly gripped the bottle of molly that he had in his hand.

"I want to." you said, placing a hand on his thigh. "I want to go on an adventure with you. And what's the worse that can happen? We both die? At least we're here together right?"

"Die?!"

"I said the worse, Xavier."

"I know, I'm just messing. I know my sources." He passed you a pill and the both of you took them together. 45 minutes later you felt like you left the planet. You and Xavier ran around the beach, chasing in each other in almost absolute darkness, unless one of you ran by the small fire he created.

When he finally caught you, and he did with those long legs, he tackled you into the sand, laying on top of you, planting soft kisses on your face, lips, and neck. You pulled him in for yet another one of your heated kisses which soon turned into a night of pure bliss on the beach.

Overwhelmed by your thoughts, you stopped dancing abruptly, running out of the class and into the hallway. Xavier noticed almost immediately and gave a confused look with his hands up in the air at Montana as he ran out after you. She simply shrugged, not really knowing why you ran out either. You fell to the ground, knees first as you started to cry, unsure of what was going on and unsure of why you were feeling this way.

"Y/N?!" Xavier semi-shouted and he got down on the ground next to you. "What's wrong, babe? What did she say to you?! I knew I should of gave you Brooke as a partner instead."

"She didn't do anything." you answered between sobs. "I just... I just need a minute. Please.." He continued to look at you with worried eyes, placing his hand firmly on your shoulder, gently rubbing it with his thumb. "Please. I'm fine, I promise. I'll be back in there in a minute." He didn't leave before pressing his lips against your temple, giving you a kiss.

You took a few minutes to recollect yourself. Truth is, you had long fallen for Xavier 3 months into your 6 month talking stage, but you had felt like it was too soon. He was fresh out of a relationship and so were you, but he was so damaged. Even though you didn't have to, you put up with his change in mood every so often and his random bouts of wanting to still be in your presence, but in absolute silence.

You finished out class strong, Montana still your partner, fighting back your tears every time you made eye contact with Xavier. He would give you a small smile and you'd give him one return. Montana had awoken the flame you let lay dormant for 3 months too long, but you weren't sure if he felt the same way, regardless if Montana thought so. After class, you stayed behind with her, her introducing you to Brooke and pointing out the other two boys in the friend group who were pulling Xavier to the side to talk and you couldn't help but eavesdrop, tuning back into the conversation you were having with Brooke and Montana.

"So when is single Xavier coming out to play?" Chet asked. "He's been ignoring us for 6 months."

"Single Xavier never left the building." Xavier said, grinning. "He's just calm now."

"Bullshit." Ray said. "For like a solid month you went crazy. I've never seen you do so many drugs and fuck so many girls in the course of a month."

"So you want single Xavier, so that I can go on a another drug binge? I'm trying to heal guys, come on."

"Noooo. We want single Xavier to come and have fun with us tonight at the bar."

"Yeah." Chet chimed in. "That sounds more correct. You're a little bit too aggressive intoxicated on drugs anyways. But tell us, dude. Is that her?" Your breath hitched in your throat, knowing that all of their eyes were burning into your back. "And if it is, how come we've never heard about her?"

"I'm taking things slow with her, okay? And when I introduce you guys you have to promise me that you won't be so... so much, yeah?"

"Jesus Christ, he's pussy whipped."

"Here we fucking go." Xavier said, furrowing his eyebrows and running his hands across his face.

"Me? Aggressive?" Chet asked, playfully sizing Xavier up.

"Especially you, Chet."

"Yeah, well, fuck you. Still come to the bar with us, come on man, when's the last time it's just been us dudes?"

"I already made plans with Y/N for after here."

"What happened to bros before-," Ray began to question.

"Don't fucking go there, Ray. Look, tomorrow night fellas. I promise."

"You make too many promises, Plympton, but go ahead. Introduce us to your secret lover."

"She is not my-,"

"I ain't even trying to hear it." Ray said, taking his toothpick out of his mouth. "Lover boy. You always were a softy, X."

"I can fuck with and talk to whoever I want. Got it? I can call it quits whenever I want. Who says I'm not trying to prepare myself to find better? I don't care if we've been talking 6 months versus 2 years. I call the shots. If I wanna forget about her, I can forget about her, no problem."

"There's the beast. Chet said, grabbing Xavier by his shoulders and giving him a good shake.

"Still not going to the bar, though. I made plans and you know I'm a man that sticks to the plan." You could hear the other two guys sigh in frustration, but you were too wrapped up in your own sadness and frustration to even begin to want to say something. "You guys seemed a bit too riled up right now. I'll introduce you another time. It's getting late and I got to close up anyways."

"So you'll come with us?" Brooke asked, pulling you from listening to the boys conversation.

"I would." you said, honestly not even hearing what she asked. "But Xavier and I are suppose to be hanging out."

"Ooo." Montana said, raising her eyebrow.

"It's not special. Friday's are always reserved for movie night since we've started talking. He usually falls asleep half way through." Just before the girls could say anything, he made his way over to you.

"Ready to go?" he asked, giving you a warm smile before darting his eyes back and forth between Brooke and Montana.

"Yeah.." you answered, barely above a whisper, trying not to show your emotions about what he said. You weren't even suppose to be listening anyways, but all of that went straight out of the window the moment you two sat down in his VantaC.

