#every variation of skinny blond man you could think of…‚.. that was him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redorich · 3 years

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to those who carried on

A fic for @petrichormeraki and their Hermit!Tommy AU.

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The hermits know Tommy as a quiet young man who is very sad and contemplative. The more time they spend with him (against his will, but they know he needs the company) the more they learn of the little details. His favorite block is cobblestone, he likes building towers, and apparently his favorite woman is the Queen. They don’t ask why he wears a smiley mask even though he never seems happy. They don’t ask why he hides important things in his ender chest. They don’t ask why he wears a shattered compass on a chain about his neck.

(Once, he died in lava and lost his absolute mind. He was so upset about the compass that he didn’t even mention the stack and a half of diamond ore he had on him. Xisuma ended up manually rolling back the server just so Tommy could have it back.)

As time goes on, the tremors in Tommy's hands grow lesser. His dull blond hair seems a bit brighter, his bruises fade quicker, he doesn’t look quite so skinny-- he spends his time serenely building, resource gathering instead of running and fighting. He has a sense of humor under all that trauma, which the hermits unfortunately find out after another massive-scale prank war thought to be instigated by Grian actually turns out to be Tommy's fault.

Tommy starts swearing more. Doc gets the stink eye from Stress for this, but Doc insists he’s never once sworn around the young man. (That’s an absolute lie, but it wasn’t anything Tommy hadn’t heard before. Tommy thinks Doc is remarkably unoriginal in his cursing. He does take note of the German ones, though.)

Inviting Tommy to PvP minigames can be touchy, they learn. He likes to fight, but he fights like an animal with nothing to lose. Grian once chanted, “It stays in the pit!” and everyone present had to spend the next five minutes wrangling Tommy’s soul back into his body from wherever it’d floated off to.

Tommy likes to glide with his elytra. He claims he’s never had one before, but he flies like such a natural that a few people have their doubts. On a dark desert night, with dark blue eyes watching the night sky, he confides to Cub that it reminds him of the way his dad used to fly. He hates rockets, though. He does not confide to Cub that it reminds him of what his brother did to his best friend. He says enough that Cub can guess, though.

Scar gets fed up with Tommy’s creeper holes and makes Tommy help him fix them. At first, Tommy has no clue why Scar is breaking out things like coarse dirt and birch leaves and making the ground all fancy, but he’s not afraid of a little hard work and Scar makes it fun. He learns a lot about terraforming that day, and awkwardly comes back a few days later asking if Scar needs any more help terraforming. Tommy still hasn’t built a real base, not by Hermitcraft standards, but the small hill he’s built his dirt hut near now has a very beautiful, if amateurish, waterfall. He doesn’t tell Scar about this, but Scar finds out anyway. Tommy wakes up one morning to find that someone has left a shulker box in his house. Instead of iron-gripped paranoia, he just feels wonder that someone would give him a gift-- to the hermits, a single shulker box is nothing. To Tommy, it’s everything.

The shulker box contains coarse dirt, birch leaves, and a silk touch shovel.

Tommy helps Xisuma mine a giant hole in the ground near bedrock, because he realizes that he’s never thanked the admin for getting him his compass back. Well, that and the fact that instamining with a haste two beacon and an efficiency five pickaxe is a novelty. Xisuma lets him keep the cobble, since everyone knows it’s Tommy’s favorite block, but also insists he keep some of the other blocks like andesite and diorite. He pats Tommy on the head and tells him to talk to Bdubs about building a house some time. Tommy nods. He's taken aback by how tall Xisuma is, completely contrasting his mild nature. He reminds Tommy of Wilbur, on one of his good days before... Before. Not Ghostbur, though-- the admin is much too alive.

Tommy waits too long, so eventually Bdubs comes to him. The man is silly and outrageous, playing everything for laughs and unexpectedly tender. Bdubs plays up how beautiful he thinks Tommy’s hideous dirt shack is, then offers to help him build a house that’s better. For Tommy, building a house means settling down, accepting that this is his home now. Bdubs doesn’t know this. Tommy builds cobblestone dicks while Bdubs tries to lecture him about depth and block variation. Nothing gets done and Bdubs feels like he might have failed, but come next week Bdubs is flying over the area and sees the dicks are gone; so is the dirt house. In its place is a spruce-and-cobble cottage nestled near the tiny waterfall. Off to the side, he’s made a cozy doghouse for his fox, Theo. Bdubs doesn’t know how close that fox came to being named Fundy.

He spars with False, and she very pointedly does not mention how his stances are uniquely suited to a piglin. There’s only one renowned fighter who’s a piglin, after all. It's Tommy’s story to tell, if he ever does, why he’s seen enough of the legendary Technoblade’s fights to pick up on his stances, yet he’s not experienced enough to know that they don’t suit him. Instead, False gives him different stances suited more for tall, skinny people like the two of them. She’s got blond hair and blue eyes just like him. (Not that she’d know. She’s never seen his eyes, hidden behind his mask as they are.) Every now and then, he imagines her as an older sister, and the one time he says so, she smiles. When Tommy’s at home, looking at his own distorted reflection in his waterfall (he’s improved it since he built it), he muses that their eyes aren’t the same, their hair colors are subtly off. It’s close enough, he thinks.

Stress dies from fall damage and Tommy goes out of his way to pick up her stuff, because the hermits do these things out of the kindness of their hearts. The thought never even crosses their minds to steal. It crosses his mind. He doesn’t do it. Stealing from Stress would be like stealing from Niki.

He shows up at Cleo’s base unannounced and demands to see the “cool shit”. He is appropriately enthused by the giant armor-stand-bugs. She tries teaching him her armor stand magic, but it doesn’t really sink in. It’s okay, she assures him, most people don’t have the knack for it. He does, however, learn that buttons make excellent decorations. He also learns how to braid hair, bribed by ice cream. He is terrible at it, to the point where Joe has to come by to help the two untangle her hair so Tommy can start again. Watching the two bicker over capitalism and six million armor stands and a whole host of other inside jokes he doesn’t get, he thinks he’s starting to understand what friendship is supposed to be like. Joe and Cleo don’t see him clutching his compass. He and Tubbo weren’t too far off from this, given their circumstances. Maybe...

Maybe Tubbo can be forgiven.

Tommy makes minigames of his own, ones that don’t just kill you and steal your stuff. He builds things that are pretty instead of just functional, brews potions with Stress and only calls them drugs once (again, upsetting her is like upsetting Niki. Best not done), and sets up chicken bombs above people’s bases instead of just lavacasting them. (As Grian saw the hundreds of chickens slowly raining down upon his mansion, he got such a peculiar look on his face that Tommy feared he’d fucked up. The shorter, stronger (much stronger oh god why is he so strong despite being so small) man nearly crushed Tommy’s lungs in a hug, proclaiming how proud he was of Tommy. Tommy was proud of himself for not accidentally murdering Grian out of reflex. Was this what healing was like?)

Yes. It is what healing is like. Tommy knows this because that wound gets ripped open again. Tango shows him how to build the most obnoxious redstone-powered noise machine the two can think of. Tango digs a small pit, and asks Tommy to throw down his axe. Suddenly, Tommy’s in Logstedshire again; it’s not Tango asking, it’s Dream. His hands don’t shake when he tosses his axe into the pit, followed by his sword and his armor. It isn't until he’s placed the TNT down that Tango grabs his wrist and asks him what he’s doing. Tommy’s eyes clear enough that he can see past the blond hair and freckles. Tango isn’t green, he’s red. He's shorter than Dream, and his worried eyes are unhidden. Tommy shudders, then tells Tango everything.

Tango has no pity for Tommy, just understanding and sympathy. He doesn’t push Tommy to talk about it, but when Tommy’s done telling his story, Impulse and Zedaph show up. They all pretend that Tommy’s voice isn’t hoarse, that they all didn’t conveniently happen to look away when Tommy took off his mask just long enough to wipe his eyes. The men bake a cake together, fool around with honey blocks, and don’t talk about it.

Tommy knows very little about redstone, considers himself more of a builder and a fighter than an engineer. Still, Mumbo’s living base is inspiring, and Tommy often hangs around the man’s industrial district just to watch Mumbo work. Mumbo knows that Tommy hasn’t purchased a day pass, but it’s nice having someone around to talk to while he works. It’s not like Tommy is stealing anything. (Tommy totally steals from Mumbo’s industrial district storage system. The man’s farms are so efficient that he doesn’t even notice, so Tommy assumes it’s fine. What Mumbo doesn’t know won’t hurt him.)

Lava still isn’t his favorite thing in the world. He stays far away from it, instead of imagining what it would be like to hurtle towards it. Ren doesn’t really notice this, but he does notice that Tommy doesn’t seem to like his mustafarian base. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, Ren whips up some absurd plotline in which he is a lone weary traveller seeking refuge at Tommy’s base from strange alien overlords. The two have fun together, and the young man cracks more absurd jokes about it than the hermits have ever seen him do. When Ren leaves a week later to return to his own base, Tommy keeps being absurd, if a bit more subdued without someone to play off of. He builds a shrine to the “prime log”, which grows more elaborate each day. Beef and xB pretend to be his acolytes, despite having no clue what a “twitch prime” is.

They can’t see his face, but the smile in his voice is a far cry from the despondency he once wore like a heavy cloak. He is so much more animated and alive, full of motivation. He builds an entire island in three days, and hand-delivers an invitation to each and every hermit for his beach party. Everyone shows up, even those with packed schedules (Iskall) and those with introverted tendencies (Etho). Tommy is nearly moved to tears when they show up in groups of twos and threes, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to come. There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, but there is more than enough cake to go around. Tango brings drinks, Impulse brings meat to barbecue, and Zedaph makes an elaborate jump-powered grill. Keralis brings way too much confetti and several handfuls of cheap, obnoxious party noisemakers. Stress brings Tommy a crown made out of alliums. It shines far less than his brother’s gold crown, and it’ll die in a few days, but he wears it all night and keeps it in his ender chest until it withers away.

He spends five days teaching himself to make flower crowns. Even his best attempt is awful, nowhere near as pretty as the crowns Stress makes, but when he gives it to her, she takes off the one she was wearing and wears his until it falls apart.

He dies fighting a creeper on Grian’s behalf, and doesn’t even panic, because he trusts that however many times he dies, no matter how stupid or ignominious or revolutionary or important, Xisuma will always let him respawn.

He spends a grand total of nine diamonds to buy a single plot of land in the shopping district. He builds a cute little bench facing the sunset, with warmly glowing street lights on either side and a small garden. At the end of the bench he places a jukebox, and buys every single disc that Beef’s music shop sells, including Pigstep. He sits on the bench while Mellohi plays and watches the tiny silhouettes of his friends flying in the evening sky. Tommy looks alone on that bench, even if he seems happy, so sometimes other people stop by to sit with him. Scar declares the bench area a public park, since everyone likes it so much, and refunds Tommy his nine diamonds straight from the throne.

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cle1024 · 4 years

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beyond the silver horizon | lfl

member: lee felix

genre: angst

summary: everything you told me, the words you whispered into that stinging winter atmosphere, was spoken far too late. mafia!au

warnings: violence, death

a/n: an anon requested mafia angst with felix, i hope this lives up to expectations <3 i got inspiration for this story after listening to seventeen from the heathers and watching a quiet place, i didn’t think a horror movie could make me that sad but i’m also a notorious crier! also i’m very sorry i disappear for such long periods of time i’m in my final year of school and suck at time management anyway love you

The sky pooled with the blue of faded jeans and snowcloud grey, the abysmal winter taking the common popularity far from the sandy miles and crashing tides. It was at its peak in winter, despite being a beach. It flawlessly transformed from a bustling getaway to a tranquil sanctuary, one you had come to share with another. Felix’s silver hair often matched that of the beyond skyline, the sun’s muted rays being overpowered by cool-toned clouds. Words often went unexchanged in such moments, as the two of you preferred to bask in all the peace and serenity. In those moments, you would feel free—no longer looking over your shoulder with caution, watching your friends walk out of doors they may never walk through again. Instead, it was just waves. Crashing water flowing back and forth, back and forth. They never went away. Felix had never spoken many words while you found yourselves sat on the cold sand together, though the few he aired always stuck in your mind. They were words you’d unknowingly yearned to hear, words that allowed you to escape to a fantasy each night as your eyes closed until the morning.

“Someday, we’ll go far beyond that silver horizon,” he had promised you, “we’ll leave it all behind for a new beginning.”

“You really think so?”

He smiled at you reassuringly as he nodded gently, “I know we will.”

The day Felix met you wasn’t unusual, nor was it anything special at the time. He couldn’t remember how he found himself caught up in the world of drug lords and shady business, but he remembered exactly when he laid eyes on you — four in the afternoon he witnessed Minho leading you to Chan’s office, neither of you with pleasant facial expressions. Minho looked bored, you looked irritated, he didn’t want to know how Chan looked. As much as he expected to watch you disappear into the confines of his boss’ office and never reappear, at five o’clock he observed you leaving the office with Chan, the man smiling with satisfaction, victorious. Felix could remember watching you navigate your way around the base for a few days before Changbin grew tired of the male’s intense observation, said he looked like he was “trying to turn the damn kid into ice!”

From what he understood, though never confirmed, you were down on your luck, broke, and made the mistake of robbing Minho—successfully, much to the dismay of the male’s ego. It didn’t take the bright haired male long to track you down and drag you back to base, not with the expectation of grievous punishment, but with the intention of acquiring you a job. Minho was frequently forgiving, unlike most, and considered you lucky to have chosen him instead of someone else—someone much more ruthless, bloodthirsty. Chan wasn’t hesitant in persuading you to join, Minho was one of the most perceptive people he’d ever met; he was observant, strong-minded, soft-spoken and thought in ways he had never once considered. And he was usually right, but Chan didn’t want to inflate his ego too much.

Three months into the job, as unconventional as it was, you spoke your first words to Felix. They were words he’d heard in countless variations prior, yet something about your voice resonated deep within him, almost as if a ray of moonlight had struck his soul and encased it.

“Chan said we have business together, can I trust you?”

“Always.”

Felix didn’t question you back, despite tradition. Somehow, he knew you’d give the same answer. It was laced in the gentle smile you futilely suppressed.

Trickling down the glass windows, beads of perspiration and rain water scattered across the window pane. Your eyes watched the droplets slide from their original position on the glass to the bottom, replaced by another splash of crystal liquid. Felix glanced at you momentarily; it was bizarre how things had changed so swiftly. Three months since the first time you spoke — the same amount of time it took the two of you to verbally communicate for the first time — yet it felt as if you were engaged in a three year long friendship. The two of you had found freedom, paradise, in the sandy shores of an unpatrolled beach, no matter how abysmal in appearance. The two of you were yet to experience a beach in nice weather, together at least, instead sticking to the depressing atmosphere of chilled winter days, the scenery a colour scheme suitable to Felix’s ash blonde, white, or silver strands of hair. It was coincidental to begin with, then it became an innocent rendezvous requested in moments of loneliness and exhaustion. The freckled male wished he could take credit for the organisation of such ‘bonding’, so to speak, but it was your proposal, spoken as poetically as ever — “perhaps we should make this our own utopia, hey? Watch the oscillation of murky water plunge into abysmal depths.” Felix wasn’t sure how to respond the first time around, the eloquence of your words stunning him momentarily. All his brain could think was: “yeah, whatever that means.” He had simply nodded instead. Though, truthfully, he didn’t really care what it meant. If it granted him time with you, he would be willing to make it a tradition.

That beach became your utopia, a hideaway from the consequences of the lifestyle the two of you found yourselves entangled in. Whether you sat under the shelter of Felix’s clunky black buick or amongst the scattered sand grains, the soothing sound of crashing waves washing the shoreline put the two of you at ease. It was escapism at its finest. Even when the topic of your line of work—if it could even be considered a form of employment—was brought up, it felt as if it were a hypothetical scenario. “If you were a part of the mafia, would you want to escape?” rather than “do you think we could ever escape being in the mafia?” You always answered no while Felix maintained hope, but you both seldomly pondered how you could escape a lifestyle that was so omnipresent.

The pair of you found yourselves sat within the same clean car three weeks later, travelling down a long stretch of smoothly paved highway with obscured chatter being emitted from the silver radio. It wasn’t for a blissful escape this time. Rather, a job—or mission, you still didn’t know how to appropriately refer to the actions you were sent out to perform. Felix knew more of the situation than you knew, mainly because you zoned out halfway through Changbin’s explanation of the whole situation. Then again, you didn’t really care to know the extensive reasoning Changbin had for why certain things had to be done, as long as you got the job done and weren’t fucking murdered for not doing so, you didn’t really care. You’d spent the majority of the four hour car ride staring out the window, watching cars wizz past at illegal speeds, even for a highway, and trees blur into green masses of indistinct leaves and skinny branches. It only became evident that you had reached some form of civilisation when the pine trees evolved into small convenience stores and quaint homes, then towering skyscrapers and elegant apartments. The buzz of the radio, a sound you’d become accustomed to over the hours, was intercepted by Felix’s deep voice, “we’ll have to leave for the museum at six tomorrow evening. I’ll explain the situation on the way, I know you weren’t listening,” he teased cheekily.

You smiled mildly with a roll of your eyes, “you’re the boss—oh, wait.”

Felix scoffed and smacked your shoulder lightly, “get out of my car before I throw you out and leave.”

“Shut it, Lix’. You love me.”

A shit-eating grin was spread across your face as you took your gym bag from the boot, turning on your foot to enter the luxurious hotel. Felix smiled fondly at you—shit. Perhaps he did.

The hotel room was what Changbin would describe as ‘comfortable’, but that chandelier-swinging prick was born into a lengthy ancestry of money—and criminal activity, though you supposed that was irrelevant. It wasn’t really, but it was a four-hour presentation you didn’t want to mentally sit through. Instead, you took in the opulent hotel room with awe and appreciation. White marble tiles spread along the floor, a light gold chandelier adorned with rhinestones dangled over the large dining table. The room was overboard in every possible way, though Chan had brushed it off as “getting into character”. You supposed that it would be more covert to retreat into a hotel equally lavish to the gala the two of you planned to intrude on. That part had almost slipped your mind—the whole criminal part of it. He’d subconsciously experienced the trip as a getaway. It wasn’t a work expense, it was a sumptuous getaway to escape that lifestyle, ignoring the stress of money, drugs, and being tailed by the police. It was freedom—except it wasn’t. It was nothing more than business; everything was just business. Felix, on the other hand, was painfully aware of the situation, in a way that you didn’t know or understand—not yet, at least. The male didn’t hold contempt towards the situation for being ‘just business’, he held contempt for what it should have been. It wasn’t the kind of goodbye he’d wanted to give you, sitting in an over-the-top hotel room preparing for a mission before leaving, for good. He had it all planned out, people who would help him—even Chan knew about the whole plot, for goodness sake, he’d sworn to cover it up as an untimely death. Though, as it drew closer, Felix couldn’t help reject the original plan. It was a solid plan, but it didn’t include you. How could he ever leave without you?

Felix, foolish as it was, didn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning around in the silky blue sheets, feeling them twist around his bare torso, felt much more comforting than sleeping—despite the fact he would escape from the thoughts he felt tormented by. At one point he’d left the room entirely, standing on the balcony as the cold air pricked at his exposed skin. It was winter, how fitting. He’d watched you lay peacefully in the sheets for a few moments, the steady rising of your chest putting him at ease momentarily, until those thoughts came creeping in again. In all honesty, he hadn’t even planned on telling you—or anyone. He would just slip away into the night, run as if his life depended on it—it did, he supposed. With a sigh, the male slipped back into the warmth of the hotel room, sliding the glass door closed to forbid the frosty air from plaguing the room and ruining your peaceful slumber. Fuck, he really couldn’t leave you behind. The frosty bathroom tiled stung the soles of his feet as he splashed water on his face, patting the freckled skin dry with the lightest touch possible, as if he would break if too much force was used. Felix had never felt so close to the edge — the edge of what, he wasn’t certain yet, but something told him he’d understand soon enough.

The sun was steadily disappearing behind the uneven horizon, and you were taking advantage of the last pungent rays of sunlight to prepare for the gala night—you supposed it was better to be early hours before you had to leave instead of minutes. Plus, Felix had encouraged you to do so and he had far more experience than you. He also had ulterior motives in the form of telling you heavy news and a proposal he prayed you wouldn’t reject. Truthfully, he hadn’t even considered how to approach the topic. Did he just spit it out: “I’m leaving”, or was that too harsh? Why did it even matter? It’s not like he would be around to watch the fall out—that didn’t make it any better, though.

“What time do we leave?” Felix’s thoughts were intruded by your querying voice. His head turned in your direction and, fuck, you looked beautiful.

“Uh- seven. Weren’t you listening to Chan?” The slight teasing edge of his voice prompted a playful smile to stretch across your face as you raised an eyebrow.

“When have I ever listened to Chan?” A deep chuckle vibrated in Felix’s chest as he shook his head gently. Of course you hadn’t, you remained as independent as ever, “besides,” you sigh gently as you move to sit next to him on the unmade bed, “the stuff he says just reminds me of the shitty situation I’m in.”

“What do you mean?” The freckled male raised an eyebrow in question. You laughed bitterly.

“The fact I’m a dimestore criminal and always will be. The only time it will end is when I’m thrown in prison—and I’d still be bloody miserable,” your words hung heavy in the air as Felix chewed on his plush lower lip. Fuck it.

“We could leave, together. You know. Start a new life, be happy.”

A sigh passed your lips, a mix of exasperation and misery, “Felix, you know this isn’t the kind of life you can just run away from.”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Don’t you want to be free?”

“Living in fear isn’t living freely!” with slumped shoulders, a posture of defeat, the exasperation dissipated from your face, “you should know that by now.”

Mustering up the necessary courage, Felix allowed his deep voice to break through the tense atmosphere, “well—I’m leaving.”

You visibly froze, shoulders rigid and jaw tense as the news simmered in the air. The silence was thick, Felix could feel it melting through his skin and coating his bones, “I’m leaving tomorrow night,” it was the affirmation you didn’t want to hear. The news that, no, this wasn’t some sick joke, this was real fucking life and Felix was leaving you, “I know some people that can help me out, but—” he sighed with hesitance, “I’ll stay if I’m what you choose.”

Felix failed to realise it at the time, but from this distance, painfully aware of the emptiness of the grey grains of sand, Felix knew that the sandy shores were never his idea of paradise. It was the person who sat beside him, enduring the cold weather in a comfortable silence.

It was easier to put on a happy face than either of you had expected. Though, thinking about it, you weren’t sure why you had such little faith in your acting skills—you’d managed to hide your criminal occupation under a law-abiding facade, after all. Felix had briefly run through the plan, meaning he had told you to keep a low profile and follow his lead. You had assumed it was an ordinary job—steal their stash, take out anyone who got in your way, get the fuck out of there. Suffice it to say, you found yourself in awe at the beauty surrounding you. The museum was painted in tones of gold and white, with lush velvet lounges and curtains showcasing the large pristine glass windows. All exhibits were on display, allowing the museum to brag its gorgeous vintage paintings and unique bone collections — you were pretty sure you’d heard Minho brag the same thing, and you were absolutely certain you didn’t let him explain it any further than that. Feeling Felix’s hand brush gently against your arm, you turned your attention to the silver-haired male, suppressing the attraction blooming in your eyes. He looked marvelous. Hair swept back effortlessly with a crisp suit adorning his slim frame. To say he didn’t look intimidating would be a blatant lie, and to act as if you weren’t already immensely attracted to him would be pointless. With an internal reprimand, you raised an eyebrow at Felix, inviting him to proceed with his words.

“Just mingle for a little bit. Go through that door,” he discretely gestured his head towards a set of large dark oak doors, “about ten minutes after I do. Wait in the hall, and if anyone asks, you needed a break from socialising.”

Nodding with understanding, you watched as Felix sent a reassuring smile your way before sauntering across the large room, smiling and greeting other primly dressed men he probably didn’t know. An unpleasant thought plagued your mind, one you desperately wanted to push away from contemplation: as soon as this mission was over and you returned to the base you called home, you would have to watch as he walked away once again, a stride towards freedom. It was something he so desperately craved, you couldn’t bring yourself to take that away from him—no matter how much you wanted to. The sound of the ebony wooden grandfather clock was lost in the sound of absent-minded chatter and fake laughter, yet the hands still moved as each second, minute, passed by. Five minutes had passed. What was Felix doing? Six minutes had passed. Why did you have to wait so long? Seven minutes had passed. Was he in danger? Eight minutes had passed. Would you see him again? Nine minutes had passed. Why didn’t you agree to leave with him? Ten minutes had passed. You were tired of this life. The thought struck you as you clandestinely stride towards the large doors Felix had disappeared behind, pacing a few strides down the hall before leaning against the wall, waiting.

How much time had passed? You weren’t certain, it felt as if time had stopped moving since you leaned against the wallpaper-covered surface. Footsteps alerted you to another’s presence, your head turning in the direction to scope out a potential threat — though your shoulders relaxed as the familiar chocolate eyes of Felix met your own. Fixing your posture, you waited until he was standing beside you, “we happy?”

Felix smiled gently at your Pulp Fiction reference, “yeah, we’re happy. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Placing his hand on the small of your back, he prepared to escort you from the grand location, all the while you pondered why Felix needed a partner when he did everything alone. Though, your questions were answered.

“Not so fast, pal,” you had often feared being murdered by Changbin for not completing a mission, yet for some reason you didn’t fear the potential of being shot in the head by a rival gang.

“Ah, Mr. Hyunsuk, what a pleasure it is,” the freckled male’s response was short yet polite, a false smile stretched upon his face. How did he still look so angelic in the face of death?

“Yongbok,” Felix’s smile faltered, “let’s not pretend. Just return whatever you’ve taken from us and everyone will leave here safely.”

“With all due respect, I believe you’re wrong,” you spoke up — that was your job — “we’ll be keeping our new possessions and leave safely,” to jump in recklessly when things began going sideways. Then, guns were drawn. You can’t recall who drew first, who shot first, but you knew you and Felix had split up to take different vantage points. Peeking from behind the cabinet you crouched behind, you fired a shot towards the muscular bald man shooting in Felix’s direction, who narrowly avoided a bullet between his eyes. How many people had come? You weren’t sure, you weren’t counting. It was pure adrenaline, shooting almost blindly at those who threatened the success of your job. The sound of a gun jamming snapped you out of your daze, forcing you to watch as Felix struggled to identify the problem with his gun. Ah shit, you supposed it was time to do your job. Leaping from behind the bullet-riddled cabinet, you fired towards the moving human targets in rapid succession. One down, two down, a bullet fired into Hyunsuk’s knee, another into his hip. Another gun joined you, Felix’s pistol shooting at the men attempting to pull their boss from the fray.

The pain shot through you before you could process what was happening. It was searing, a deep burning sensation that had you clutching the spot in agony, struggling to stay on your feet. Vaguely, as if rooms away, you heard Felix’s gunfire halt as a thud echoed from the other side of the hall, then you heard footsteps against the polished floor. Rapid, either rushing to help someone or rushing to take their last breath. A pair of arms snaked around your waist and supported your back as you swayed, disoriented.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Felix’s gentle hold on you prevented further stumbling on your behalf. The words couldn’t form upon your lips, your eyes glancing around haphazardly, as if blinking more would help you process the situation you were in. His eyes trailed downwards, widening as he finally noticed the hand haphazardly clutching your abdomen.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” his speech was rapid, his gravelly voice coming out in a corybantic manner as he struggled to find the right action to take. There was a short period where he struggled, laying you down as he attempted to assess the bloody patch hiding beneath your stained hand. Weakened, you found yourself unable to fight off Felix’s movements as he peeled your hand away delicately, breath quickening at the extent of your wound. If he didn’t get you help in the next minute, he knew you wouldn’t make it, “ah, okay—shit. Just—keep your hand on there, pressure, yeah?”

There was no effort to move on your behalf, thus Felix’s hand found its way pressing atop your bleeding injury. Though, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as you smiled gently towards him, “don’t.”

Confusion laced his eyes, “don’t? Y/N, I’m not going to let you bleed out here. I’m not going to let you die!”

You only nodded slightly, “you are. You have to.”

His eyesight grew blurry, his stomach twisted in knots, the croaks of sobs were climbing up his throat as he mulled over your words. His voice quivered, “b-but, I can’t let you die. I need you.”

There were no words to respond to his statement, just a weak and gentle hand caressing his cheek. He could hear footsteps approaching, but he couldn’t find it in him to look away from you—he didn’t care if it was a fatal mistake or not. A deep breath filled your lungs, a stray tear leaking from your eye and sliding down your temple as you mustered up the strength to breathe out the confession you’d been suppressing for years.

It was gentle, angelic in the other’s ears, the words the both of you wished you’d said earlier, “you’re the one I choose.”

Not every story has a happy ending, but at least they have an ending. Even if it tore the soul from someone and stomped on it, that sense of finality was necessary. Felix had seen a lot of pain in his life, far too much loss, yet the final chapter of a story involving him—your story—had never felt so… wrong. Out of place, missing. It wasn’t the ending he wanted for you, though who was he to change fate? There was nothing Felix could do to go back to that time, to redo anything and everything to fix the ending. All he could do was think of how much he loved and lost in a matter of moments.

Sighing as he watched the waves carry your ashes past the skyline, Felix’s voice broke into the crisp air, “one day, I’ll meet you beyond that silver horizon,” he sniffled slightly as the autumn breeze caressed his face, “I know I will.”

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fireblaze5555 · 4 years

Text

Kastle Drabble

A quick idea that struck me over the weekend.

Title: A Long Day

Summary: Frank and Karen deal with intruders in their apartment

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470678/chapters/64501375

Part 1: Karen:

Karen half stumbled into the apartment, exhaustion and relief in equal parts making her clumsy as she tossed her keys down and kicked her heels off to beeline for the kitchen. She was more than ready for a beer, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. The day’s investigation had led her in a wide circle around the city with very little viable information gained. In short, it was a complete bust and her feet were killing her. So, with practiced ease she flicked on the standing lamp in the living room, pulled a cold beer out of the fridge, opened and drained half of it with a satisfied sigh and headed for the bathroom, a hot bath calling her name.

It was nearly an hour before she emerged from the bathroom dressed in her favorite pair of sweats and most comfortably worn in t-shirt. The stress of the day was finally easing out of her shoulders and the aching in her feet had calmed to a dull throb so Karen was starting to feel much more positive about the rest of her evening. With a renewed sense of purpose, Karen ran long fingers through her wet hair and gave a determined nod, speaking quietly to herself, “Time to see if I can make some sense of what I did manage to find today…”

A creak in the living room made Karen turn sharply and just like that what hope for her evening she had managed to regain vanished into vapor, replaced with a spike of adrenaline and fear quickly followed by acute exhaustion and no small amount of annoyance.

She really wasn’t in the mood to be kidnapped or whatever the three men now standing in her living room had planned. Judging by the smug looks and weapons strapped to their waists, they weren’t here on a social call or even just to deliver a warning. It really spoke to her way of life and how much shit she had been through that now that the initial shock had worn off, she was just tired and annoyed. In the short time it had taken her to compute there was a threat in her apartment, Karen had already formulated a plan. There were weapons stashed all around the apartment and she knew how to use all of them, as long as she could avoid getting grabbed she felt fairly confident she could get out of the apartment mostly unscathed.

From where she stood a few feet outside of her bedroom doorway, Karen could see the kitchen and from the corner of her eye verified that her first choice for defense was tucked up under the island where it had been secured just the other day. She turned her attention back to the living room, watching the intruders again. They had moved a little further in and looked confident that their job was already done, no doubt assuming that a skinny blonde in her pajamas would be an easy take down. Karen felt the familiar hot rise of anger burn up her spine. When were men going to learn that underestimating her would almost always be their last mistake?

As subtly as she could, Karen flicked her eyes over again to gauge the distance between her and the gun fastened to her kitchen furniture when her eyes flicked over the neon numbers of the microwave flashing midnight. For a moment, through her clamoring thoughts, she tried to remember why the time seemed so significant. Then it clicked and some of the tension bled out of her shoulders.

One of the men took a step forward and looked like he was about to speak but Karen cut him off.

“You should leave. Now.” She said, her voice solid but laced with obvious weariness.

The man closest to her looked back at his friends with an incredulous little laugh before turning a patronizing smile to her, “Aw, but we just got here Karen. We can’t just leave before we have all the fun we have planned for y-..”

“Listen, I can honestly say I’ve heard several variations of this speech over the years and I just don’t have the energy for it tonight. I’ve had plenty of fun today, thanks anyway. You can go now.” The men continued to chuckle, eyebrows raised at her sharp tone and defiant demeanor. A heaving sigh escaped her. “Look, you really need to go before he gets home.”

One of the men, this one had a sharp smile, began to fiddle with a blade as he sauntered forward to stand next to his companion, “Ooh, you have a man living here with you Ms. Page? A real tough guy?” You have no idea , she thought but didn’t interrupt him. “Does he know that you’re snooping around where you shouldn’t be?”

Yes, it’s a never ending source of stress for him but he gave up trying to convince me to stop so I don’t see how that matters. Once again, she let him continue.

“Well even if he doesn’t, he’ll find out soon enough. We plan to carve every little problem you’ve caused for us into that pretty skin of yours, once we’re done with you, of course.”

It was so cliche it nearly made Karen roll her eyes. She didn’t though, she still needed to be focused, each time they got a little closer, she moved a little closer to her destination.

As much as she really didn’t like these men, and she really didn’t, she felt like she should try to give them one last warning.

“Whatever it is that I’ve done to piss you off, I’m telling you, it won’t be worth what’s coming. If you leave right now, I won’t report anything and you all don’t have to die.” Her voice was steady and earnest. If, by some miracle, they did decide to just leave she fully intended on reporting it to Mahoney, Karen was almost certain she knew what faction these men were from and it wouldn’t be hard to track them down.

As she expected, they just laughed.

“Well, we appreciate the warning Karen but I think we will stick around.” The gaze he scraped over her body made her give an involuntary shiver, “We are going to have so much fun together. Before we kill you and leave you here for your poor little boyfriend to find that is.”

Well, she did everything she could. Karen tensed, prepared to fight and watched the men across from her do the same.

Just as she felt like the tension was about to snap into a flurry of motion, there was a creaking behind her, the old floorboards protesting. Before she had time to process the new potential threat, three sets of eyes snapped to look over her shoulder, nearly identical sneers of bravado on each of their faces.

What Karen couldn’t see was death himself materializing from the dark of the bedroom doorway behind her. A face carved from granite and colored with deadly calm stared at the intruders, the deep set, nearly black eyes the only indication of the rage roiling under the surface. The men watched the newcomer advance with heavy footfalls, stepping around the mouthy private investigator to level a malevolent glare at each of them in turn. It was then that they took in the blood splatter across his face and the slow drip of blood from one of his fingers. He had a deadly stance that only a true killer could possess. Karen could see the confidence starting to drain from the men’s faces but it was the tactical vest that made them all go pale, taking several hurried steps back towards the door. A white skull stared back at them, the hollowed eyes seeming to follow their harried movement.

“Karen.” It was spoken quietly but the deep graveled voice seemed to fill all corners of the small apartment. “Did they touch you?”

“No, man! We didn’t lay a finger on her! We were just going to talk to her, I swear.” The cocky leader of the small group hurried to plead their case but Frank silenced him with a withering look, a low animalistic sound emanating from deep in his throat.

“I wasn’t talking to you asshole.”

Stepping forward, Karen laid a gentle hand to his shoulder, “No, Frank, they hadn’t done anything to me.” Yet , hovered in the air between them.

Without waiting to see what he would do, the men bolted for the door. They had been expecting an easy evening silencing a reporter, not a fight with the Punisher.

Frank tensed, ready to follow them but before he did he turned back to Karen. She knew he was going to kill them and was too tired to pick a fight on the matter. Instead, she looked him over quickly to be sure he didn’t have any obvious injuries from the mission he had just returned from and when her quick scan turned up nothing, she rested a soft hand to his cheek.

“Punctual as usual.” She said quietly. He had promised her he would be home by midnight and Frank didn’t break his promises to Karen.

He gave a small huff and some of the tension bled out of him before Frank leaned into the touch. He gave her palm a soft kiss then placed a softer, more lingering kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be back in less than an hour, wanna heat up some leftovers?” he asked, stepping back to check his ammo and stride toward the door, a predator on the hunt.

With a sigh, Karen leaned against the counter and for the hundredth time wondered how this was her life.

“Yeah, I’ll have it ready. Try not to get hurt, I’ve already taken a bath and I’m ready to go to bed.”

A crooked grin and a ‘Yes, Ma’am’ was all she heard before her apartment door clicked shut

Part 2: Frank

Frank slid through the bedroom window and landed noiselessly, trying not to wake Karen if she was already asleep. From a text she had sent him earlier it had been a rough day for her so he didn’t want to make it worse. Frank’s evening had been pretty standard, the targets he had been after went down without too much of a fight so the blood on him mostly wasn’t his, the shallow cut on his forearm the only exception.

The bathroom door opened just as he was settling the window quietly closed and he gave a little smile when he looked over his shoulder to see Karen emerge. She was in a loose pair of sweats and one of his worn in black t-shirts. She didn’t seem to notice him, taking a few steps out of the bathroom towards the kitchen, no doubt planning to do more work until he made her get some rest. Frank heard her mutter something to herself and just as he turned and started to poke a little fun at her for talking to herself, Karen’s head snapped to the living room to follow the noise he had just registered as well.

Instantly his body shifted back into battle mode, his muscles tensed and ready, his senses straining for any clues to the potential threat and with a few silent steps he saw the men standing in their living room.

Rage burned hotly through him along with no small amount of fear, Karen was far too close to the intruders. She was tense but he could tell she had already thought of possible scenarios and had probably already solidified a plan. His girl always was calm in the face of danger. Frank forced himself to only take a few steps forward and listen, he trusted Karen to protect herself, lord knows she had done it plenty before he came along, and if he could stay calm and pay attention he may be able to get information on what organization they are from. Just in case though he had his sidearm up and ready to take out the threat.

They stared each other down for what felt like an eternity and then Frank saw Karen glance to the side and just a hint of tension bled out of her.

“You should leave. Now.”

If he wasn’t so furious and anxious Frank would have smiled.

Listening to the exchange he was able to learn that they hadn’t come for her because of him. Which means she probably knew where they were from. Good.

“...Does he know that you’re snooping around where you shouldn’t be?”

Frank barely kept from scoffing. Oh, he knew. Every new gray hair he found he was certain was due to one Karen Page. Then the man threatened her, a wicked knife twirling in his hand and Frank was taking careful steps forward, pausing when Karen spoke up once again.

“...and you all don’t have to die.”

Oh, but they did. Now or later, it made no difference, he would find them. He felt a flare of pride, she knew he would be here for her. Karen may not realize that he is in the apartment now but trusts that he will be here because he gave his word. Another reason he didn’t deserve her.

Frank’s pride melted to anger when they laughed at her. The pieces of shit had no idea the mercy she was trying to grant them. Then again, they had come here to kill the only shining light in the city so they really weren’t all that smart.

When he saw all parties tense and prepare for action he took heavy strides out of the bedroom. Frank knew how capable Karen was but he wasn’t going to stand by and see her attacked when he was there to prevent it.

The soon to be dead men snapped their eyes to him as he carefully stepped around Karen and put himself between her and the threat. It was with grim satisfaction that he watched them realize their mistake and backpedal as quickly as they could. But it was too late for that.

“Karen.” He was trying to not let the rage take over. It would be best not to kill them in the apartment but now that he was closer to them he wanted nothing more than to end them. “Did they touch you?” He knew they hadn’t but a part of him needed the confirmation from her.

One of them had the nerve to speak for her and Frank nearly lost it. Just as quickly, he regained his composure when he felt Karen’s hand on his shoulder. She knew how to steady him.

The cowards fled quickly after that. He moved to go after them immediately but thought better of it, turning to Karen. As was tradition, she looked him over, scanning for injuries and reassuring herself that he was fine. It was a ritual they had adopted in their time together. A few moments to hover, dispel the worry then get back to living.

When she rested a cool palm to his cheek, Frank almost decided to not go after them for the night. He could find them just as easy tomorrow and he was tired. But he also knew he wouldn’t be able to truly rest until they had been eliminated. So with a couple lingering kisses he was headed toward the door.

“...Try not to get hurt, I’ve already taken a bath and I’m ready to go to bed.”

Christ he loved that woman.

“Yes, Ma’am.” he said around a smile and set out to wrap up some loose ends.

It wasn’t hard to find them, they hadn’t gotten far and their arrogance had returned once they were off of his home turf, thinking that he would not follow. Idiots.

So, true to his word, Frank was easing back into the apartment 45 minutes later to the smell of leftover pasta. He stopped long enough for another once over from Karen before reaching for a plate.

“Uh, Frank?” He looked over to her with a raised eyebrow,

Karen looked exasperated, “Do you think maybe you should, I don’t know, wash your hands or something?’ She shook her head at him when he stared at his bloody hands for a second. “Bathing in the blood of your enemies sounds real cool and all but practically speaking it’s just not sanitary, please let go of my good plate and go wash your hands at least.”

Frank gave an amused huff, setting the plate down and moving to the sink. Only after he had thoroughly scrubbed his hands and up his forearms did he return to the kitchen island. When he sat down Karen placed a kiss to his temple as she set a beer in front of him before settling in for her own dinner.

She filled him in on the details of her mostly failed endeavor today and became animated when she informed him that while he was gone she thought of another, sure-fire way, to get the information she needed.

Frank chewed slowly, hanging on her every word and throwing in his thoughts here and there but mostly just marveled at the woman before him, talking about her day like she hadn’t just had her life threatened and he hadn’t murdered a handful of people in the name of justice tonight.

For the thousandth time he wondered how this was his life.

Once they had eaten and Frank had scrubbed off in the shower, they stepped into the dark of the bedroom, both exhausted from the day's toils.

The last thing to be heard were murmured ‘I love you’s before the bedroom door clicked shut.

#kastle #frank castle and karen page #fic #kastle drabble #established relationship #post TPS2

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adwdwd · 3 years

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freewithyourtempo · 5 years

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Could you write a cherik fic where Erik is this really famous/hot actor who keeps his personal life very private and all of his fans speculate who his wife his and want to date him until he shows up to a red carpet with Charles (in a wheelchair) and shocks everyone and reveals they’ve been together since like childhood

I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this.I hope you’ll like it!

"Are you ever going to tell us who you’re dating?“

The room holds his breath.Erik Lehnsherr smiles, slow and dangerous. Not in a pleasant way.

Well, Emma rectifies, it is still a boiling hot smile - how could it not be, with those cheekbones and that jawline -; but it isn’t meant to be reassuring. She feels her face warming.

Lehnsherr takes his time answering.

He fetches the bottle of water hiding the plaque with his name - as if anyone could not know who Erik Lehnsherr is at a press conference for his latest blockbuster-, long fingers leaving prints on the cloudy glass, and refills his cup.

He tilts the bottle, tendons bulge on his arm. Dozens of eyes follow the spilling water on its way down.

Emma could bet the journalist is already regretting her question, and hides her smirk behind a clever swipe of her lipstick.

Someone coughs in the heavily silent room.

Everyone is staring at Lehnsherr’s working throat, up and down with his Adam’s apple, and Lehnsherr is grinning down at the poor journalist, who, at this point, can only squirm in her pastel tailleur.

Eventually, Lehnsherr puts his glass down and pops his lips. “You’re not my type,” he says.

The journalist looks flabbergasted. “I- What?”

Emma shifts on her chair and uncrosses her legs.

Lehnsherr blinks. “The only reasonable excuse for you to ask me anything about the identity of my partner is that you’re interested in what I like. Because, otherwise, your question would be highly inappropriate. So… I’m saving you time. You’re not my type. Next question?”

The journalist sits back down with no further comment.

Emma raises her hand to ask a question.

***

According to the Internet, Erik Lehnsherr is so hot that staring at him without your sunglasses could send you directly to the Emergency Room with burnt corneas.

But boy, wouldn’t it be worth it.

Your internal eyelids would forever preserve the image of those sharp cheekbones, those sin-inducing lips, those bulb-exploding grey eyes.

But it isn’t just his face, it is his whole attitude.

Brooding, mysterious and confident, with a smile that could slice open paparazzi’s cameras and a taste for dark characters with disputable morals and indisputable appeal.

Every woman wants to do him, and every man wants to–

No, scratch that.

Everyone with a sexual drive has dreamt at least once of his long fingers and rough jaw in the last year, no exception.

Hell, Erik Lehnsherr is so convolutedly sexy that Byron would have had wet dreams about him.

Once Emma saw a video of him smoking and that night she woke up, skin burning hot, with the sheets wrapped around her calves and a tuft of blonde hair stuck to her damp forehead.

And as any self-respecting tormented artist, he is a recluse.

He doesn’t attend galas or parties if he can help it (he can help it pretty often), he has never been photographed with his hands up someone’s skirt in an alley behind a dark disco or been arrested for skinny-dipping in the Trevi Fountain. The last one is a pity.

He doesn’t even have one chatty, bribable relative in all of New York.

Emma would know, she has gone looking.

It is frustrating.

Fundamental questions about his person are still unanswered, and one of them above all torments Erik Lehnsherr’s fans like a rock in their shoes.

A rock the size of Mount Rushmore.

Who is the lucky bastard who has chained him with a wedding band?

Emma is torn between her desire to bloodily maul them and to gift them a star on the walk of fame.

The inscription would be something on the line of: “The unknown sucker that wakes up every morning with Erik Lehnsherr’s ass at arm’s length. Hope you plump him up like a pillow, sugar.”

But the identity of the unknown spouse will in all likelihood stay a secret a little longer.

It is probably the blonde top model who has co-starred his last movie, anyway. Hollywood’s couples are never a big surprise.

***

Logan has a work ethic, even if he is a paparazzo.

Just because he makes money on people’s missteps, heartbreaks and scandals - the snottiest, the better-, it doesn’t mean he can’t be compassionate about it.

That’s why he has come to the conclusion, while squatted behind a smelly trash can in front of Lehnsherr’s trailer, that he will give the actor a heads up.

He will still sell the photos of his imminent cheating to the highest bidder, obviously.

That kind of stuff is worth thousands of bucks, and he is not Gandhi.

But he will magnanimously offer Lehnsherr time to have a heart to heart with his significant other, whoever she may be. Cry a bit, beg for forgiveness, buy diamonds. The usual stuff one does when they are very sorry and not doing that again.

He could put an anonymous letter in the mailbox, maybe.

Yes, Logan thinks, chewing on his battered cigar, that will do it.

He is such a good guy.

He lifts his camera and zooms on the very pretty girl waiting outside of Lehnsherr’s trailer.

Logan sees her knocking twice, then tossing her dark hair on one shoulder and putting a hand on her cocked hip. Her tiny, tiny dress rides up her thigh some more and she doesn’t fix it.

It takes a few moments, then Lehnsherr opens the door in his sweatpants, hair ruffled already.

The girl takes a step forward on her staggering heels, and Logan starts snapping photos of the two like his life depends on it.

He’s grinning like a maniac, the trashcan he’s leaning against squits periodically and his index finger hurts, but there’s no way on Earth he will let this opportunity get away.

Now Lehnsherr will look around furtively, making sure there’s no one in the vicinity, will grab the girl by the arm and close the door behind their entwined figures.

Except that he doesn’t.

Logan can literally feel the bills being taken out of his pockets and he almost wails.

His camera records the evolution of Lehnsherr’s surprised, frowning, distrusting and openly hostile face.

He’s not aroused, he’s not intrigued, he’s not even remotely interested in freeing the entrance of his trailer.

He looks almost offended.

Lehnsherr lifts one eyebrow, syllables something that can’t be anything but a piercing “no” and snaps the door closed. The girl jumps.

Logan captures the moment with a sigh and looks critically at the result.

The next morning the most-clicked tabloids display a full-page picture of Lehnsherr’s unforgiving rejection with a dozen variation of the same question.

“Does he prefer blondes?”

***

Emma wishes fans were fashionable, because Erik Lehnsherr has just stepped onto the red carpet, showered by the frantic flashes of the cameras, and she suddenly feels weak in the knees.

Somebody next to her whistles under their breath, and she totally shares the sentiment.

He doesn’t look ethereal, he looks very, very solid. Tall and self-possessed, straight shoulders and slim waist in a gorgeous oxford-blue suit that makes his legs go on forever.

There’s something less than stoic in the line of his mouth, though, Emma notices.

A nervous flicker of the eye, and then something happens.

He turns around and smiles.

Emma stares.

It’s not his usual smile, sardonic and knowing, charming but in a honed way.It is a flustered smile, face flushed, bright eyes and everything. And it is directed to one man and one man only, who is approaching him with strong pushes of his wheelchair.

Cameras go crazy around them, other actors forgotten.

Lensherr waits for his companion to join him, face so open it looks like it has lost its bark.

Emma can’t see the face of the stranger, only the straight lines of an expensive suit and a mop of rich, brown hair, and almost gets on her tiptoes to have a better view.

The men share a few words under the hungry stares of the journalists, then Lehnsherr rolls his eyes and indulgently bends over to have his bow-tie straightened.

Emma can’t hear anything from where she’s standing, but she is quite sure Lehnsherr has just warringly asked: “Are you happy now?”

The other man answers, Lehnsherr snorts and kisses him on the forehead.

Then he freezes, and turns towards the people gathered as if spotting them only then.

He glares at the journalists, steely eyes back in their place in a clear warning, and straightens back to move forward on the carpet.

Emma walks as fast as she can without breaking into a run, heels sinking into the moquette and jewels tingling.“Mr. Lehnsherr!”She knows he has heard her, because his back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. She frowns. He’s not getting away from this. “Mr. Lehnsherr!”The man in the wheelchair stops, turns his head and smiles so charmingly at her she feels instantly flattered. “Erik, dear, that lovely woman is trying to get your attention.”

He has a silver-polishing British accent, voice calm and collected.

“She won’t have it.”

“Dear.”

It is an obvious reprimand, one that sounds smoothed by use, and Emma sees Lehnsherr’s shoulders sag in defeat. She smiles smugly at his disgruntled frown when he turns.

His British companion swiftly approaches her, and Lehnsherr follows him a few steps behind like a recalcitrant body-guard.

“What do you want, Frost?”

“Erik!” the man exclaims, scandalized, and glares at him. “Don’t be such a yahoo.”

He delicately lifts Emma’s hand and draws it close to his lips.

He blinks on his blue, blue eyes and looks at her from below, and Emma feels her face redden. “Miss, I apologize for his behavior. He’s usually well-mannered.”

“Charles, you are making me sound like your corgi.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Charles answers, and winks at Emma. “You would at least be a Doberman.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emma feels scrambled.

Lehnsherr doesn’t smile dreamily, doesn’t get teased and laughs it off. He glares and scoffs and frowns and scares people away. Who is this Charles, and what power does he have?

“You’re gaping, Frost,” Lehnsherr says icily. “Is something the matter?”

He moves closer to Charles and puts his left hand on his shoulder to squeeze it lightly, in an obviously protective stance. His wedding ring shines proudly against the dark fabric.

Charles tilts his head and briefly strokes his cheeks against Lehnsherr’s fingers, equally obviously calming.

“You can’t blame me for being surprised,” Emma shoots back. “He’s too nice for you.”

Lehnsherr sharpens his eyes and assays her, then nods once, imperceptibly.

“Now, now,” Charles intervenes, tone pacifying. “Erik is the best man I’ve ever met, and the best boyfriend I have ever had!”

Lehnsherr looks down at him. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had, Charles.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have been the best, anyway.”

Something inside of Emma is melting, but she finally remembers that she has a job to do. “High-school sweethearts?”

“No,” Lehnsherr answers, and tightens his lips to show how unwilling he’s to share more on the subject.

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Charles adds. Then smirks. “Erik proposed when he was ten. We had met the previous week.”

Lehnsherr blushes, actually blushes. “You accepted,” he grumbles.

“How could I not? The first time we met, you saved Cerebro. You were my knight in shining armor.”

“Cerebro?” Emma asks.

“His cat. That dunce was stuck in a tree.”

“How can you call him that, you were inseparable!”

“He was silly!”

“He was curious!”

Lehnsherr huffs “A ridiculous cat for a ridiculous man, Xavier.”

Emma chokes on her breath. “Xavier? Xavier of the Xavier Corporations?”Charles Xavier smiles bashfully, and Emma considers it a confirmation. “I’m just a professor, really…”“A university professor,” Lehnsherr corrects. “Yes, but…”“You have been called ‘a prodigy’, If I recall correctly.”“Erik,” Charles mutters, reprimanding. He straightens his tie and clears his throat. Emma looks from one man to the other, blinking. “You’ve just become the hottest couple in the whole city, I hope you know that.” She considers for a moment, then adds. “In every sense.”

#cherik #cherik fic #you asked #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #actor!erik #emma frost #logan howlett #my fic

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timetravelingheart · 6 years

Text

My Side of the Fence Part Three: A.M. Imagine

I know it has been a while, but these next few chapters in the build-up have really stumped me. They’re just not the exciting parts, you know? But I did my best and I hope that you are all still interested in going along in this journey! Also, for being just a build-up, this turned out to be obnoxiously long and I’m sorry! I’m the most wordy person.

Still no big warnings for this one. Also, I should disclose that I know next to nothing about figure skating schedules or times, Skate Canada, or anything of the like. I’m just a huge fan of the sport and thought it fit well with this story to give the character a career that also takes up a lot of her time and life. Sorry if anyone is frustrated by any errors in that particular area!

In the week that Auston spent in Arizona, he had thought of asking Mitch for Savannah’s number no fewer than five hundred times. It was his first thought every morning, on his mind constantly throughout the day, and his last thought before he finally fell into a restless sleep. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and even that was saying a lot. His parents noticed that he seemed more restless than usual, but didn’t quite know how to approach it. His mother was concerned; his father confused.

Sitting on the edge of his bed in his childhood bedroom, Auston held his phone in his massive hands and typed, erased, and re-typed variations of the same message over and over again on his phone to Mitch. Frustrated, he groaned loudly and threw himself back on the bed, covering his eyes with his tattooed forearm. How is possible that this girl he met for literally one night was worth this stress? He had already received countless offers for ‘meet-ups’ with girls in his hometown, some from high school, and some who he knew from running in the same circles as his friends. They were all attractive girls with bright white smiles and glowing tans from the Arizona sunshine, and were all girls he absolutely would have been interested in six months ago. Hell, probably even two months ago. But he didn’t want a random hook-up anymore. He was used to getting a release pretty regularly, so maybe that’s why he’s even more frustrated than usual currently, but he really wanted to have something like what Mitch and Steph had, what Jake and Lucy had, and eventually something like what Patty and Christina had.

He wanted someone to come home to after a tough game or a road trip and just fall into her arms and feel safe. To find a home in someone else that he so desperately craved now. He wanted to find someone who would listen to his fears and vulnerabilities without judgement, someone who would call him on his shit (other than Mitch of course), someone who would love him for who he was and not the sport he played or the money he had. And more than he even wanted to have that kind of love, he wanted to give that kind of love to someone.

And even though it sounded absolutely, positively, undeniably insane, he felt like that this kind of love was a real possibility with Savannah. And not just someone like Savannah, but Savannah specifically.

Rolling over onto his stomach, he reached for his phone again and opened his message thread with Mitch. Before he could start typing, his phone vibrated with a new group message invite from Steph. Huh.

Steph: Hey everyone! Wanted to send out a quick invite to Savannah’s upcoming Stars on Ice show. It’s Friday night at the Scotiabank Arena. Sav says she can probably get us some tickets, but we just need a headcount so let me know if you’re interested!

Auston couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. This was the perfect opportunity to see her again without coming off as desperate, and without relegating himself to asking Mitch, which was likely to turn into its own version of insufferable hell for the near future. His phone vibrated again as messages from his teammates started to pour through.

Mitch: I think I know someone who would for sure be interested...

Fucking hell. He really needed a new best friend. Maybe he should hang out with Tkachuk and Eichel more.

Actually, scratch that. Either they would be ten times worse than Mitch and actually call him out on his crush in front of his crush, or they would just hit on her themselves. Both thoughts made his whole body flame with two very different emotions. His phone vibrated again.

Morgan: Definitely in! And Mitchy, leave Matts alone. Any guy with eyes would be stupid not to be attracted to Savannah.

Kasperi: As much as we’d love to support Savannah, and see Matts squirm, Willy and I won’t be back in the city until the week after!

Jake: Lucy is currently begging me to say yes. She is apparently obsessed with figure skating (who knew) and is dying to meet THE Savannah Lane. So, I guess you can put us down for two!

Connor: I’m in, but Zach and I already have tickets sitting with McDavid. Also, Matts has a thing for Savvy? Fuck, McDavid is going to have a fucking field day with this.

Auston read through each message carefully, rolling his eyes at his teammates’ lame attempts at getting under his skin, and in Mo’s case, his weak attempt at defending him. They all know now, so he might as well own it, right?

Auston: I’m in.

He went to close the message thread, but thought better of it.

Auston: And also, fuck all of you.

Steph: Oh Matty. Let me just say that you are not the first, nor will you be the last, unwitting guy to fall head over heels for my best friend upon meeting her one time. It’s what she refers to as both her gift and her curse. Anyway, I’ll make sure to get tickets for Auston, Morgan, Jake, and Lucy! See you all there!

Well, Auston thought, hopefully this would be his chance to see Savannah again and get a read on her. He wanted to ask her out on a date, but something about her made him nervous. He was intimidated by a tiny blonde in figure skates. What the fuck.

Auston had been back in Toronto for almost a week and still had not seen Savannah. According to Steph, who kept him informed without him even having to ask (”I just thought you’d be interested” she said, with a knowing gleam in her eye that would have normally bothered Auston had he not been so thankful for her openness) Savannah was busy with show rehearsals, while also getting back into competition with meetings with Skate Canada, her coaches and choreographers, costume designers, mental prep coach, trainers, and all of the things that Auston did not even know were involved with figure skating. Basically, he wanted to see her and couldn’t.

So here he stood, wearing black skinnies with holes in the knees, a white tee, black bomber jacket, black and white sneakers, and a black baseball cap, and waiting in the arena who knew like the back of his hand. Steph mentioned that they wouldn’t be able to see Savannah before the show, but that she made sure to invite everyone backstage after. Auston had debated with himself about bringing her flowers (do they do that for these kinds of performances?) but immediately nixed the idea when he remembered the look of hesitation on Savannah’s face when he had merely offered her his hoodie. He still didn’t know why she was hesitant, but he also didn’t want to push or cross any of her boundaries before he really knew anything about that side of her.

Looking up at his group’s sudden movements, he spotted Connor McDavid, Brown, and Hyman walking towards them. Reaching out to each of them do a quick shake and half hug, Auston immediately felt the amused stare of McDavid. “So I hear you fell for it,” McDavid grinned. Shaking his head, Auston fought to keep a similar grin off of his own face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” McDavid let out a bark of laughter, clearly amused by Auston’s denial. “Don’t sweat it man. She has that affect on just about everyone.”

The smile on Auston’s face faltered. Who else was in this situation with her before? “She has never really reciprocated anyone else’s feelings though, at least not any hockey players.” Auston let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “She has a thing against hockey players?” he felt himself asking before he could stop himself. “Nah, she just was either already in a relationship or too focused on skating to even notice or care that anyone was interested.”

Auston made a mental note to ask Connor more about Savannah and her dating history, or lackthereof, when they were alone.

“Are we all ready to go in?” Steph, arm hooked in Lucy’s, addressed the group. “The show starts soon.”

Hours later, after each performer skated a final lap and took a bow, the group of hockey players and significant others made their way backstage to wait for their star skater. Auston, not really one to watch figure skating before this event, was mesmerized by Savannah. Her group routines to ranged from comedic and sassy to sexy and sultry. And while he loved seeing those versions of her, it was her solo routine to Landslide that affected him the most. It was one of the most beautiful moments he had ever witnessed and heard - or perhaps felt - the chorus of ‘wows’ from his friends and the strangers around him at the end.

She was an absolute star, and he wanted nothing more than to continue watch her shine brightly.

After waiting about twenty minutes, the cast finished up their meet and greets with fans and started making their way to their respective families and friends waiting for them. Savannah was now changed into simple black leggings, a Stars on Ice sweater that swallowed her petite frame, black and white Nikes, hair up in a high ponytail, and not a hint of makeup on her face. She looked relaxed, yet elated. Auston thought no one had ever looked more beautiful.

Savannah’s smile stretched further across her features as she reached their group. “I can’t believe you all came!” She wrapped each person up in as big of a hug as her short arms could manage, stopping briefly to be introduced to Jake and Lucy for the first time, and lastly turned to Auston. Her smile remained just as warm, but something flickered quickly and faded before Auston could place a name on it, and soon enough she was wrapping her arms around his middle to pull him into a soft hug. “Long time no see,” he whispered into her hair as his nose briefly grazed the top of her head. She smiled up at him again, that same flicker there and gone in a flash, before she turned to address the whole group.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked as if she were genuinely concerned that they did not have a good time. “I know figure skating isn’t really that interesting for most of you.”

“You were phenomenal!” Lucy gushed, as if she had been keeping her excitement bottled up inside for far too long. “Landslide made me cry!” Savannah blushed profusely as Jake pulled Lucy into a side hug. “She’s been talking about you non-stop ever since Steph mentioned that you were moving here and that she was friends with you,” he offered as a way of explanation for his wife’s unbridled joy.

“That’s so kind of you! Landslide has always held such a special place in my heart. And Steph has told me all about the wonderful partners she’s met and become friends with in the Leafs family, so I was really excited to finally meet you!”

“She actually choreographed Landslide herself,” Steph couldn’t help but boast about her best friend, knowing that she would never do it for herself. Savannah was confident in her abilities and proud of her success, but she was not one to brag about her accomplishments or even her skillset.

“That’s incredible!” Morgan turned to her in amazement. “I can’t even begin to imagine what would go into something like that.”

“Thank you, but I’ve had a lot of help along the way to learn the ins and outs of choreography for performances like that. Choreographing for competition is much more challenging, and I haven’t done anything like that yet except give a few ideas here or there.”

“You were amazing,” Auston felt the need to say something, anything, to have her look at him again. So, he opted for complete honesty. Everyone turned to look at him, most with knowing smiles on their faces, Savannah with surprise. “Thank you, Auston. That means a lot.” Savannah’s eyes lingered on his for a moment longer than necessary, as if she were searching for answers to questions neither of them felt ready to ask.

“So tell me, Sav,” Mitch started conspiratorially, “what kind of underwear do male skaters wear to hide their bulge?”

The entire group groaned loudly, finally starting to head for the exit. As Steph and Lucy swatted at Mitch, the rest of the crew followed along laughing and joking around. Auston and Savannah held back a bit, just the two of them at the end of the line.

“So since you’re going to be hanging out with us, I think it’s probably best that we add you to our group chat,” Auston held out his phone to Savannah. “Put your number in and I’ll add you so you can join the rest of us in making fun of Mitchy.”

Savannah didn’t laugh like he thought she would, or reach for his phone right away. Instead, she kept her gaze forward for a moment, before turning to look at him with wide, questioning eyes. Careful, she thought.

Just when Auston thought he had overstepped or come on too strong, she reached out for his phone and quickly typed in her number.

“As if I would ever not want to be part of a group that tears the piss out of Mitchy on a regular basis!” she laughed, and Auston felt his heart squeeze. What a woman.

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fan fiction #auston matthews fan fiction #mitch marner #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #toronto maple leafs imagine

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pokemon-ninjago-world · 7 years

Photo

Hello! It’s time for eevee!Lloyd’s introduction! (i’m really sorry it’s long and will mess your dashboard completely...) You can find the introductions of the other characters from <here>

Full name: Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon

Lloyd is 11 when the first season starts and he will turn 12 during it. Originally, I wanted him to be 7 and turn 8, but after fighting with the timeline of this world for ages, I realized that he must be older for my future purposes. (My headcanon of Lego Ninjago still is that the little guy is 7-8 in the first season though.) He is quite average size to an eevee of his age, about 125 cm. He is a shiny eevee, but not the color that shinies are in the Pokémon World. In PW all shiny eevees are grey, but in PNGo there are two possible colors: the ordinary grey, and then an auburn color. They both may have variation in hue, saturation, and brightness. These are called as ”silver shiny” and ”golden shiny”. Lloyd is a latter one, with glossy, blond fur. His eyes are dark like almost all eevees'. This is because they have a protective pigment on their cornea, that intensifies in bright light (… don't you look at me like that, I have studied biology and I like to use fancy terms!) and work like inborn sunglasses. You can see through this darkening color if an eevee has been in shadow and a light suddenly hits their eyes in the right angle. Lloyd's iris color is bright green, which is a rare eye color for an eevee, even though not an unusual one. However, his eyes turn red when he gets angry or if he's feeling malicious pleasure or plotting something nasty. This again, has nothing to do with biology and is purely based on magic, since red eyes are completely without pigment, like the ones that albinos have. (… What am I, your biology teacher? Uh, anyway,) Lloyd's green pigment doesn't just vanish away when he gets angry, but the hate kind of pours into his eyes, drowning out his eye color. It also shines through his cornea pigment faintly.

Lloyd is not as chubby as he should be for an eevee of his age. He is a bit too thin, but not unhealthily skinny. He is susceptible to sweets and treats, but otherwise he doesn’t eat much. He was left-handed before, but was then taught to be right-handed. He is digitigrade and quite in the middle of animal and human by his body. It’s easier for him to walk on all fours though, and he wears special sneakers that help him to keep his balance while walking upright. He likes all kinds of games: video games, ball games, board games, pretend… He even learnt to like fight games in school.

Lloyd is hasty, imaginative, and quick-tempered. He acts all mighty and is very precocious. He gets easily puffed up if he feels superiority over someone. However, he is actually just trying to hide his insecurity most of time. His inborn nature is timid, thoughtful, and playful. If he had the chance to live safe, normal family life, he would have grown into a polite and a bit shy kid, who still would be jolly and adventurous with the people he knows and trusts and sometimes become proud with his successions. However, destiny had another path for him.

His mother, Misako, left his husband and son when Lloyd was one year old. She was an archeologist and she had to go to explore Ninjago’s oldest secrets. It was vital, she said. So, the family fell apart already before the little boy could understand what happened. He lived with his father and uncle in his grandfather’s monastery. This would have been good enough, but as his dad was affected by a venom of a demon snake, his moral lessons were maybe not the best. He was always gentle with the boy and no physical punishment were ever used at him (not that there would have ever been a reason to), but he taught Lloyd that violence was acceptable, revenge was right and displaying negative emotions was a good way to get attention. Misako could have balanced this, but without her, Garmadon had to rise his son the way he saw best. Wu looked at this from aside. He didn’t want to interfere with his brother’s pedagogical methods, but when he felt like he had to correct the ways Garmadon had taught the boy, he tried to do it behind his back. They had arguments about Lloyds upbringing, but Wu was afraid of losing his brother and nephew, so he usually backed down so that they wouldn’t leave the monastery (the poor man was lonely).

When Lloyd had turned 3, his whole world was thrown upside down. He lost his father. He saw how a lightning struck him, and he fell into a ravine that had opened on the monastery’s yard. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened. All he could do was ask Wu where his dad had gone. He didn’t have a decent answer.

After that his uncle took care of him for a while. Wu was devastated, even though he tried not to show this to the boy. He was also restless, slept very little and prayed a lot. He had sent a word to Misako so she would return and take care of Lloyd because the man needed to do some important maneuvers now that the balance was in great danger and some alarming prophecies were seemingly becoming fulfilled. After a few months Misako came back. She was shocked and terrified, because she knew exactly what prophecy had just come true. However, Wu couldn’t stay put any longer. He made himself sit for one cup of tea so he could tell Misako what had happened and they could share comforting words, but then he dashed off. Lloyd didn’t remember his mother. Even if Wu had introduced her, the boy was a bit suspicious and very reserved with her as she took him with her and left the monastery again.

Misako couldn’t take Lloyd to her expeditions as they were dangerous and boring to a small kid like him. The work also demanded great precision so she could not have taken good care of him and he would have been in the way of the research. Therefore, she had to find a place where Lloyd could live and gain education while she was looking for answers from the ancestors. However, every day-care place, boarding school, and children’s home gave her all sorts of excuses of why they couldn’t take Lloyd in. First, she was surprised but compliant because she thought it was just a coincidence that this happened, but when door after door was closed before them, she started to feel like she was missing something. Finally, she got fed up with this and pressed for a proper reason from a childminder lady who led a big house. The answer made her fall silent in outrage: “Well, to be honest, I would be very surprised if you found a place that would accept that demon child anywhere near their children.” Garmadon’s notoriety had spread wide and rumors had cast an even darker shadow to him and his family. Misako of course argued this and tried to defend her son, but the lady was adamant. After this, Misako was a bit unmotivated to find a home for Lloyd and as expected, all the places she asked turned them down. One possibility was of course to leave him into a public children’s home, but that would have meant that she would have lost custody of him.

The last hope was Darkley’s School for Bad Boys. It was a boarding school for 7-15-year-old boys, and it had a bad reputation, but she couldn’t think of anything else. In this school she got quite an opposite reception. The headmaster was delighted and flattered that Misako asked a place for Lloyd from there. The boy was indeed quite young to be a pupil, but there was a day care system for teachers’ children in the school and many of them even slept in the school for some nights. So, it was settled. Lloyd would learn about life in that miserable place. And unfortunately, it taught him to form his nature towards aggressive and impulsive rather than cautious or polite. He learnt to harden his heart, drown out his timidity and be a loud, fierce character, who wouldn't flinch if he was attacked verbally or physically. He had already learnt from his father that revenge was always rightful and that violence was a very good answer in every situation. In school he had to put those lessons in practice. The only possible good thing about this was that he gained confidence and wasn’t so afraid of social situations anymore. Or rather, he might have still been afraid, but he learned to stand that fear and be confident regardless.

First years weren’t so bad. The other kids didn’t pay much attention to Lloyd, except for the first day, when everyone made fun of him and one kid put fire ants in his bed. They still played pranks on him sometimes, but most of time they ignored him. Yet he managed to befriend Brad, the one who put ants in his bed – or he could almost have called him a friend, at least in the scale of that school. The other kids weren’t yet close enough to start a fight with him and they didn’t consider him as a threat to their prevailing hierarchy (fighting was local form of playing and at the same time the kids were ranked among each other). But as he grew older and the kids got to know him and his background better he was sucked into the violent culture of Darkley.

The first real battle he was in was awful and he got trashed quite badly. Everyone laughed at him later and called him weakling, chicken, and whatnot. Brad, his almost-friend, told him what to do and how to take revenge. Lloyd hated it all at first. But as he found the cruel satisfaction of defeating someone and getting his revenge, he started to get a grasp of the lifestyle. Yet he never felt like he fit in. One essential lesson he learned in the school was to never show tears or fear. If he did, the danger increased radically. On the contrary, if he hid all his “weaknesses” he wasn’t targeted as easily. He had to wait until his roommates were all asleep to cry in peace and sometimes during daytime he escaped to some safe hiding place to regain his mental strength. Even though life in that building during all those long years made Lloyd really grow tougher and more careless, he was still sensitive, and very lonely under his made-up exterior. He hated everyone and everything in the school. He couldn’t see the twisted friendships and alliances between other pupils. For him they were all his and each other’s enemies and he felt alone, scared, and angry. All he wanted was to get away and find his father of whom he had blurry, but happy memories. He had never betrayed him or let him down, unlike the mother and uncle who had abandoned him.

The teachers were hopeful about the son of the famous Lord Garmadon, but they got to come to the realization that he wasn’t like they had thought he would be. This seemingly wasn’t his place. Lloyd rather avoided conflicts than searched for them. He didn’t advance in the hierarchy among the kids in the way they had expected. When he turned eleven, only few of his peers bowed before him, even if most of them didn’t practically walk over him either. They had hoped that at this point he would have showed signs of leadership and thirst for power. But the boy was just a grumpy, hasty, and goofy little thing, and they knew he couldn’t spend four more years in there. Not only for his sake, but they didn’t want to keep a pupil who didn’t have good enough potential. And so, he was expelled.

Lloyd didn’t want to go to his uncle nor his mother. He wanted to go and find his dad. The only thing that had given a glorious halo to the boy, a great reputation even before he started to fight for his honor, was a father whom everyone knew and whose name could silence a room full of noisy brats. He wanted to find him and to become like him. Respected and feared, strong and fearless. The problem was that the headmaster would call his mother to come and pick him up again. To avoid this, he called back to his mother as soon as he managed to sneak alone into the headmaster’s room so he could use his phone. He said that Wu had offered to come and take him to live in the monastery. Misako was relieved as she was in a difficult place and on the verge of very promising discovery. She trusted Lloyd to speak the truth so she never called Wu to check the information.

Lloyd packed his few belongings into a backpack and left. He said his mum was picking him up from the next village. He had no actual plan, but he was excited about his new freedom. Misako had left him some money and she and Wu regularly sent him money into the school. Now he could finally spend it on something! He came to the village and spent some money for food (basically sweets) and a bed. There was also a fancy-dress shop from which he bought a black cape. He also purchased some white textile color with which he painted ribs on his shirt (he had heard rumors about G’s appearance after his fall).

He went intuitively from village to town and to next village, searching for answers. He heard many stories about his father (well, the people who told him the stories kept in mind his young age and didn’t tell the goriest stories and smoothed out the edgiest parts). Most of them were not true, and he heard many mentions of his return. He had been seen here, he had been seen there. So, Lloyd thought he should just follow the flimsy tracks. But eventually he ran out of money. He got some food out of pity, when he asked, but he knew he’d have to get money. He sold almost everything he owned except for his clothes. He thought about stealing and tried it once, but it was too scary and he got a guard Houndour after him (it couldn’t catch him tho). He also tried to avoid police officers in general. He was afraid they would catch him and send into child welfare center.

He kept on wandering and subconsciously drew nearer to the Monastery of Spinjizu. He slept his nights outside, tried to hunt a little during the days, but couldn’t catch anything. Fortunately, it was berry time, so he could gather something from the wilderness. He was still awfully hungry and tried to come up with something to get more food. He had only a small trick box filled with rubber snakes with him and he knew it wouldn’t give him many meals. But then he got a grand idea. He was the son of the fearful Lord Garmadon! So, all he needed to do was scare people into giving their food for him. And the more sugar the food contained, the better.

This was a lot of text again, and you’d deserve a whole bunch of cookies if you made it this far~!

#pokéninjago #eevee!Lloyd #pokémon #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #crossover #hiippart #long post #backstory #childhood #angst #introduction #pokeninjago #PNGo!

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leveragehunters · 7 years

Text

Smitten

Just a small thing, prompted by @brendaonao3′s (who I can’t seem to tag, so at least I don’t need to worry about whether doing so would be rude or not!) post here. Also @kiriei and @the lovely anonymous who sent me the incredibly sweet message (thank you, I hope you like this!).

I'd like to (will probably?) do something bigger, better, faster, more (*tips hat to the 4 Non Blondes*) with the idea but I’m currently drowning in something biggish--it kept eating at me, though, then the phones went down at work this arvo so... Modern AU, with strong skinny Steve and Winter Soldier Bucky (I know, shrinkyclinks from me, what a surprise).

Update: There’s now a full length, alternate version of this available on AO3 And Shadows Will Fall Behind

________________________________________

Smitten

"Don't they at least have, I don’t know, a mutated giant badger or something? I feel like these guys aren't even trying." Clint's disgruntlement came through loud and clear over the comms.

Bucky didn't reply, but he agreed. He understood why bad guys attacked New York. At least, why showy bad guys attacked New York. The ones who were trying to make a name for themselves, trying to be something instead of trying to get something. No one was gonna give you prime-time coverage for attacking some one horse town in the middle of nowhere. But he'd never understand why they didn't put a little more time into preparing for the inevitability of ending up with the Avengers on their tails.

At least these guys had made an effort and dressed the part: black on black wasn’t exactly creative, but they'd tried to look menacing and every one of the swarm who'd descended on the formerly peaceful neighbourhood was built like a tank.

About as smart as tanks, too, from what Bucky, perched high above the action, could see through his scope, but they were fast and even dumbasses could brandish…whatever the hell their weapons were, green sparks erupting from the ends of short silver poles. They'd instantly zeroed in on Iron Man when he'd appeared, giving the rest of them time to clear out the bystanders and lock down the area, the cops throwing up cordons to keep everyone out. Now it was just blood-hounding and herd-dogging as they chased down the scattered swarm.

"No giant badgers, mutated or otherwise." Tony sighed. "I think I'm insulted. Does anyone need backup?"

Variations on the theme of 'I'm good' came back, Bucky grunting his response as he shifted his weight. His left ass cheek was asleep and he didn't know why he was here. Unless things were pretty damn dire they didn't call him up for ops in heavily populated areas. Mostly because people didn't, as a general rule, find the sudden appearance of the Winter Soldier (somehow the former never seemed to register when they came face to face with the metal arm) any more reassuring than whatever it was he was supposed to be saving them from.

Things were not dire, unless you counted his half-asleep ass. Bucky wasn't even sure these guys were super powered. Just super annoying.

He kept scanning the surrounding streets, spotted three of the black-clad swarm and dropped one, but the other two bolted, scampering away like rats, and the angle was wrong. With a deep sigh, he stood, taking his time because there wasn't anywhere they could go; they'd locked down the whole area, so it wasn't like there was any hurry...

Except a skinny blond drink of water, bag over one shoulder, had stepped out of a low brick building. A building that was supposed to be locked down. He was blinking in surprise at the black-clad, tank-sized assholes barrelling down on him. Shit. He's fucking tiny. They're gonna smash right over the top of him.

Or not, since one was reaching to grab him, maybe seeing a potential hostage, Bucky didn't know, but he raised his rifle, focusing through the scope, looking for a clean shot.

Except hostage apparently wasn't on the cards. The skinny blond ducked, slammed his bag into grab-hand's face, planted a foot on the other's hip, pushed off, his other foot landing on the guy's shoulder, and, as Bucky's jaw dropped, launched himself upwards like he'd sprouted invisible wings. One hand stretched, caught, and he'd grabbed hold of the abstract sculpture jutting out of the building’s front.

He hung precariously one-handed for a second, then pulled himself smoothly up, grabbed the top of the sculpture with his other hand, tucked his toes into a curve of metal and swung his leg over. Straddling the sculpture, he directed a feral grin at the two men staring up at him, apparently as dumbfounded as Bucky, nimbly rose to his feet and lightly ran along the narrow beam to the wall, then bounced up to the top of the building using the barely-there brick windowsills as hand and foot holds.

For a brief moment after he pulled himself over the roof’s edge he glanced up, scanning the sky, and Bucky got a good look at his face. He was—Bucky swallowed hard—he was beautiful. It was the only word Bucky had and it wasn't anywhere close to enough. He was thin, sharp, blond hair falling in a wave over his forehead, his jaw like a ship cutting through waves, and his eyes were gleaming blue.

He'd moved like a waterfall in reverse, flowing up and over the side of the building, had pulled himself up one handed. Bucky knew what that took, knew what kind of strength must be packed away in that tiny body. And he'd reacted so fast, without a hint of fear.

Something stirred in him, something he hadn’t thought he could still feel, his heart cracking open, hatching a fluffy creature that ruffled its feathers, kicking up little waves of warmth…and give him a break, he'd been a brainwashed, cryo-frozen assassin for seventy years and he'd just been smashed over the head with feelings; he was allowed to be bad at metaphors.

The sound of metal against metal, the two assholes trying to haul themselves up the sculpture, snapped him out of it and he sighted down the rifle with a low growl and removed them from the picture.

Not permanently, unfortunately. Damn PR people and their damn non-lethal rounds. Normally he was fine with them if the situation warranted, but the assholes’d been going after his tiny blond.

When Bucky looked back he was gone.

Days went past and Bucky couldn't get the memory out of his head. The way he'd moved. His grace, his strength, those brilliant eyes.

That feral grin.

Bucky found out the building he’d stepped out of was a studio, renting space to artists.

A studio Bucky happened to find himself on the roof across from one day, watching him step out into the street once more, sun glinting off his blond hair.

The problem was, even with how far he'd come, Bucky wasn't really great at being a person. He was trying, he just wasn't there yet, and it wasn't like he got a hell of a lot of practice with anyone who wasn't an Avenger or Avenger-adjacent (and it wasn't like any of them were even halfway to normal).

So his approach to the fluttery feeling in his heart was to... Look, it wasn't stalking.

It wasn't.

It was just watching.

From a distance. Where he couldn’t be seen. A couple of times Bucky came down to street level, thinking about maybe going up and talking to him, but then he tried to imagine how that would go and retreated back to the rooftops. He did happen to overhear the tiny blond's name on one of those failed ventures, though: Steve.

Steve.

Bucky kept on keeping his distance.

Except for the day he saw Steve furtively glance around before ducking into an alley. Saw him leap up to grab a fire escape and pull himself up one-handed to dash up the ladder to the roof.

Bucky was a moth to a flame, had to get closer, wanted to see what Steve would do next.

He followed, stealthy and silent, as Steve leapt across the rooftops. Bucky had been an assassin, one of the best in the world; watching Steve, he felt like a lumbering elephant. Steve was leaves swirling on the wind, a bird in flight, feet touching down like he was doing gravity a favour. He moved like the city belonged to him, like he belonged to the city and it wouldn't let him fall.

Which made the terror when suddenly Steve was gone kick him right in the gut. Stealth abandoned, Bucky raced to the building's edge, staring frantically down, praying he wouldn't find him broken and bloody on the distant ground.

Nothing. Relief flooded him and he took a deep breath.

Seconds later it whooshed out of him as he found himself flying through the air, slamming down onto the roof, flat on his back, staring up at Steve.

Steve who'd put him down as neatly as anyone he'd ever met.

All Bucky could do was stare, overwhelmed by a rush of warmth. Look how tiny Steve was and he'd flattened him. It was wonderful. Bucky's heart skipped a beat. It actually skipped a beat. He couldn't have taken his eyes off Steve if someone had put a gun to his head.

That wasn't hyperbole; he knew what he was talking about.

Steve was glaring back, keeping a careful distance, balanced on the balls of his feet, slender body loose and poised. "Not an easy target after all, hey, asshole?" Bucky didn't reply, just kept staring up at him. "Mind telling me what the fuck you think you're doing, following me?"

Bucky licked his lips, opened his mouth to answer, and all that came out was, "I'm Bucky." It was, in its own strange way, introduction and answer both.

Steve blinked, knocked a little off balance by the apparent non-sequitur. "You're following me…because you're Bucky."

"Yes?" It came out soft, a little hopeful, but he cleared his throat, tried to remember he was a grown man and then some, and said, "Yes," in a much more certain tone of voice.

The anger slowly faded from Steve's eyes, leaving puzzlement in its wake, and Bucky thought Steve was actually seeing him not just some random asshole. His eyes slowly travelled over Bucky, taking in his size, the fact that he was staying right where Steve had put him, his long sleeves, shoved up by his rapid journey through the air and equally rapid introduction to the roof.

There was a gleam of metal above his left glove.

Steve's gaze sharpened, focused on the metal, and Bucky's gaze followed it. Three plates visible, enough that anyone who knew what he was looking at would know what he was looking at. Lot of sense there, Bucky. Anyone who knew there was a guy with a metal arm running around would know they were looking at that guy. And anyone who lived in New York would know there was a guy with a metal arm. There'd been enough of a media shit-fight when he’d started helping the Avengers and his story broke—he's a traitor, he's a victim, he's a traitor, he's a victim, until Bucky'd wanted to scream—you'd have to have been living under a rock to have missed it.

There was no chance Steve hadn't just figured out who he was.

"Sorry," Bucky said when Steve's eyes returned to his face. "I don't know how to meet people."

"Talking to them usually works. You can try asking the time, talking about the weather. Or movies, movies are good. Maybe ask them to get coffee if it's going well. All of those are better options than stalking them across rooftops."

"Right." Bucky nodded. "Have you got the time?"

A snort of laughter escaped Steve; he managed to keep any follow-up laughter under control, but his eyes were sparkling and there was an amused curl at the corner of his mouth. "Too late for you to be lying around on the roof." His gaze flicked over Bucky again, back to the gleam of metal, and he moved to stand next to Bucky's hip, offering his hand.

His left hand.

The natural response would be to reach out with his left hand. His metal hand. He searched Steve's face, wondering what this was, but Steve's eyes were warm and steady. Maybe a little challenging, like he was saying I know who you are and it doesn't worry me; I'll still knock you on your ass.

Whatever had hatched in his heart kept growing, fluttering, fluffing up its feathers and Bucky couldn't not smile. Carefully, he wrapped his metal fingers in their leather glove around Steve's hand. Muscles like iron cables flexed in Steve's forearm as he pulled Bucky to his feet; it sent little tingles down Bucky's spine, because he knew how heavy he was.

When Bucky was standing, staring down at Steve, dwarfing him, still holding onto his hand, Steve looked up at him with no apparent awareness of how much smaller he was. "I'm Steve. If you already know that, we're going to pretend you don't, because part of meeting people is you don't already know their name."

"I do know your name, though," he said. "I don't want to start with a lie."

That caught Steve's attention and he tilted his head. "Start with?"

Inside, Bucky flailed, because yes, yes, yes. "How about that weather?"

After a beat, Steve grinned. "Good job with the small talk. Come on, I'll buy you a coffee." With the greatest reluctance Bucky relinquished Steve's hand. He followed him to the fire escape and lost himself for a bit, watching as Steve leapt down the rusting stairs, barely making contact: a hand here, a brush of a toe there, a flash of pale skin as his shirt rode up; he was movement and grace and—

"Earth to Bucky."

He snapped back. Steve was watching him, a tiny, amused smile on his face, and Bucky trotted down the stairs, leaping off the bottom platform to land lightly next to Steve.

Steve bumped his shoulder against his right arm and Bucky was warm, warm, warm walking next to Steve. Tiny Steve who'd sent him flying. Who moved like he was flying. Who walked through the world like a dare, like a challenge, like a banner unfurled.

The feathery creature in his heart spread its wings and flew. Bucky thought it might be love.

#things i wrote on tumblr #my fic #smitten #brendaonao3 #this is totally based on their post/prompt #shrinkyclinks #skinny steve #strong skinny steve #modern au strong skinny steve/winter soldier bucky #stucky #steve x bucky

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sbcojn · 5 years

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30 random facts about me for the sake of finding ourselves in the so called century of the self

...and because i am effectively trying to keep myself from studying for a statistics exam and from falling down a negative spiral of thoughts.

caution: if over sharing people annoy you do not read this, keep scrolling or log off.

i have a long a*s first name, which sounds like math and let's everyone, who ever reads my name and who has not met me in person yet, think that i'm a dude. thx mom for adding a dutch variation to it as well and for wanting your kid to have an extravagant unisex name, which no one is able to pronounce correctly! :')

my mom, my grandmas and my second oldest cousin are my idols and i talk about them all the time. i understand that it's creepy and annoying to my social environment but i can't help it and idgaf! i adore them, i want to be them and i love them soOoOo much! every single one of them is such a badass boss lady, who is not afraid of working hard, making sacrifices and never asking for anything in return. just by watching them handle life they taught me everything i need to know about it. i admire how they each are so comfortable with themselves that they don't ever feel the need to justify who they are and what they do. i am very blessed to have them in my life and to be related to them.

i lived in indonesia until i was 3-4ish.

during an exchange program from hotel management school in switzerland my mom somehow fell in love with that country and moved here with me.

here she met my stepdad, who for me is my real dad. he adopted me as soon as he met my mom and treated me as i was one of his own. i actually have most of my characteristic traits in common with my dad and that's why i hate when people remind me of the fact, that i am not blood related to him. just let me construct my own reality b*tches! i am thankful for everything he did for me and for all the sacrifices he made. in spite of being too young for that kind of responsibility he looked after his family with boldness and bravery. i love you more than everything and i am truly sorry for being such a hard a*s to you when i was little and when i was going through puberty lol!

i have a little brother, who is 4 years younger than me. he is my true partner in crime and was ALWAYS on my side no matter what. i was so afraid when my parents told me that they are going to have another kid, because i thought that meant that they needed to get rid of me. but i was over the moon when he was born. he was such a cute fat a*s baby and i instantly felt the need to mother him when i was only four. lol sorry for treating you like a baby born bro! but i loved and still love you so much and i will always help you out like you did, no matter what happens!

if you touch my family i will D E L E T E yours!

when i was little i watched to many disney movies and sailor moon. i was o b s e s s e d once my dad caught me posing like sailor moon in front of the mirror and i wanted to die! another time he caught me singing disney songs on the balcony... and i didn't know how to speak english then. i only knew how to speak indonesian and german so i sang the songs in some kind of fantasy language, which to me sounded like english and tried to enact those dramatic singing scenes on the balcony or while looking out of my window.......

although i started my life as an extra af child i always acted shy in kindergarten and elementary school. through the entire time my teachers made it mandatory for me to visit an extra class for non-native speakers. for most of my childhood every teacher thought i could not properly speak german and i was too shy to tell them that i certainly could speak german. my parents were so confused because at home i would always order them around and as soon as i was in school i was even scared to breath too loudly. so fake though :')

my chemical romance, nirvana, pearl jam, billy talent, radiohead, the flatliners, a day to remember, architects, new politics, jimmy eat world and paramore used to get me through every situation in puberty. i was kind of cocky and prided myself on my taste in music because i thought the music i listened to wAs So EmOtIonALLy dEep aNd No OnE mY aGe WouLD bE aBLe To ApPrEciAtE iTs dEpth. and to be honest, every time i listen to this kind of music now i am not able to appreciate it. it makes me sad and i am kind of emotionally stable now lol! kind of says a lot about the genius of this genre though but i can't do it anymore! listening to it takes my mind to places i don't want to go back to. thank you for your service but i am happy and became kind of an emotionally semi-stable mainstream b*tch, when it comes to music! k, thx, bye! lol

i have a scar on my forehead in between my eye brows. it was caused by playing hide and seek in the dark. me and my child hood friend thought this was a revolutionary idea and we got sooooo hyped. we ended up running into one another and her tooth finally got stuck in my forehead lol.

i always did good at school but i don't remember how. i don't remember studying a lot. all i remember is how i couldn't focus on sh*t for longer than 5 minutes. this became a huge problem as soon as i entered middle school. from then on i always got in trouble with my teachers because they wanted to downgrade me but my parents never agreed to that. and they would always be angry at me for not doing enough for school but in fact i just didn't know how to effin' focus. i remember studying my butt off but still didn't know what i was doing exactly and somehow still managed to graduate grammar school after nearly dropping out twice and showing up for class for only like half of the time. since entering middle school i was an average to really really bad student, who got eaten from the inside by teenage angst and who had an attention span of a baby. after taking care of my ADD and growing up a little all i really want to do is study. but not math/statistics man. i still hate math though. i am one of the few asian people, who is bad at math.

i love to consume pop culture in every format! in my opinion it is brilliant and entertaining. idgaf what everyone else thinks really. therefore...

i need to state that i am a huge supporter of kim k becoming a lawyer!!! yes, she is loaded but still the fact that she uses her platform and therefore her influence for a greater cause is more than admirable. as well as the fact that she has started to pursue a law degree after having four children, who are still small and managing a bunch of businesses at the same time. i mean studying law is hard af. just imagine being in your mid thirties, having to manage a dozen of businesses, keeping kanye west out of trouble, taking care of four small kids and studying law, while the world is publicly doubting you and hating on you for doing something more than great even. i mean i know people my age, who financially get supported by their parents, still live at home and have no other responsibilities other than their own education and they still can't do it. and i don't think it is something to be ashamed of because i know it is hard. but actually my whole point is that people love to hate on the kardashians and it gets boaaring.

i actually think that ariana grande's music video to her song thank u next is a pop cultural masterpiece!

i loved working at mcdonald's as a part-time job. i loved the people, who worked there. they were happy all the time and just cared about making enough money to look after their families. although mcdonald's literally stands for capitalism and commerce - there even is a term in political philosophy 'mcdonald's world' - and is one of the biggest corporations worldwide, i have never came across people, who are as precious as they are! they always looked out for one another and were all time ready to f*ck up everyone, who messed with their co-workers. i have never experienced a better working-environment since then.

i am 25 years old and i still love playing sims. while i'm at it i love to watch dr. phil. recently i just spent my whole tip money on expansion packs. i am not even ashamed. but sometimes i have trouble adjusting to the real world after a gaming session. while walking around in the city i get inspired by buildings, which just make me wanna go home and build it. like what are friends, i don't need friends, i just want to build an imaginary fancy ass house. i also get upset about the fact that there is no cheat code in real life for deactivating your primary needs like sleep. i could have been a doctor and a piano prodigy by now man! or f*ckin' motherlode my bank account at least if you know what i'm sayinnnnn'.

when i was little i dreamed of dying my hair blonde one day, getting fair skin, having blue eyes and a f*cking nose bridge. i hated my asian look. at some point i even got jealous of fellow asian people, whose skin was lighter than mine. then i went through a phase, when i kind of felt okay with how i looked but damned western beauty standards and mainstream media for making my five year old self and a lot of my other asian sisters feeling shitty about the way they looked.

sex tourism was a huge part of why i struggled with my ethnic look as well. there were times, when i even felt slutty wearing skinny jeans. and i think this needs no further explanation. thank u next.

i love the praisintheasian movements! and i adore the man, who in my eyes initiated that movement, mr. eddie huang! since fotb came out i stalked him on every platform! and while stalking (lol) i gradually began to understand how i can be okay with being asian and even celebrate being asian. i want to have coffee with this dude and i have so many questions to ask him and so many things i want to tell him! asdflkasjfd!!! but i am 500% sure that if i would ever meet him i would cry, vomit, laugh and then run away. or maybe i would act so creepy that he will put a restraining order on me. so writing down the possible outcomes of meeting eddie huang - maybe let's just not meet my idol then.

when i'm retired, i'll own a bistro somewhere in indonesia with the best coffee, wine and my favorite food. and i'll give my best to use organic and regional food items and at the same time plan the menu after a zero-waste logic. every monday there will be book club. and every friday there will be local artists performing. i would recruit my staff properly and pay them a respectable wage. my bistro would be kind of a local meeting point. lol how realistic. let a gal dream! (the percentage of that happening is like non-existent. that's why i bought myself the sims 4 expansion pack 'dine out' lmfao)

one of my favorite books of all time is 'woyzeck' by georg büchner. just look it up! i am not worthy of describing this master piece.

i will always chose hanging out wherever comfortable and chill over going out and partying. one of the main reasons is that most of the people there annoy me. in zurich the consumption of cocaine is insane and i find it annoying, unnecessary and petty. just go home if you're tired man. there is nothing attractive about a cocky ass person, who is high on cocaine! and maybe consider therapy if you need that kind of stuff to feel better about yourself. not really feel like wasting my time and money at those kind of venues. i am too boring for you anyways. srynotsry.

something that has bothered me for a long time now.... to all those kind of feminists, who get offended by my perfectly winged eyeliner: you missed the point sis. bye

i never understood how doing things that make yourself feel cute could be offensive to anyone or violate anyone's ideology. just don't look at me then ffs. thx muaaaachhhh.

i am really bad at lending books from the library. i consider not doing that anymore until the day i'll become rich. from that day on i will hire an assistant, who will keep track of borrowed books.

every time before my period starts i cry about dumb ass shit. and i am okay with it now. i am trying to keep in mind and actively remember that having my period could be the reason for this monthly emotional outbreak. but an individual still can forget the cause of the outbreak, which leads to a dramatic downward spiral every.single.time. howwwwww biiishhhh

i will not attend school/work/anything if i forget my headphones. i will turn around, go back home and get my fucking headphones. and at times, when the cash is flooooowiiiin' i'll just buy a new pair even they only pair available would cost me 40 bugs. but that is like the highest price i'd pay though lol. (7 lunch menus at my uni thoooo)

if you force me to read something in a car i will vom all over you!

astrology kind of fascinates me and i am done being embarrassed about it lol.

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