"So what movie are we-," he began to ask, but you cut him off.

"I'm not just something you can throw away." you said flatly. He looked at you confused, scratching the back of his head.

"What?" he questioned. "Y/N, what are you talking about? No one is gonna throw you away?"

"You can talk to and fuck whoever, right? You can call it quits. You can find better." you repeated his words, your voice about to crack, but you stayed strong. "You don't care how long we've been talking because you can just forget about me right? Xavier, I thought we cared about each other?"

"You were listening to my conversation?"

"Of course that's the only thing you heard. You weren't exactly being quiet." He sighed, leaning back in his seat, rubbing his hands together.

"You really think I meant that? I mean, like seriously?"

"I don't know. You sounded pretty serious."

"Why do you always do this to me? We have a long good streak and then bam. It's always something."

"Because I put a lot on hold for you, Xavier."

"I didn't ask you to do that. I didn't ask you to change anything about your life for me. That was a choice you made."

"Yeah well maybe I shouldn't have made it..." you mumbled.

"Speak up." he said, hearing what you said.

"I didn't say anything, let's just go."

"You know, Y/N. My life has just been full of you. You you you you. No one else."

"Stop talking to me and drive."

"No I'm not gonna stop fucking talking to you and drive. We talk to each other, you know that. I'm tired of you trying to shut me up or shut me down every time we get into one of these stupid little arguments. You just have to always be right, yeah?"

"I'm gonna tune you out now." you said, going to turn up his radio, but he grabbed your wrist. "You better-,"

"Or what? Huh?" The anger Xavier let lay dormant for so long was filing starting to come back. Of course it wasn't towards you. It was his own personal hell cup that was filling over and you just happen to be at the end of it.

"Xavier please..." you whined. "You're hurting me." He softened up once he heard the desperation in your voice. Your wrist was red when he finally let go of you.

"I'm sorry..." he mumbled. "Fuck.. I'm sorry."

"Let's just go please. Take me home."

"Y/N. I didn't mean any of what I said to Ray or to Chet."

"Then why'd you say it? What do you have to prove to them?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid of what, Xavier?" He fell silent, not really sure of how to give you an answer. He was so so so damaged when you found him. And now all those memories came flooding back to him as he gripped the steering wheel hard in front of him.

"Afraid to lose control again, Y/N. I just got back control of my life. I don't want to go back to weak and depressive, Xavier."

"So you bring about asshole Xavier instead?"

"It was my only way of not appearing weak in front of my boys."

"You don't have to do anything for anyone, but yourself. We've talked about this so many times. You do not need to change for anyone, but you. You don't need to appear strong. It's okay to show emotions. It's okay to care about someone other than yourself. It's okay to have a soft side. It's okay to say no." you said. "But you know what's not okay? Hurting someone else in the process of building yourself back up."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. I-, I-, I have feelings for you, okay? Happy? 3 months ago I learned that I had feelings for you, but I didn't know if you felt the same. I still don't know if you feel the same, so I said what I said to them to make myself feel better. I promise that I didn't mean it. I wouldn't ever throw you away. I don't want to talk to anyone else. I don't want to sleep with anyone else. I don't want to see anyone else. These past 6 months it's just been you, I swear." You fell silent, memories that you had with Xavier playing over in your head again and again and again.

"Y/N?" he called out when you didn't give him an answer. "Y/N please don't be mad at me. I'm sorry if what I said hurt you and I understand if you don't want to talk anymore after this, but please don't walk away hating me. I can't lose you. I can't lose anyone right now. Not again."

Why did he take so long to tell you? Why did you take so long to tell him? You were silent for most of the ride home, Xavier giving you the occasional side glance to make sure that you were still okay, but deep down inside he was a nervous wreck. He was afraid that he just ruined it all by confessing his feelings for you. He was growing to hate himself all over again the longer the two of you sat there in silence. When he pulled into your driveway, you allowed for him to walk you to your door as usual.

"Y/N." he said softly as you put your key in the door, opening it. "Please..."

As soon as you stepped foot in your home, you wasted no time pulling him in with you by his jacket, smashing his lips against yours in a kiss he couldn't wait to return. Naturally, as if were meant to be, which at this point the both of you knew it was, he lifted you off the ground, cupping your ass in his hands as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Too wrapped up in each other, you're pretty sure that a few things were broken on the way to the bedroom, but you didn't care. Those things were replaceable. He put you down, but only long enough for the clothes to come off, him immediately picking you back up.

He sat down in the edge of the bed, your legs still wrapped around his waist, resuming the kiss. He laid down and your hands found their way wrapped up his blonde hair as soft moans left the both of you. There were countless times you two had sex of course, but this felt different for the both of you.

"We should do this in the shower." you said, breathless against the side of his face, gently biting on his ear. "Easy clean up, don't you agree?"

"Y/N..." he said, just as much out of breath.

"Hmmm?"

"You make me so fucking happy."

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid

#xavier plympton #xavier plympton imagine #cody fern #cody fern imagine #ahs #ahs 1984 #american horror story 1984 #american horror story #chet clancy #montana duke #brooke thompson #deron horton

[remys-lucky-franc]

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

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[MORE]

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I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.


We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones