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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

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Answering these two asks in a post so all the content can stay in one place!

The original post in question can be found here!

Drift

·He's delighted to have a whole group of young humans on board to foster diplomacy, and he fully intends to do whatever is necessary to make them feel safe and welcome. Though his introduction is polite, the small crowd immediately takes note of his ever present swords, and to his delight their reaction is purely one of innocent awe at his impressive weaponry. Always happy to encourage responsible sword use, he explains the significance of each blade and is incredibly careful when showing the very tiny and very delicate humans what they look like up close. Their delight is so simple and pure some part of him is reminded of his long gone naivety, and his promise to protect them becomes a vow he never intends to break while his own spark still flickers.

·When he casually mentions time on earth one day the group is surprised and effusive in a sudden burst of questions. When he's actually able to recall a surprising amount of pop culture facts their little minds are nearly blown, and from then on they seem to seek him out just to socialize, something that quite surprises him for a multitude of reasons. Even after all his time with the Autobots, many still don't fully accept him as one of their own, so to be seen as a companion by beings so young and innocent... If absolutely touches him, while also making him determined to ensure they never discover that aspect of his life. He tells himself it's for their safety, and that the young shouldn't be troubled with burdens not their own, but he knows that losing the simple delight of their company and respect would hurt him deeply.

·Due to his need for frequent training to keep his skills sharp, it's no surprise that his little fans one day stumble upon him dicing up training dummies in one of the many gymnasium inspired practice areas. Upon seeing them in action he's soon surrounded by a group of very eager wannabe sword fighters, and while he's still recovering from the idea that he's wanted as a teacher a casual mention of Spectralism prompts a new wave of curiosity and interest that he can barely handle. It takes all of his willpower just to keep from letting on how impossibly touched he is by each and every one of them. They're just... interested in who he is? They look up to him just because they think he's cool and want to learn more about his faith, his skills, and his passions...

·The simple goodness of the relationship is all brought to what he thinks to be the end when his past is exposed by accident. He's not even with them when they find out, but he's devastated, and can't bring himself to face them now that they know who he used to be. It's only through sheer determination on behalf of the whole group, and what he thinks is bad luck for him, that the young liaisons manage to find and speak to him once more. For an instant he breaks and can only apologize effusively, begging their forgiveness for... well, everything from the secret to letting them down to allowing them to believe he was what they thought he was. It takes all of them working in tandem to speak over him and make one thing clear; no one is angry.

·His little group of fans makes it abundantly clear they don't see him as "Deadlock" or a Decepticon or anything but the bot they've come to respect. He's not his past in their eyes, and his present has been nothing but kind and welcoming to each and every one of them. Their little hands take hold of his in a gesture of affirmation, and in the strength of their compassion he can't help but feel dwarfed by each of them. Somehow, the experience brings them even closer, and they can frequently be heard referring to their "older brother" when heading off for the training sessions he painstakingly caters to their size. When some of them begin to show him Spectralist greetings and goodbyes he has to take the time to shed a few tears in private, but they definitely notice how affected he is regardless, and each of them make a point to show him how important he is to them every day.

Rodimus

·It was his own genius diplomatic skills that got these little humans secured on the ship in the first place, so he's quite eager to welcome them on board when the day finally comes. The fact that he stresses about impressing them for hours beforehand is something he keeps entirely to himself though... Yet it turns out he has nothing to fear, because each human is rendered speechless merely by the size of the Lost Light when they first see it, and he can't help but be made giddy as a result. He doesn't need to fake any of the enthusiasm he shows as he takes them on a tour, speeding through the hallways and alternating between giving them lifts in vehicle mode and bot mode, the latter of which has him carrying the group on his shoulders and in his arms.

·It's impossible not to be shocked as he sees the humans all... like and respect him immediately? Everything from his altmode to his jokes, they just... their little faces light up and they compliment him and they all want to hang out with him again as soon as possible?! What is this?! Despite having no idea he happily throws himself into this new and strange relationship with these tiny humans. So many of the interests and hobbies he's been told are "unfit" for a bot in his position are met with fascination, support, and requests for him to teach them all he can. It quickly goes from pleasantly surprising to absolutely touching. The whiplash of suddenly having so much positive attention spurs a change in him, namely one of uncharacteristic levels of protective instinct towards these precious visitors.

·Though he's entirely casual to their faces, behind the scenes he's checking on absolutely everything to ensure they're all taken care of. Are their rooms comfortable? Is the food to their liking? Does the crew make them feel welcome? Can he do anything to make their stay better? The various bots he checks in with to ensure everything is running smoothly quickly grow irritated with his constant pestering, though this new side of him is refreshing to most, particularly because he hasn't ever been this responsible about anything in the past. He even checks in with Magnus on the regular! And submits reports in a timely fashion! All to make sure he's doing everything in his power to keep these young liaisons as happy as he can.

·To the humans themselves though, he's the ultimate fun uncle, introducing them to the entire crew and showing them all the fun things there are to do around the ship. If he hears even a rumor that one of them is missing something about their home or wants to try something they don't have the ability to make happen, you better believe he is going to do everything in his power as captain to get things going. But of course he keeps all this work to himself, he wants to be the most effortlessly cool bot they know, and also doesn't want to concern them with all of the details. Unfortunately a slip up for one particularly epic movie night at Swerve's reveals the many sleepless hours he spent arranging it all, and in his rushed reasurances it comes out that he's been working himself ragged taking care of their every need.

·The entire group is shocked by his dedication, but also his incredible talent. He's funny, charismatic, friendly, and he's also been doing so much for them? The entire group brings him into an impromptu hug of appreciation, and he very nearly tears up in front of them. Somehow, these young aliens have become everything he didn't know he needed. They're his friends, but they look up to him, and his new honorifics of "Fun uncle" and "big brother" are there to prove it. But from then on they refuse to let him do all the work of arranging things himself. If someone has an idea to improve the ship, it gets done as a group, with one very happy bot surrounded by his ever present posse of humans ready to help the coolest captain in the galaxy. They're even kind enough to pretend they don't see the happy tears misting his optics from time to time.

Rung

·Not having ever been to earth, along with never seeing humans outside of their media, means he really didn't know what to expect of the incoming humans. Hearing that they were all exceptionally young just made him concerned, especially after a quick bit of research made it apparent that humans are quite emotionally turbulent in this protoformesque stage. He's not concerned for his sake though, even the tallest human is tiny at his side, he's worried they made need a little extra assistance adjusting to life after such a big change. Thus, he makes quite sure to be present when they're brought on board to introduce himself and extend his services. A small part of him can't help but be delighted upon meeting them; so small, yet so exuberant! They're all polite despite their wide eyed wonder at... everything, but his description of his proffesion really catches their attention for a group exclamation; Cybertronians have psychologists?!

·Having prepared to offer help, he's blindsided by their interest in simply... learning about his career? They want to know about the places he's been and the ships he's served on, particularly when they learn he has models of each, and they're so small he's not at all worried when he brings a couple collectibles down for them to see up close. Watching these little beings clamor to see something most of his own kind finds boring makes the protective feelings in his spark strengthen into a promise to keep each and every one of them safe. He takes note of each individual human's traits and personalities while memorizing their names, being quite aware of how much it means to simply have one's designation remembered, and also commits to guiding them all through their unique interests and goals.

·Spending time with the liaisons in their group as well as one on one, it doesn't occur to him that they don't follow the same pattern as every Cybertronian he's ever met until one of them brings it up; why do the other bots always get his name wrong? It's only in that moment he realizes none of them have ever forgotten, mispronounced, or even hesitated to say his name. The surprise is enough that he can't even reply to them initially. When he does manage to find words they're quite insufficient, and he tries to explain that even he doesn't know, but he's always just assumed his small stature and quiet demeanor simply meant he tended to fade from memory rather quickly. Nothing else beyond his "historical constant" theory really explains it, as far as he knows.

·Ever able to defy expectations, the little liaisons react to his indirect self depreciation with emphatic reasurances that he's not at all forgetable, and are so intent on making sure he knows that they speak over one another in an emotional gaggle of supportive youngsters. It's all more than the quiet psychiatrist could have ever expected. Of course he never enjoyed being forgotten, but he's become so accustomed to dismissing those feelings he has no way to process this sudden outpouring of support. The humans are all around him in a kind of embrace, which is made difficult mostly due to the number of them and the size difference, but the affection in the gesture is still quite clear. It's all he can do to hold them in return as they all promise to never forget him no matter what happens.

·He keeps his tears private, but that doesn't stop them from coming when he's behind closed doors, though he just lets the happiness brim over into the few that run down his cheeks after he removes his glasses. The irony of it all doesn't hit him until he and the group are present at a movie night, and as he listens to them all gush in turn to the cinema selection of the evening it occurs to him that his initial intent to help them has been flipped quite completely around. These little ones have helped him, helped him feel worth remembering, helped him feel like he belongs, helped him find a family... Watching them gather around him almost protectively from a forgetful world, he isn't quite sure if he's been adopted or if they have, but he can't bring himself to care about such details. Neither can any of the liaisons who vowed to each other their new friend would never feel lonely again.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #requests #anon #my writing #my asks #liaisons #human reader #self insert #drift #rodimus prime #rung

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moonlitceleste · 3 years

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straight up villain (Villain AU)

This is a songfic based on “Villain” by K/DA ft. Madison Beer and Kim Petras. There’s really no plot to it; I started with a vague idea and just went along with whatever my brain told me. It kinda jumps around and I didn’t proofread this at all, so sorry if it’s confusing!

I’d suggest listening to the song and watching the visualizer video because it’s honestly such a vibe. If I could animate I’d totally make a video full of epic fight scenes, but unfortunately I don’t have that talent learned yet.

This version of the song is a little more chill, so if you find the original too intense you can always listen to the slowed one instead.

On the low Only love myself, no more Take you to the grave, I'll ghost I know I can be so cold In the dark Where I like to keep my heart Know I'm all bite, no bark Like to catch you way off guard

A shiver ran down the crime boss’ spine.

His eyes darted around the room, searching through the darkness.

Shadows flickered. He swore he could see movement in them.

The night was crime’s time to rule; people feared the darkness it brought.

Now, he was the scared one.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“Who’s there?”

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, revealing his false bravado.

Shaking hands gripped the gun around his waist, knuckles turning white with pressure.

Creeeakk.

The man whipped around, heart hammering in his chest.

Who—or what—was lurking in the shadows?

A snap echoed through the air as he fired a round.

Silence.

The only sound came from distant echoes of Gotham’s nightlife and the frantic beating in his throat.

He swore he had seen something sweep out in the corner of his vision, if only for a moment.

Perhaps it was the paranoia.

He slowly lowered his gun, shoulders relaxing—

Only to whip around when he felt a phantom hand brush his shoulder.

A pair of eyes flashed in the darkness, gone the next second, but he knew what he had seen, what he had felt.

Icy fear seized his body, taking hold of his limbs.

Something was watching him.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

“Stop toying around.”

The gravelly voice was met with a cackle, almost cat-like in nature.

That was his only warning before it stepped from the shadows: a creature out of his nightmares, shrouded in darkness like part of the night itself.

Sharpened black claws glinted under the streetlights, and dark black orbs pinned him in place as it slunk forward. He couldn’t move, frozen like a deer in headlights.

The thing was so human-like in shape, but it was too monstrous to be one.

A wicked smile spread across its face, and his face blanched as he caught sight of the fangs protruding from the top.

The creature stalked forward like a predator chasing its prey.

Then, it pounced.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of drеad 'Til you go pow

It was common knowledge within Gotham’s criminal underworld that the Arkham Knight worked alone. He played by his own rules, merciless in his distribution of justice.

But lately, it was rumored that the Knight had an ally.

There was no proof of this, no sightings to go by, but there was a subtle shift that could be felt—an underlying sensation of imminent danger.

Gunfights and confrontations lessened, and the Knight’s enemies started disappearing without a trace. No blood, body, or evidence of struggle could be found; it was as if they had simply ceased to exist.

Whoever this new player was, they were dangerous.

Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind And I treat you likе a prize, then I throw you to the side? And am I really that bad if l love to make you mad? And get happy when you're sad, only care about a bag

Jason shook out his hair, metal helmet in his hands, and leveled a glance at his companion.

“Did you really have to take so long to kill him?”

The two were in one of their few safe houses, recuperating after their long night of fighting.

“It’s the thrill of the chase.”

Marinette, no longer transformed, stated this as if it were obvious—which it was. Jason had been with her long enough to understand her concept of fun. She leaned forward and stretched, looking much like the animal after which her magic ring was themed.

“We can’t waste time playing around. There are more important things to be done,” he growled.

Marinette simply giggled, bounding over to bat her eyes at him with mock innocence.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing.”

Her smile grew wicked, arms darting out to wrap around his waist.

“You look so good when you’re mad,” she purred.

Jason leaned down, and their lips met in a kiss.

In control That's how I like it and I'm never letting go, nah Never had a soul (soul) So you ain't taking nothing from me when you go, nah

Crack.

Marinette smirked as her staff made contact with the target’s skull.

Normally she would use Cataclysm for a more swift kill, but the remains were needed in order to send a message to Arkham Knight’s enemies.

They were growing more volatile, more desperate to expose whatever they thought she was.

Phantom Killer, they called her. The name sounded like something out of a badly-written horror movie. Marinette much preferred the one she had already: Reine de L'ombre.

Of course, she didn’t need a title, but Jason had come up with it. She was pleasantly surprised by his naming skills—it meant Shadow Queen, for she was a queen, and Jason her knight, as he put it.

She didn’t feel any remorse as the pile of bodies below her grew. Perhaps this made her soulless, but she didn’t need one anyway.

Marinette had all she wanted right beside her.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“...you do what you gotta do, am I right?”

Marinette nodded at the man standing across from her, a smile on her red-painted lips.

He had been leering at her from across the bar the whole night, and although that was the goal, she was still disgusted. He had to be at least twenty years older than her. Heck, he was old enough to be her dad.

The intel she and Jason had acquired said the businessman had a thing for younger women, which was apparent. According to the same source, the company he ran was also a front for trafficking and drug rings.

Marinette wanted to see him bleed.

“How about we take this to my room?”

The comment was abrupt, and Jason would probably kill her for her indiscretion later, but she was getting tired of the man’s blabbering.

Her hand moved up his arm, the expensive material of his suit cool against her fingers. She bit her lips seductively, which seemed to convince him.

Bingo.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (yeah, yeah) Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

Marinette gritted her teeth as the man tried to reach for her butt again.

She attempted to stop him by saying she wanted to wait until they entered her room, but he was persistent. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

As soon as she opened the door to her hotel room, she shoved him inside and up against the wall. He seemed to be expecting a kiss, but she punched him hard. For a crime lord he certainly wasn’t a good fighter. Maybe it was the drugs she slipped into his drink earlier that contributed to his quick defeat.

Marinette cuffed his arms behind his back with a pair she had stashed earlier. She could have waited for the man to undress so she could ensure he didn’t have any weapons, but she had gone through enough torture already. Her eyes didn’t need to see that.

She turned him around, giving him a smile that promised warmth and kindness, before pulling out a dagger and pressing it to his throat.

“Now talk.”

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread 'Til you go pow

“Claws in.”

Marinette’s black suit faded away, revealing her now blood-spattered red dress.

She flopped onto the couch, not bothering to remove her shoes or dirty clothing.

After hours of trying to get information out of the businessman, she only managed to wring a few coded phrases from him. He seemed to only be a figurehead of his shady organization rather than its actual leader.

A Cataclysm later and here she was, back to the drawing board.

“Jay?” Marinette called.

It was unusually quiet in the safe house; usually after solo missions they’d greet one another with a kiss. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Jason?”

Silence.

Marinette huffed. She knew exactly what this was about.

Bang, bang You can do anything No fear, no pain Listen to your brain go Go stupid, go dumb, go stupid and Then we go insane, woah Just do what I say Follow me, I'll lead the way

“Are you jealous?”

Jason whipped his head around, caught off-guard by the appearance of his girlfriend in his doorway. It seemed as if she wasn’t wasting any time.

“I’m not jealous. That guy couldn’t get you if he tried.”

“Then why are you mad?”

His jaw clenched.

He wished he hadn’t agreed to let Marinette extract the information alone; Jason almost wished he was there to see the man in pain.

“He was putting his hands all over you.”

“It was for a mission. Besides, I thought you said he couldn’t get me even if he tried?”

Her last words were said with a lilt, and Jason knew she was riling him up. He couldn’t stay mad, anyway—she had a point.

He deflated and leaned forward to brush his lips against her. Marinette smiled into the kiss, then pulled away. She looked him up and down, a glint in her eyes.

“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, hmm?”

She paused, then wrinkled her nose.

“After I take a shower. I don’t want this guy’s blood on me any longer.”

Maybe they acted stupid sometimes, but the two always followed one another in the end.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price (Woo-ah) All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain (Yeah) Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (Woo-ah!)

Marinette panted deeply, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A mass of bodies surrounded her, but she wasn’t paying attention. This wasn’t just a battle. It was war.

It was a fight for her life, and she wasn’t going down now.

Reine de L'ombre tore through her enemies like a terrifying force of darkness, one after the other. The Arkham Knight fought by her side, fueled by pure destruction.

Maybe they wouldn’t make it out, but they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread

'Til you go pow

A week later, a couple rose hand-in-hand from the ranks as new rulers of the Gotham Underworld.

Reine de L'ombre and the Arkham Knight—a queen and her king.

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

#maribat #celestewrites #jasonette #cel's fics

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hungry-tum-stuff · 3 years

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Hateno Village

BOTW Regional Food Series - Part 3

Description: Link has spoken to Purah regarding his memories, and he’s decided to settle down in Hateno for a bit to think about his next move. On a particularly calm night in, Link decides to try and re-create a recipe he remembers from before the Calamity.

Contents: Hunger, Stomachaches

//TW: Descriptions of Hunger, Amnesia, descriptions of stomachaches/sickness

Disclaimer: I am NOT an expert in memory loss/amnesia. If any of my depictions of Link’s memory loss are incredibly inaccurate, I apologize, and please reach out to me if you believe there is any way I can improve.

Link’s memories were returning.

He’d gone to Hateno to speak with Purah, who had taken more of an interest in his Sheikah Slate than him, if he was being honest. But in her interest, she was able to repair the device and add a new rune: the camera. She’d recovered a few pictures as well, which had sent Link’s mind racing. Every place seemed so familiar, but he had no idea where they were, and even less of a clue as to what had happened there.

He would find each and every place in these pictures, no matter how long it took him.

Especially now that he knew the effects of the shrine were mostly reversible. Purah had told him that his memories would come back in chunks, and that certain people, places, and things would trigger certain memories. She’d also told him that his memory would never completely return, but he still didn’t know how to feel about that.

Considering he could hardly remember anything from 100 years ago, he wasn’t sure if there was anything worth remembering.

He wasn’t even sure if there was anything he missed.

Small things came back to him the more time he spent traveling, however. Things like the names of settlements he knew he hadn’t visited yet, or fighting styles he’d never learned but somehow instinctively knew. The thing he kept remembering the most about though, was Zelda. He heard her voice a lot, and in turn he’s started to remember a few things she’s said to him. He remembered her saying that she was allergic to Chickaloo Nuts, he remembered her shouting ‘be careful!’ a lot. He remembered her face. And despite remembering these things, he still didn’t really remember her.

Link sighed and tossed the Sheikah Slate on the table, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t look at those pictures anymore, not when he couldn’t remember anything.

His stomach growled.

Impa was right, he couldn’t remember anything on an empty stomach, either.

Link had set up shop for the night in an old, vacant house just outside of Hateno Village. Which he guessed was his house now, seeing as the local construction company had decided to sell it to him. It was better than paying to sleep at an Inn every night, but something about the house was a bit eerie. Almost like there was something missing from it.

On the bright side, a memory had come back to him during the time he’d spent here. He remembered helping someone make stew. And if he remembered the taste correctly, it had been a thick, hearty cuckoo stew. He just had to try making it.

And according to the noises his tummy was making, he also had to stop stalling.

Link looked over the ingredients he had. Hyrule Herb, milk, rock salt, a hearty radish, but no cuckoo meat. Hell, he didn’t even have non-cuckoo meat, he hadn’t exactly stopped to hunt lately. He frowned and dug through his bag some more before his land landed on something squishy. He poked it again before pulling it out, and then scrunching his nose up in disgust.

Bokoblin guts.

He had an excess of them after basically fighting his way here, and they were technically meat, right? They were just a little more, purple.

It certainly couldn’t hurt to try.

Link stepped outside cautiously with his ingredients gathered in his arms, looking around. The men from the construction company were sleeping nearby, was it really that late? Oh well, that meant nobody would be sitting around the cooking pot and watching him.

He stalked over, started the fire beneath the pot, and got cooking.

Everything else went well, except for dicing up the bokoblin meat, which was still a little a little slimy. But he decided that the work wouldn’t be for nothing, and he tossed it into the pot anyways.

His stew immediately turned purple.

Link briefly worried if malice would end up infecting him when he ate this, especially since it was so purple. But the bokoblin was dead, surely eating it’s guts would have no effect on him.

He just hoped it tasted good.

Link ran to get a bowl as the stew began to bubble over, and he helped himself to a generous serving before sitting beside the fire. It was strange, the stew didn’t really smell like anything. His stomach growled at him as he sat and waited for his stew to cool off, and he took a spoonful, blew on it one more time, and took a bite.

It wasn’t bad.

It tasted like stew, just with some slimy chunks in each spoonful. And his stew being edible was all the motivation Link needed to begin scarfing it down by the spoonful. He didn’t waste time in going for seconds, either.

He was comfortably full after his second serving, and there wasn’t much left in the pot anyways, so he sat for a moment before getting up to stomp out the fire and head inside.

The trouble started as soon as he stood up.

His stomach sloshed uncomfortably, and Link looked down a bit worriedly as it grumbled noisily.

Maybe bokoblin guts hadn’t been the best choice.

He hurried inside, one hand pressed against his belly as if he was trying to keep the contents inside from moving around. Unfortunately it didn’t work, because as soon as he shambled up the stairs and flopped down onto the bed, his stomach churned painfully. Link grimaced and wrapped both his arms around his tummy, holding his breath until the cramping passed. After it did, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief before unwrapping his hands from around his belly and then feeling it gently. It was slightly distended, and very grumbly. As soon as he pressed lightly on where his stomach was, it burbled uncomfortably before cramping up again.

Link lied there for awhile, curled up on himself with both hands around his upset and loudly complaining stomach. And when he eventually tried to get back up, a wave of nausea washed over him and he was lying back down in seconds.

He’d made a bit of a mistake. He couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about it, too. Wasn’t he supposed to be a hero? That’s what everyone kept telling him, at least. But what kind of hero cooked monster parts into his stew and made himself sick because of it?

His stomach churned again, and Link couldn’t help but grunt in pain. He could feel his stomach twisting right beneath his hands, trying in vain to digest the mess of a meal he’d eaten.

He certainly didn’t feel like any kind of hero right now.

#i’m sorry in advance #but I can’t reaist the urge to write angst with Link #both emotional and physical >:)#tummy #stomach growling #hunger kink #sfw hunger kink #sickfic #fanfic #breath of the wild #botw #botw link

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thejostenator · 3 years

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The Foxhole Cinema: Chapter Eight

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Neil slotted the dustpan and brush back where they had been at the beginning of the day, which already felt like it had been years ago. If working at The Foxhole was like this every day, he might actually start sleeping well again. He’d never gotten a good night’s sleep whilst on the run, but then again, he hadn’t at his Father’s house either. The last time he got a good night’s sleep was probably the one night he and his Mother spent at Uncle Stuart’s house in England after fleeing.

Even though Uncle Stuart was nice enough, his job as a lawyer was just a cover for gang work. It seemed like everyone in Neil’s life was embroiled with criminals somehow- Neil's Father had been a shady man playing at the big leagues by kidnapping Kevin, but Stuart was a genuine gangster. Neil’s mother hadn’t wanted them to go from one crime family to another so that had been a temporary stay, and even though he had Stuart’s number memorized, he had never called it.

Wymack watched him in stony silence before beckoning him closer. “Alright Josten, get a move on. We need to reach Abby’s before midnight so I can stop Kevin from doing something stupid whilst drunk.”

Neil nodded. “Sounds like a difficult task.”

“Don’t I know it,” Wymack sighed, and turned to leave the Cinema. Neil followed him out, close enough to look polite, but also far enough to avoid any malevolent hands or feet.

They were the last two to leave, so Wymack locked the door behind him. Everyone else had left earlier in the day, as their shifts ended, but Neil was forced to wait for Wymack to finish up whatever he was doing so they could leave together. Nicky had left first, wishing him a teary farewell as if they weren’t going to see each other tomorrow. Kevin and Aaron had ignored him as they took their leave, and Andrew had given him a two-fingered salute. Allison had been preoccupied with Seth, but Renee had flashed Neil another of her sugar-sweet smiles and offered to stay with him whilst he waited, but he had turned her down- he didn’t want to spend any more time with her than he had to.

She had accepted that without question.

Unfortunately for Neil, he couldn’t keep up the safe distance from Wymack once he was in his car, which was a two-seater and far too small for a man Wymack’s height. He had to stoop to fit through the driver’s seat door, but luckily Neil had no such issue. His issue lay with Wymack’s hands, and tracking their every move has he adjusted the rear-view mirror and shoved some fluffy dice dangling from it out of the way.

“Abby’s car,” Wymack said as an explanation.

“That explains a lot,” Neil said drily.

“Look,” Wymack said slowly, “You’ve only been here for one day, but you’re still a member of the team, got it?”

Neil nodded, despite the fact he disagreed. He may work at The Foxhole, but he was not part of the team.

“So,” Wymack continued, “Don’t let Minyard push you around. If he starts some shit, you come to me. Christ, if anyone starts some shit, you come to me.”

“Do we need a heart to heart right now, Coach?” Neil huffed, borrowing Andrew’s nickname for Wymack, who groaned in frustration at its use.

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, and when they reached Abby’s house Neil clambered out of the car as fast as he could, unwilling to be trapped in an enclosed space with a grown man for any longer than possible. Wymack was not as oblivious as he had seemed when they first met, so he placed himself resolutely out of Neil’s personal space now that the option had arisen, holding out that little olive branch.

Neil took it as the peace offering it was and rung the doorbell. The front door swung open within seconds as if the woman inside had been sitting by the door waiting. She had a motherly smile and she looked Neil up and down with a gaze that was somehow both critical and comforting.

“You must be Neil,” she said, moving aside to let him in. “Please make yourself at home.”

Neil slipped off his shoes, and although he was wearing socks, they had enough holes that he could feel the cool floor against his feet. Running away from assailants constantly hadn’t left any of his clothes in the best shape (although these were the only ones he had left now, courtesy of Lola- he was starting to regret not taking the few seconds to kill her). Abby took in his threadbare socks with something akin to pity in her eyes and ushered him into the kitchen, Wymack following at a safe distance.

“We’ll get something in your stomach and then show you to the guest room,” Abby said, pulling a tray of steaming Mac n’ Cheese from the oven and heaping a serving of it into a pastel pink bowl- Neil wondered if she was the one who had chosen the Break Room’s colour scheme.

“Thank you,” Neil said, digging in.

Wymack and Abby both scooped out their own servings and sat down together, opposite Neil.

If there was one thing Neil didn’t miss from before being on the run, it was small talk at his Father’s dinners. Abby seemed determined to draw him out into conversation, commenting on her favorite popcorn flavor (salted caramel) while Wymack grumbled about Allison dumping her job on Neil since it was his first day. At that, Abby sweetly pointed out that Allison was under a lot of stress, and although it wasn’t the right thing to do, she was only doing it to go help Seth.

Neil zoned out at that point- he’d never met Seth, and if even his girlfriend called him ‘the dick’, he probably wasn’t that good of a person.

“Neil?” Abby asked, and it sounded like it wasn’t the first time she’d said his name. Neil snapped back out of his head. “You seem tired. Do you want to head to the guest room now?”

Neil nodded, edging away from Wymack as the older man rose from the table. Wymack noticed the action and sent a meaningful look to Abby, who shot one right back before leading Neil from the table.

The Guest Room had a dark colour scheme, in stark contrast to the rest of the house, with steel-grey curtains that hung down over the windows and coal-black bedspreads, but the walls were covered in movie posters and star decals that matched the gold highlights on the sheets and pillows. A door in the side lead to a conjoined bathroom. It was clear they’d put a lot of thought into it. Abby sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her. Neil sat down next to her, just out of the reach of her hands. He automatically trusted her more than Wymack, but his Mother hadn’t been afraid to raise a hand to him if it was necessary for his safety.

“Neil,” she said slowly, “You’ve only known Wymack for just over a day, and me for about half an hour, so you have no reason to trust us yet.”

Neil nodded. That was something he understood- not trusting anyone, always being ready for a betrayal. Maybe Abby understood that too.

“But,” she continued, “I hope you give us a chance to earn that trust. I don’t know what you’ve been through in the past, except that it probably wasn’t good.”

“An understatement,” Neil said wryly before he could stop himself.

Abby fixed him with a gaze Neil couldn’t quite interpret, somewhere in the thin realm between pity and compassion. “As soon as you started working at the Foxhole, you became a valued part of the team. But, that also means you will have to spend time around Wymack. I want you to understand that you are in no danger from him.”

Neil sighed. “It’s instinct.”

Abby nodded, some semblance of understanding in her eyes. “I may not know exactly what you’ve gone through, but everyone at the Foxhole has a had a hard past, and this is all about giving people chances. But that’s not just for teenagers. You need to give us adults chances too- chances to show you we won’t be like the people from your past. That’s all we ask of you.”

Neil sighed. “I’ll try.”

That seemed to be enough for Abby, as she rose from the bed and made her way towards the edge of the room.

“Thank you. There are pyjamas on the bedside table, and toothpaste and toothbrush in the connected bathroom,” she paused in the doorway. “Goodnight Neil.”

“Goodnight Abby.”

#aftg series #aftg trilogy #aftg fanfic #aftg fandom #all for the game #all for the gay #the foxhole court #the foxhole cinema #neil josten #david wymack #coach wymack #dadmack #fanfic #ao3fic

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azo-dye · 4 years

Text

hey lover, won’t you treat me right

you can read this here or on AO3. Enjoy!

---

“Hey, are you still going out tonight with that guy you’ve been talking to?”

Cas looked up from his book. He had been pointedly told that he wasn’t allowed to help with dinner and was sent to read in the living room to ‘stay out of the way and keep Dean company’. Dean was referring to the latest guy Cas had met through online dating, and the latest reason for Cas feeling vaguely guilty about not reciprocating feelings. “Oh, no. I told him I just wanted to be friends.” He frowned, “Don’t put too much tomato in it!”

Dean huffed and waved him off. No one told Dean how to cook, especially something that he’d made a thousand times from scratch. “You didn’t even give him a chance, Cas.”

Cas shrugged,” He was... annoying to say the least. He texted too much. The happiest I was with him was when he was ignoring me or busy.”

“Well, did you tell him that?”

“No, but I know the worst thing is feeling like you’re annoying someone you like, and I didn’t want to put him through that. I texted him last night.” Cas went back to his book. It was one thing to talk about his love life with his best friend and roommate. It was quite another to dive deep into his deep-rooted issue with finding a suitable replacement for... someone he actually wanted.

Especially when that person was currently making spaghetti four feet from him.

“And how did he respond?” Dean asked, staring hard at the vegetable he was dicing.

Cas lowered the book again. “Well, he... hasn’t answered yet.”

Dean looked up from where he was cutting a final tomato with a universal ‘yikes’ expression. It was an unfortunate end to his brief relationship with Patrick, but it had to be said. He’d rather Patrick think he was a bastard now, than lead him on and have Patrick assume they were headed towards mutual love and affection.

“So anyway, I have to assume that he doesn’t really want to be friends then.”

“Hey, Cas, don’t take it too hard. He’s missing out.”

Cas considered, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m not... sad, or anything.”

Dean chuckled. “Heh. Ouch. Tough break for him.”

Cas shrugged, turning back to watch Dean work.

Dean gathered all his chopped vegetables together in a neat pile on the cutting board and transferred them to the pot where he was making sauce in a neat flourish, evident of all the times Dean had been in charge of home-cooked meals. “What was so bad about this guy? Did he smell? Ask you to make a blood pact?

Cas looked away from the tantalizing sight of Dean’s hands. “No, he... wanted to cook me dinner.”

Dean looked up from the pot of spaghetti noodles he was now stirring.

“Oh, you’re right,” Dean said, gesturing with the pasta spoon. “Definitely a good thing you curved him. Absolute lunatic.” He bent over to take a taste of the now-simmering sauce, a soft smile on his face.

“Well! It just... makes me uncomfortable. I mean, he could be a serial killer.” Cas grinned playfully, finally giving up on reading and marking his page to step away.

“Don’t you think if he was going to serial kill you, he’d have done it by now? He’s got a lotta ground to cover. This is LA. He’s gotta move quick if he wants to make even the slightest impression on the LAPD.” Dean nodded towards the fridge where their salad sat. Cas had insisted on a salad to go with the carbo-load that was Dean’s favorite and famous Spaghetti Night. It was a rare thing for Dean to allow so much green at a meal, but Cas was always somehow able to convince him.

“I dunno,” Cas pulled out the salad and turned to the cupboard to start gathering plates. He placed a healthy amount of salad on each, making sure to push it to the side to leave ample room for the absolute heap of pasta Dean would place on each. “He just... he texted me all the time, and he always wanted to know how I’m doing and what I’m up to, and it gets old telling him I’m doing the same old things every time. I don’t do much during the day.”

“Sure you do, yesterday you made that cool greenhouse thing out in the backyard.” Dean was referring to the monstrosity built out of thrifted window panes in the far corner of the yard. Cas had seen the idea online on Friday, and by Saturday was cruising through every yard sale and thrift store in the county looking for windows. The frame was easy to put together once Dean had gotten the drill sorted out. It wasn’t much, but now Cas had a great place to put some of the many plants they had around the house.

Cas shrugged. “Right, but I can’t tell him that. He wouldn’t care, and then I’d have to explain every piece of why we needed one and he wouldn’t want to hear that story.”

“Look, I’m not saying you didn’t do the right thing by being honest with him, but it just sounds like maybe you didn’t like him all that much in the first place if you’re able to be so casual about it.”

“I know,” Cas sighed. “I’ve gotta stop doing this to guys. Before him it was Nate, and Collin. I’m a mess.”

Dean spooned a frankly frightening amount of pasta on a plate. “Nah, you’re not a mess, just a bit careless with your dirty socks. You wanna try some sauce or just butter?”

“No, I’ll try it. You worked so hard on it. A little bit of sauce, please. Not too much.”

Dean smiled and rolled his eyes, dripping the perfect amount of homemade marinara on top of the pile of spaghetti. They sat down to eat and Cas twirled his fork in the noodles. The sauce was great. While the base was tomato, it wasn’t overwhelming or acidic like tomato can get in inexperienced hands. Garlic and mushroom had space in the sauce as well, making it perfectly well-balanced.

Cas stood up. “I’m getting some more sauce, this is really good, Dean.”

“Thank you, pickiest eater in the world. That is a compliment far greater than you know.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

Dean piped up with his mouth full. “So, like, what—are you just gonna chalk it up as a loss and move on or what?”

Cas shook his head. “I’m deleting the app, I can’t keep doing this to people when it only serves to piss me off and disappoint other people.”

Silence fell again for a brief moment. “Have you considered maybe it’s not you?”

“Thank you, Dean, but scientifically speaking, it has to be me. I’m the only constant in this string of nearly identical outcomes.” Not much else could explain it. Cas was just... bad at love. Bad at being in a relationship. Bad at getting on with his life.

“Maybe you just need to date better people. Maybe... people you already know?”

Snorting, Cas scooped up the last on his pasta. “Come on, everyone we know that’d be even sort of willing to put with me are already married, have kids, or both.”

“Well, not everyone...” Dean muttered, mostly to himself.

Cas chewed thoughtfully. “I think I just gotta face facts. I’m not built for relationships.”

“Kinda lonely outlook.” Dean wasn’t wrong. They were renting the house together, but that could easily change once Dean found a nice girl or boy or... person to settle down with. He was a good looking guy, good with his hands, nice laugh—it wouldn’t be hard for him at all. Cas could very easily be alone, very easily.

Cas shrugged. “A fact’s a fact. It happens. People grow up and just... never find love. I mean, it’s kinda sad but... I’ve got other things in my life.” That was less true. For all that Dean and Cas got along and had in common, he never understood why Dean was alone and chose to hang out with him so often.

Dean snorted. “I don’t know how much a roommate in a shitty starter home counts for, Cas.

“Well, maybe my purpose here is to make sure that roommate is happy then, yeah?” Cas picked up his dish and set it in the sink. He kept his attention towards the sink, concentrating on filling it with soap and water so he didn’t have to see Dean’s face of pity. He wasn’t sad about it. Not really.

Well, he would probably end up being okay.

Dean pushed back from the table to set his dish in the water by Cas’s hand. He busied himself with the leftover pasta on the stove, pulling a plastic container from the cupboard above the range. Dean would probably insist Cas take it for lunch tomorrow.

“Well, what if the roommate wants something specific to make him happy?” Dean asked, sounding strangely formal.

Cas blinked and turned towards Dean, surprised to see him flushed to the tips of his ears. He squinted.

“What does the roommate want?”

If possible, Dean blushed even harder and ducked his head. How curious. Cas felt a strange tingle in his palms. He had a sudden vision of pressing in close and watching Dean take a surprised breath. He shook his head slightly.

“He—I— uh, heh. A beer is what he wants.” Dean said, face brightening in a way that made Cas squint harder on suspicion. Pasta container in hand, Dean switched around Cas, hiding the fridge for a second. He emerged having swapped the plastic container for two beers, one of which he offered to Cas. Hands still wet, Cas gestured for Dean to sit the bottle down to the side of the sink. Dean popped his open, took a swig, and set it down next to Cas’s beer. He picked up a dish towel and got to drying. Together, they steadily and silently cleared the table and counter of all the dishes, leaving their little kitchen tidy once again.

Afterwards, Dean plucked his beer from the counter and took another sip. Cas cracked the lid off of his and did the same. He leaned against the sink and tilted his head as he considered Dean. He was still a bit pink and he wasn’t looking at Cas... or anything really in particular.

“Dean... are you feeling alright?” He almost looked nervous.

Dean blinked. “Huh? Oh yeah, just... thinkin’.”

“Careful with that.” Cas teased.

Deans mouth quirked up in a half smile before falling back to his thoughtful expression.

“Cas, you really think you’re gonna end up alone?”

Oh. Dean was worried he’d have to be saddled with Cas forever. “I dunno. I’m mostly over-dramatic. It’s not looking good right now, though. Kind of a downer.”

“But I mean, you’re young still. Plenty of time to settle down with someone.” Shit, he really did look worried. Maybe he was worried about his own prospects, being single at their age as well.

“Dean, if you’re secretly worried about yourself we can go to a bar or something. I’m not overly concerned about it—“

Dean wasn’t done and talked over him. “And you’re a great guy, you’re smart and funny and... you’ve got nice hair,” Dean finished haltingly. “I just think you’re selling yourself a bit short is all.”

Cas blinked, feeling a slight flush on his cheeks. “Well, thanks but I think the real issue is more with my shockingly horrendous commitment issues and all that.”

They drank in silence, steadily ignoring the other. All this silence tonight was starting to get deafening in Cas’s professional opinion. He was about to open his mouth and change the subject when Dean did just that. “Did this guy... what’s his name?”

“Patrick.”

“Did Patrick ever kiss you?” This question caused Cas to pause. It was an innocent enough question, but the way Dean asked—anxious eyes, and twitchy fingers—like he didn’t really want to ask but was dying to know.

Cas had to tread carefully here, as to not pull too quickly. He might be unsure with guys he met online, but it there was one man he’d climb like a tree with no second thoughts or regrets, it was the one standing in front of him, distractedly shredding the artisanal label off his beer bottle.

“Oh I’d never let him get the chance. Too weird.” He silently dared Dean to call his bluff.

Dean sighed and looked up at Cas, expression guarded. He set his beer down on the table behind him and took a step towards Cas. The tingle in his palms kicked up, spreading up his arms and across his chest, flooding up his neck and to his ears.

“And you know, right away? Who you’d like to kiss?” Dean asked like there was any possible way Cas would turn him down.

“I—definitely. I know within the first half hour of meeting someone if I’d like to—like to kiss them.” Even Cas was stumbling now. He didn’t dare move and shatter this strange, wonderful moment.

Dean was close now. Close enough to see the apprehension in his eyes and catch the subtle tremble in his fingers, hanging loose by his sides.

“Does that feeling ever change?”

“No, once it’s there, it’s all I can think about.” Cas’s gaze tripped between Dean’s mouth and his eyes. Everything was buzzing now. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but he knew things weren’t like this with Patrick. Or Nate. Or anyone else he had been on a date with.

It was special for Dean.

Their chests were nearly touching now. Dean was so close. The heat coming off him was incredible, and Cas wanted nothing more than to get closer.

“Me too,” Dean murmured. “Once I want to kiss someone, it’s all I can think about, too.”

Cas often though about how green Dean’s eyes were, sometimes annoyingly and distractedly often, but now that they were boring into his, it was hard to think about anything else.

Except maybe his mouth. Or his hands, slowly coming up. Shit, this was going exactly where he thought it was. Right here in their shared kitchen.

“I’m gonna kiss you, Cas,” Dean said, drawing in a breath. “And if it’s not what you want, we can pretend it never happened. I won’t make it weird, I promise. I just have to—“

Cas pushed up to press his mouth against Dean’s, hands coming up to fit along his jaw. He watched Dean’s eyes flutter shut before closing his own. Dean gripped his t-shirt before sliding his hands around and up his back. Their lips moved together, pulling and giving back, wet heat between them. He pulled back after a second, an audible smack when they parted.

“I don’t want to push too far—“

“Dean Winchester, kiss me again. Please. It’s good.”

Dean grinned and yanked him back in by his collar, pressing him back into the counter. Cas felt the frenzy build, and he pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Dean sucked on the tip of it, before reaching up to press thumbs to the bolt of Cas’s jaw, opening it further. Cas reached down and slipped his fingers back down into Dean’s back pockets, hauling him closer.

When they finally had to surface for air, they were both grinning.

“That wasn’t weird, right?” Dean had the audacity to ask, breathlessly.

“Definitely weird.” Cas answered, cheekily.

“You’re not gonna ask to be just friends later, right?” Dean sounded like he was mostly kidding but with a touch of real anxiety behind it.

“No, but suddenly it makes sense why everyone else didn’t compare.” Cas said, pressing a smooch to the side of Dean’s jaw. “You’re not just doing this because you feel bad for me?”

Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Cas on the ass. “Been wanting to do that since I met you, dummy. I’m glad we had this chance to finally straighten out that I’m the only one for you.”

“Yeah, probably.” Cas whispered. “Wanna go make out on the couch?”

Dean smiled.

#my fics #Destiel #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #you know who really hates Tinder?#me I hate Tinder #my work #I haven't written anything in so long #and now I'm just churning out stories #my notes are FULL

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darkestwolfx · 4 years

Text

Clean Sweep - Re-Review #45

This is short. This is shorter than I am happy with because this was another fantastic episode that made it in my favourites. I mean, it had another big rescue with our favourite brothers and it had Parker (with a little Sherbet on the side) and it was just epic.

But you know what’s not so epic? My internet connection, again. Coupled with the fact I have had a really busy work week, so unfortunately today it was nothing or this. So I ran with short, but exists, as opposed to nothing. Sorry for all the comments I haven’t replied to yet! I will hopefully get there over the weekend.

“114... The worst.”

“Oh come on, I think they’re all pretty much the worst.”

Well, Torchwood would agree with you on the 114 thing - in their world, that’s an evil alien.

Sorry - not sorry - that I may have been re-watching this show (again) to keep myself awake this week (and because it’s pretty cool).

In fairness, they should have listened and waited until it was time. Things could have been avoided.

“It was only a matter of time before something went belly up in one of those things.”

You were saying, Scott? Because funnily enough, I was going to say the photo below makes it look like they’re entering the belly of the beast. Funny? Who I am kidding, I am not a funny human being, but I like to think I have better jokes than in ‘Fight or Flight’ at least.

“And now it’s our problem.”

I understand the feeling, Virgil, really I do.

“Please let me talk to Mrs Baker.”

No one talks to the boss, it’s-”

“SOP, right. Is there any other way to turn off the turbine remotely?”

“Well you could use the digi-key. But that’s definitely against SOP!”

“Surely you could make an exception and let us borrow it?”

You’re way too hopeful, John. As if it could ever be that easy. You’ve only had six minutes of your screen-time slot.

Oh, there’s always someone who likes to try and state the ‘obvious’.

“Could be worse. The good news is that our masks will keep us breathing!”

“But, won’t the tank’s toxic gas eventually seep in and poison us both?”

“Well yes, but I wasn’t going to put it like that.”

Lady Penelope actually doing things which are not spy related for once, and John thinking she’s joking! That’s pretty funny actually. The awkward silence.

“There’s always Parker.”

“He’s not there with you?”

“Oh no, Sherbet hates public speaking!”

It’s all about Sherbet! Well, actually in this episode, it is.

“Sorry, Mr John. Someone hI’ve been left to look hafter his making hit difficult to ‘ear you. hI need ha what? hA skinny bee?

“A digikey.”

“hOh! We’ll ‘ead to hOxybaker right haway.”

This is a classic.

“I really don’t know who let you in here with that thing!”

“‘Old hon ha minute! hIs that you, Fred?”

“Nosey Parker?”

“hI thought hI recognised you! Light Fingered Fred, best pick-pocket hof your generation. halledgedly.”

Don’t we all love a reunion? Still, Parker is amazing in this episode (sorry I don’t have the time to really go on about how much, nor to really look at that stand off) and Sherbet is a grand companion. Someone else who has been learning some of Parker’s tricks it seems.

“hOh, you beautiful beast.”

I think an understanding between these two has finally been reached.

Taking Thunderbird One inside of there might not have been Scott’s brightest idea ever. At least he didn’t try to blast his way through everything.

“The pod will get sucked into the turbine if we don’t do this right.”

Woah, that’s how you really state the obvious. Give out a few lessons to the guest stars, hey Scott?

Sherbet floating around in FAB One... made my day.

“hOh...”

“What’s wrong, Parker?”

“hI’m hafraid hI just remember, FAB hOne’s not supposed to be this ‘igh. Crash dive, Bertie. Crash dive!”

Definitely an understanding reached. He even called him Bertie!

“Thunderbird Two!”

“Got them!”

“We’re saved!”

As if there was ever any doubt. This is Virgil we’re talking about.

Butterfingers here nearly dropping the key was not a funny moment. Not at all. Unlike Scott trying to jet around a turbine, but we will say no more on that subject. Why doesn’t he listen to his brother’s sometimes.

Anyhow, it’s a good thing John was able to catch it in time or we could have had pod munch on our screens!

“Our toxic levels are falling!”

“Unfortunately so are we!”

Yeah, please stop with the speaking too soon thing.

It’s a good thing Scott can remote pilot whilst falling that fast. I don’t think I’d be able to think clearly. Such faith and skill, and I’m not actually sure which there was more of on display.

“More slicing and dicing coming up.”

I feel like Virgil was waiting around the whole episode to be able to say and do that.

International Pes-cue... are we missing the market change here?

“Get me Mrs Baker immediately! Yes, I’ll hold.”

Such a contradiction there!

And this here, folks is one of the central characters of the episode.. Light Fingered Fred, a former known associate of Parker’, who originally featured in the TOS episode ‘Vault of Death’, which is worth to watch t see him break out of prison in a bin. Far more imaginative (and less destructive) than The Hood and The Mechanic’s method, and worked far better. Remember that one in case you’re ever looking to break out! They never expect the bins!

“At least I got his wallet!”

Oh, and it seems like some people don’t change. Better get running, Fred!

Once again, I’m really sorry for the shortness! Don’t kill me!

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jobethdalloway · 4 years

Text

Did a riff on the first prompt of @thepriceisrizzoli‘s list here! Hoping to get to more soon! Academy-aged Jane agrees to go to Frost’s family’s Thanksgiving dinner as his fake date, but is sidetracked by the presence of a certain med student...

“Soooo, Jane.”

“What do you want, Frost?”

“What makes you think I want anything?”

Jane swiveled around in her chair to face him, and he was relieved to see that despite her deadpan tone, she was at least smiling. “Whenever you come in like that, like saying ‘so’ with a bunch of O’s on the end, it’s because you want something. So let’s just cut the small talk and get to it.”

His shoulders slumped, but he stayed resolved. “What’re your Thanksgiving plans? I promise this isn’t just small talk.”

“Oh, Uh, I dunno, I kinda figured I might just go to Boston Market.” She shrugged. “My family’s going to Maine to spend a few days with my aunt’s family, and on top of being really obnoxious, they’re homophobic as hell so I may have told Ma I was gonna be way too busy studying up for our written exam to take a vacation. Even a short one. Took a lot of convincing, but to let her feel okay with leaving me here alone on a family holiday, but she knows how important this test is.”

“Oh, and I bet you’re planning to study real hard,” Frost chuckled.

“For sure,” Jane said with mock seriousness. “Gonna, you know, kick back with a beer and really hit the books. And by books, I mean ESPN.”

“Cool, sounds good, sounds good...but what if I had a counter-offer? At least for the holiday itself? Like, say, an undercover mission?”

Jane frowned thoughtfully. “I’m listening.”

Encouraged, Frost grabbed a nearby chair and sat down to be at Jane’s eye level. “Speaking of obnoxious relatives, my mom invited my aunts’ families for Thanksgiving, and if I show up to another family function without a girlfriend, my cousins will eat me alive.”

“You’re afraid of your cousins, dude?”

“They’re teenagers, Jane. Merciless. I am still getting guff about an unflattering pair of pants I wore to my uncle’s wedding three years ago. Pants that, say, a girlfriend might’ve warned me were unflattering. If I had a girlfriend. Isn’t it so sad that Barry doesn’t have a girlfriend? What’s wrong with Barry? Have we tried setting up Barry with Miles’ neighbor’s niece’s single friend?”

Jane held her hands up, trying to keep her friend from spinning further into a tizzy. “Okay, okay. So.., you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend,” she deduced.” Frost nodded mutely and Jane leaned back, putting the tips of her fingers together. “Interesting proposition. Haven’t pretended to be straight in like, three years. Maybe it was the same day you wore an ugly-ass pair of pants and I saw you while I was crossing the street or something and I was like, that’s it. I’m ready to declare my intent to swear off men altogether.”

Frost laughed in exasperation. “Sure, let’s say it was that same day. Now what about this upcoming Thursday?”

She pretended to think about it for another minute. “Hmmm. Sounds like it’d be extremely difficult and dangerous. But Jane Rizzoli never backs down from a challenge.” She reached over to grasp his hand, as if they were making a solemn oath. “I’m down, man, let’s do it! And afterwards, if you want to spread it around how great I did on an undercover assignment with you, well...”

“Everyone will know you’re a pro!”

Unfortunately for Frost, things did not go quite as smoothly as he’d hoped.

He and Jane made a great first impression on his family, His mother Camille made a fuss over them, and Frost was almost a little alarmed by how smooth a liar Jane was, coming up with creative answers to all of Camille’s questions about how they’d come to start dating. She had her arm looped through Frost’s, and would swing them or squeeze his hand at choice moments in certain anecdotes when his aunt and cousins come by to also pester the new couple with inquiries. His cousins thought it was "so adorable!” that they’d come wearing matching football jerseys, an evaluation Jane had been banking on, which came with the benefit of not having to wear a nice dress.

“You’re doing good,” Frost whispered in an undertone in a rare moment alone—they had volunteered to go to the kitchen to get more appetizers out for the endlessly snacking children. “Maybe laying it on a little thick, though?”

Jane whirled around from the fridge, slamming her hands on the counter on either side of him and leaning in close. “Sorry, baby, this is what you signed up for,” she said in the huskiest voice she could muster.

“You...almost had me,” he squeaked. “But then you said ‘baby.’“

“Oh. Too much?”

“Little bit.”

They resumed their work of emptying bags of candied nuts. “You’re just lucky there’s no single or age-appropriate women at this party,” Jane said with a smirk. “Otherwise, I mean, I don’t know if I could reign in all this Rizzoli charm. But just to clarify, you said your sister was coming, right? She’s very cute...”

“Yes, she’s coming, but I regret I have to remind you she’s straight,” Frost snorted. “So it’s gonna be no dice with Abby. I guess there’s that friend of my mom’s we met. Robin? I think mom said she’s recently divorced, although from a husband. Could be bi, though.”

His tone made it clear he was teasing, and Jane opened her mouth to reply, but didn’t say anything right away. She was pretty sure she had picked up some heavy vibes between Robin and Camille, but if Camille hadn’t said anything to Frost yet, Jane certainly wasn’t about to speculate. “Yeah,” she eventually said. “I dig older women, for sure. But uh, I’ll keep my raging attraction in check for the sake of the mission.”

Her commitment, however, only went so far. When a woman showed up who was single and whose sexuality was undetermined, all bets went flying off the table.

Some of the cousins had started a football game in the backyard, and Jane was fast to get into the fray. Some were surprised to see that the composed young woman they’d been introduced to turned out to be one of the most aggressive in the game, tackling guys twice her size. Jokes were made about her and Frost trying to out-perform each other. Jane was running to catch a pass when the porch door opened, and Frost’s sister Abby walked out with a friend. Jane did a double take, locked eyes with Abby’s friend, and the football smashed her in the face.

She wondered if she’d blacked out for a second, because it seemed very all of a sudden that she was on her back on the ground, and this beautiful girl was hovering over her. Frost had come to her side as well, but it sounded like the game was still going on without them.

“What the hell happened there?” Frost asked, trying not to laugh. “That catch was yours to lose!”

“And I did,” Jane groaned, sitting up and instinctively shifting to touch her nose.

But the girl gently took hold of her hand and said, “Leave it alone for now, let’s get it cleaned up.”

Jane looked at her as if still very much in a daze, and Frost frowned, connecting the dots. He cleared his throat loudly, giving Jane a pointed look. “So, Jane, this is Abby’s friend, Maura. They’re classmates. And Maura, Jane is m-”

“Abby’s classmate?” Jane asked with a smile, which Maura reflected. “Med school, huh? So, you could tell me if this is broken?”

“I’m inclined to say more like a fracture,” Maura said, helping Jane to her feet. “Why don’t we get it washed off first, though? Then I can give you a more proper diagnosis.”

Frost half-heartedly stood up with them, but stopped at the porch rather than follow them inside. Abby was sitting on the steps, and she got up to give him a hug. “Do you know if your friend is like, available, and/or interested in women?” Abby asked. “Because mine is, and we both went to help when she went down and I’m pretty sure Maura tripped me on purpose to make sure she got there first.”

A flurry of concerned Frost friends and relatives surrounded Jane and Maura once they got back inside, but Jane reassured them all that the bleeding made it look worse than it really was, and Camille was proud of the chance to remind everyone that Maura was a classmate of her daughter’s from BCU’s medical school. She steered them to the nearest bathroom to clean up in, and handed Maura a dish towel she was prepared to sacrifice to a bloody nose.

“Normally, I’d prefer something sterile, but I think in this case beggars can’t be choosers,” Maura said, shutting the bathroom door after herself. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You look very flushed.��

“I’m...yes, I’m fine,” Jane said, clearing her throat.

The problem was that she’d seen way too many movies where people snuck off to bathrooms at parties to make out, and it was a hard image to get out of her head, and that had made her blush and it got worse when Maura had commented on it. As Maura set about dampening the cloth, Jane rolled up her sleeves as best she could and leaned against the wall, trying to strike a pose that was casual but also showed off her arm muscles in a not-too-obvious way. She shifted a few times, and couldn’t help flexing as she crossed her arms when Maura looked back at her. Maura’s eyes indeed lingered on her arms, and Jane tried to mask how pleased she was.

“So!” Such a declaration obviously required a follow-up, but now that Maura was looking her in the eye again, Jane’s stomach flipped and she could feel her bravado slipping like air out of a balloon. “You...come here often?”

“Abby’s mother’s bathroom? I’m afraid not,” Maura chuckled. She wiped away most the blood, and Jane flinched a little. “You should hold this, I mean, you were pinching your nose before, and you ought to keep doing it for a minute to make sure you’ve stemmed the blood flow.” Jane hastily obeyed, but neither of them was good with silences, so Maura asked, “Have you been here before? The house, I mean?”

“Actually, no—”

But answering while pinching her nose meant that Jane’s voice came out in a muffled nasally register, sending them both into peals of laughter. Maura tried hard to get a grip on herself because it was clearly hurting Jane to be laughing so hard; Jane winced as she tried to control her wheezing, grasping onto the sink to steady herself. They couldn’t look at each other, because the giggling was contagious, and just seeing Maura smile made Jane want to laugh at how stupid this all was. Finally they’d had enough time to regain their composure, and Jane said she was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped.

“So where are your folks?” Jane asked, focusing on the mirror as she cleaned herself up. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I mean, you’re not with your family for Thanksgiving.”

Maura shook her head to clear it. “Yes. Oh, right. My parents are traveling; they’re often abroad. What about you?”

“My family’s out of town. I stayed home to be studious, but I’d just have been at my place watching the game alone if Frost hadn’t invited me over. You like football?”

“Mm, not much, to be honest.”

Jane shrugged, dropping the towel. “Not for everyone, I guess. Phew. Doesn’t look too awful, right? What’s the proper procedure from here, like, do you think you could fix this for me?”

With a delicate touch that sent shivers up and down Jane’s spine, Maura took her face in her hands. “I think so, yes.”

Eager to prolong the conversation as much as possible, Jane bit her lip as Maura continued to assess her. “Um, so, if football is off the table, can I ask what you do like?”

“Hm. While as far as I know I don’t like sports, I’m open to having my mind changed because I really like learning. I like poetry. I like going for walks in the rain. I like modern art and going to zoos and I like when girls wear baseball caps backwards. And...” She popped the hairline fracture back into place, prompting Jane to squeak “ow!” but before she could lodge a formal complaint, Maura said, “I like brunettes.”

“Whoa,” Jane breathed.

It seemed like her turn to add something to the conversation, but then Maura seemed to remember herself—or rather, remember her medical responsibilities. “We should get some ice on that,” she mumbled, as if embarrassed all of a sudden by how forward she’d been. “Or you’ll start to look like Mike Tyson.”

“Hey! Nice sports reference,” Jane said.

Trying to assure Maura that she hadn’t found the flirting weird (in fact, quite the opposite), Jane reached around her to open the door for her. They were back in close proximity now, and Maura might’ve been ready to close the door again to see what might happen if Frost hadn’t seen his window to barge in.

“SWEETHEART!” he boomed in a theatrical voice, Jane assumed was intended to be loud enough for relatives down the hall to hear. “Thank goodness you’re all right!”

He put his arms around her, and in a moment where it might’ve seemed appropriate for an actual couple to kiss, he suddenly looked weirded out and Jane looked disturbed. Maura noticed the oddness of the exchange, amplified by the fact that they seemed frozen in awkward position, but she was nonetheless mortified and ducked out of the room.

“Dude!” Jane hissed, pushing him away. “We were vibing!”

“Dude, you’re supposed to be here as my date!” Frost whispered back. “Can’t you just keep it in your pants for one day?!”

“Frost, you don’t understand, she flirted with me!”

“Oh, you are so toast if you ever have to deal with a hot girl while you’re actually undercover.”

Jane gave his arm a light punch. “Okay, okay. You’re right, I’m sorry, I did accept this invitation on the promise that I’d convincingly act like your girlfriend. And I will continue to do so. But... aw, man. Can I please at least tell Maura? If she sees me being all cute with you, I dunno, I don’t want her to think she messed up trying to make a move on me.”

Frost glanced down the hallway, checking to make sure no one else had wandered over. When he looked back at Jane, she was giving him the bambi eyes and puppy dog pout combo that meant instant death to any and all ill will. “Ugh! Okay, fine, I don’t wanna crotch-block you. But make sure she’s the only one who knows!”

Jane grinned and gave him a real hug. “Ahh, thanks man! Oh, and I gotta borrow this. Don’t worry, people will think it’s super cute.” She nimbly removed his baseball cap as she walked by, and flipped it around backwards. Camille directed her to the kitchen, where she had sent Maura to get an ice pack. Frost was hot on her heels, and as his mother had started bringing food out into the dining room, he loudly insisted that she relax while he brought everything in—to ensure no one else overheard whatever conversation Jane and Maura were about to have.

“Here,” Maura said, handing Jane an ice pack with a dish towel wrapped around it. “That should help. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What’re you sorry about?” Jane asked.

“F-for...” Maura rolled her eyes, sighing. “Abby just told me you’re her brother’s girlfriend, and I totally threw myself at you and—”

“No, no, no,” Jane whispered. “It’s cool, it’s cool, um, it’s not real. Me and Frost. He’s my bro and I love him, but not like that.”

Maura raised her eyebrows hopefully. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he was self-conscious about coming home without a girlfriend, like, I guess it’s something his family ribs him about a lot so I agreed to come along and kinda help him out. Just this once,” she hastened to add. “Like, just for today. Come tomorrow, I’m gonna be free as a bird. Hell, come tonight. As soon as we leave.”

Her eagerness was obvious and flattering. “Oh, thank God,” Maura sighed feeling much lighter. “It wouldn’t have been the first time I misread a social cue, so I thought maybe you weren’t...” She trailed off, and they exchanged a shy smile. “I may not know a lot about football, but I do know that you looked pretty good out there. Really nice form, for a few seconds.”

Jane snorted. “Yeah, well, I do like to think I’m pretty good. But, uh, turns out I can get distracted pretty easy when there’s a beautiful woman around.”

“That’s going to make your mission of acting as Barry’s girlfriend pretty difficult today, then, isn’t it?” Maura asked.

Following Maura’s line of vision to the counter she, Jane, was leaning her arm on, Jane finally noticed that instead of casually resting her hand on a hot pad like she thought she’d done, she had accidentally let her fingers slip into a cooling pan of baked macaroni and cheese. They both stared for a few painfully long moments as Jane cast about for some witty remark she could make about this situation. That option was not afforded her, though, when Frost came hurrying back in and saw his friend’s hand in a dish. He pulled his sweater up over his mouth to muffle a shriek, which jolted Jane enough to yank her hand out.

“You useless lesbian!” he said, voice still muffled by his sweater, as he ladled out the portion of the macaroni that Jane had touched.

“Hey, wait,” Jane said, stopping his hand as he prepared to toss the contaminated food into the sink. “That’s still good, don’t let it go to waste, I’ll eat it.”

Grumbling, Frost grabbed a spoon to smooth over the mussed mac & cheese, and took it out to the dining room. As Jane cleaned the ladle she had just eaten out of, the last of the straggling kids had come running in from the backyard, and she figured it was probably time to make good on her word to Frost and go make a show in front of everyone else. She turned fully away from the sink only to see Maura standing much closer.

“You’ve got some cheese here,” Maura said, pointing to the corner of her own mouth. She held out her thumb before Jane could do anything about it, though. “May I?”

“Sure,” Jane said, hoping she sounded much cooler than her dangerously thundering heartbeat would’ve implied.

Unbeknownst to either of them, though Jane had kept her word by making sure Maura was the only person she told about her and Frost’s secret plan, they were sharing this cutesy moment in full view of Camille and Robin, who could see it all unfold from the dining room through a small wall opening over the kitchen sink.

“Hmmmm,” said Robin, watching as Maura made the quick but obvious gesture of licking the cheese of her finger. “So, uh, Barry’s girlfriend...?”

“Oh, she’s gay as hell,” Camille whispered. “Mm. This is gonna be rough. I know I said I wanted to tell Barry about us tonight, when everyone’s gone, but it might be too much to hear about his girlfriend and his mom on the same day.”

“What makes you think he’ll find out about Jane today?”

Jane and Maura came into the dining room chatting animatedly, and Frost rolled his eyes but managed a small smile as Jane blindly reached for his hand. With her other hand occupied holding the ice pack to her nose, Jane used her foot to nudge a chair out for Maura.

“Hm. Y’know, maybe he already knows,” Robin mused.

#rizzles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #rizzoli and isles #oneshot #ficlet #thanksgiving

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imaginepirates · 5 years

Text

Drunken Confessions

A Jack x Reader where the reader gets drunk and says some things they really shouldn't. Jack avoids them for a while before they confront him about it. This one's a bit on the short side, sorry. I've been feeling awful lately.

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @claireshepard67

~2600 words

~~~~~~~

The sand had just cooled off. Earlier in the day, it might have burned your skin, but it was cold under the night sky. It was churned up by dancing feet, and your toes sunk into it. You'd taken off your boots as to air out your feet and remember the feeling of land beneath them.

Jack had 'important business' to attend to on land. As part of his crew, you followed him from place to place, going on wild adventures anyone would dream of telling their grandchildren. However, typical business was obtaining rum.

You loved sailing on the Black Pearl. She was a beauty, and the crew was the oddest assortment of people you'd ever met. Unfortunately, your adventures rarely yielded treasure. But, as Jack said, treasure wasn't always silver and gold. For you, it was the relationships created along the way.

Presently, you were dancing in the sand with a good portion of the crew. You were still, for the most part, sober, but you planned on remedying that. Sea shanties were sung at the tops of people's lungs. It sounded awful, really, but you were having fun.

Jack stood to one side of the revelry, staring down into what you speculated was an empty bottle. He was pouting; it was an attractive habit of his.

You skipped over to him. "Rum's gone already?" You asked. Your feet were getting a little crossed under you, but you managed to keep your balance.

He hummed. You took it as a yes.

"You should come out here," you said. "Sing. Dance. It'll be good for you."

He eyed you, one eyebrow traveling up his face. "Can't get too distracted." He burped. Obviously, he was rather tipsy himself. Or full-blown drunk, but you could never tell with him. "Someone's got to watch me ship."

You doubted he was watching the Pearl any more than the rest of you were, but you let it go. Another song started up, and you joined back in with everyone else.

Your bottle was empty, and you were handed another. Every ounce of wit in you had disappeared. You hardly knew if your limbs were moving anymore. You supposed they were; you would notice people passing you if you weren't. Most of your surroundings were a blur, though. You could hardly tell where the treeline was.

Your mouth was moving, and though you were singing, you really couldn't say what.

An arm threw itself around your waist. You weren't sure you liked it, but you weren't enough in your senses to push it away. Your legs were starting to give way beneath you, and if weren't for the arm, you might have pitched into the sand.

If only you'd seen the stares. Hungry gazes turned toward you. Hot breath tickled the back of your neck. Looking up at the face beside you, you noticed it wasn't someone you recognized. Others must've joined the festivities. You might not have minded if the man wasn't so close.

~~~

It was exactly the kind of thing Jack didn't tolerate. Someone slinging their arm around his woman. Well, not really his. Not yet. But he wasn't about to let anyone else have a chance.

His brain was foggy, but not so much as everyone else's. He'd built up such a tolerance to drink that a glass; or two, or seven; didn't do all that much. Really, it made him feel tired. And it made him slur his speech, but his thinking was as clear as mud.

He sidled over to you, unwrapping the arm around you. He pushed the man away, leaving him to stagger in the sand.

You promptly collapsed. He hadn't expected that. When you didn't move to stand, he picked you up by your arms. Your eyes were still mostly open, and he set you on your feet. One arm around you for support, he started heading back towards the Pearl. A night of sleep would do you good, he felt.

It might have been the rum, or it might have been the way the entire side of your body was pressed against his, but Jack felt heat climb to his face. He hadn't experienced that before.

You were mumbling incoherently to yourself. Jack wasn't listening much, intent on getting you away from stating eyes as quickly as possible.

You staggered alongside him. Jack contemplated picking you up, then realized that he'd dropped his empty bottle in the sand somewhere. Carrying you would be of no use if he dropped you. Besides, he didn't need anyone seeing such a thing. Rumors spread around a ship quickly.

Which was why, even when escorting you to your rooms, he was worried. A nagging feeling at the back of his head told him that someone was bound to say he was taking you to bed. It shouldn't have bothered him; captains were accused of such things all the time. In most cases, they were respected more for it.

For some reason, he didn't like the thought of being accused of sleeping with you. He didn't like the idea of being with someone without their consent. Especially not you.

There were many days when the crew found themselves unhappily lost at sea. Lost, perhaps, wasn't the word, but they were definitely without a heading. This had to do with Jack's compass, his alcohol consumption, and the feelings he denied having.

He turned back to you, hearing your voice.

"Then, we went back to him," you burped, "and said- and said 'here's your bloody statue, now where's the grail?'"

It took Jack a moment to understand you were talking about him. More specifically, your adventures with him. That one had been particularly fine. You returned a statue of the Virgin Mary to a priest in exchange for the Holy Grail. In return, you were given a silver chalice that wasn't even made of real silver.

For the record, you had returned the statue covered in bread batter, feathers, and flecks of coal.

"Or the time those Aztecs- hic- tried to sacrifice me to the gods." You babbled on, oblivious to the world around you, including the one under your feet. You nearly fell flat on your face, dragging Jack with you, but he managed to steady you both.

Jack hated that story. They had been Mayans, not Aztecs, but the difference was trivial. Although, Jack reflected, the Mayans didn't have cursed gold. What they did have was an affinity for unnecessary sacrifice. He hadn't taken kindly to their tendencies, especially when they put you in harm's way.

"You really saved me on that one." Your voice was growing fainter, as if you were slipping out of your body. Jack suspected you were, or at least you felt that way. Enough drinking and you could convince yourself that you didn't exist.

He tensed. Of all the things for you to say, he hadn't expected that. Oh sure, maybe recounting more adventures, but being sentimental was never on your agenda. Or it hadn't been, until now. Jack hated how drawn he was, how much he wanted to hear more.

"You took me back to the- hic- ship. And you told me you weren't going to let me set foot off it again until I…" your eyes glazed over, looking for the rest of the sentence in thin air. "Until I could keep myself out of trouble. You made me stay in bed. Your bed. Because it's the only real bed onboard." Yawning, you slumped harder against Jack's side. You were almost on deck. "You're my favorite pirate. If only we'd done something as more than captain and crew."

It was a whisper, not exactly meant for Jack's ears. He heard it all the same.

A feeling spread throughout his body. It wasn't a good feeling, if he was being honest, but it wasn't a bad feeling, either. It was a confusing feeling, and he didn't like it.

Jack hated feeling confused. It was why he had the compass. When in doubt, which he never was, his opinion was the right answer. But whatever he was feeling, he couldn't identify.

In truth, it made him a bit panicky. Hastily, he walked you to your hammock. He picked you up haphazardly and set you in it, relieved he hadn't dropped you.

He tried not to contemplate all meanings of 'as more than captain and crew'.

You were drunk. He was drunk- well, drunkish. There was a good chance you didn't know what you were saying.

Part of him was afraid you did.

~~~

You awoke, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Your hammock nearly dumped you on the floor at the first sign of movement. You were so tangled up in it, you hadn't the slightest idea how to get out.

After many minutes of awkward maneuvering, you put yourself on your feet. It was then that you noticed the slight throbbing behind your eyes. You wondered how drunk you'd been.

You didn't remember coming back to bed. In fact, you didn't remember anything beyond the slightly uncomfortable weight of a stranger's arm around your shoulders. A certain fear gripped you, but you reasoned that if you were back in your hammock, nothing bad could've happened to you.

Your plan of action was to eat and fall back asleep. The Pearl didn't leave for another day, and you thought it best to spend it nursing your hangover.

The deck was scattered with both the sleeping and the conscious. You were in better control of your body than most of them, but your tiredness made your feet feel like lead.

The mess hall was empty. The door to the kitchens hung ajar, but nobody was inside. You helped yourself to bread. Fresh bread, not hardtack; one could buy more than rum at port. The only other edible thing about was a can of sardines. You groaned. It looked like you'd have to go hunting for food after all.

It hadn't taken long to find a vendor selling fresh fruit. When you got back to the ship, more people were up and about. Most of them were out talking in the sun, playing friendly rounds of cards. Someone had started a game of liar's dice, though there was no betting involved.

You still held two peaches. Upon spotting Jack, you moved to offer him one. He stood to one side of the stairs. As you moved towards him, he moved away. You weren't sure if he'd seen you, but he disappeared below decks before you could call out to him.

Things continued much the same way for the next few days. That was to say, Jack avoided you. You knew this because there were numerous times when he made eye contact with you before quickly leaving the scene. It was starting to get on your nerves. You hadn't done anything that should prompt such behavior.

That was, said a little voice in your head, unless you'd done something when you were drunk.

You didn't like to think about it. You'd been drunk before without having done anything stupid. On multiple occasions, in fact. Besides, Jack hadn't been anywhere near you the entire night. He'd been off to the side, 'minding the ship'.

You were about ready to storm up to him and demand to know what was going on in that jumbled brain of his. If only you could get close enough to do so.

The truth was, you valued your time with Jack. You liked him as a friend, though you wouldn't mind being more. He was fun; 'fun' here meaning a tad on the crazy side. But it made him worth knowing. The last thing you wanted to do was to lose that.

Faking confidence, you knocked on his cabin's door. There were a million sentences running through your mind. Where to begin, you didn't know.

The door was flung open. You hadn't expected him to open it, if you were to be honest. You took your chance, slipping in through the doors before he could close them again, shutting them behind you.

A rather affronted look sat on his face. It wasn't that he truly felt it, you knew.

"What's this all about? You've been avoiding me like the plague! What did I ever do? I don't see why I deserve such treatment, especially from you." It felt good to get things out. You hadn't even given him a chance to ask why you were there.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack croaked. He'd already been drinking, you saw. He turned swiftly away from you, pretending to busy himself with something on his desk.

"You're an awful liar." You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "Explain. You owe me that much, at least."

He turned to you, advancing until he was nearly on top of you. "Am I your favorite pirate?" He retreated. "You seemed to think so last time we talked."

"As I recall, the last time we spoke, you were refusing to have fun."

He wiggled his fingers around. "That's what you think." He continued speaking to his fingers. "In fact, there are many, many things you don't remember saying to me." Here, he turned to you, smiling wickedly.

You felt your face turn a deep shade of red. "What-what do you mean?"

Jack shrugged.

"What did I say?" You were scared of the answer.

He leaned in, right next to your ear. "Do you really want to know, love?"

You nearly squeaked. He was very close, and his smirk did nothing for your nerves. Then, you thought of what he might say next, which was quite sobering. Instead of answering, you asked, "Did you mind? What I said?"

"I did not."

"Oh, good." You were relieved, but Jack was still very close. He pouted. Clearly, he'd been expecting you to say something else. "What did I say?" You asked, throat dry.

Jack pulled away. "Something about doing things together."

You could only imagine what that entailed. Hit by a wave of mortification, you spluttered.

"I don't know what all that included." He flopped his hands about. "Unless you'd like to show me," he said, suddenly more serious.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you found yourself at a loss for words. "What do you want me to do?" It came out as a whisper.

Jack softened. "Only what you're comfortable with, love."

You stepped forward and placed your hands on his chest. Slowly, you tilted your head up, leaning in. You stopped yourself just before his lips, staring. "Are you sure?" You asked.

Jack hummed. Then, softly, he kissed you. It wasn't what you had imagined kissing him to be like at all. A hand tilted your chin higher, fingers tickling your neck.

"You've no idea how long I've been waiting to do that," Jack breathed.

If it had been anything close to how long you had, you knew his feeling all too well.

When he pulled back, you missed his closeness. "Can we agree," he began, "that this arrangement will continue?"

You nodded. It was exhilarating, when you thought about it. He wanted you! "I think I could make it work," you teased.

"Good." He grabbed two glasses and a bottle. "Maybe my damn compass will work now," he mumbled. You hadn't the slightest idea what he meant.

He turned back to you, advancing with two now-full glasses of brandy. "Can I persuade you? If I get you drunk enough, it might trigger… other memories of things you want to do to me."

You didn't need the brandy, but like hell if you'd tell him that.

#pirates of the caribbean #potc #pirates #pirate #jack sparrow #captain jack sparrow #x reader #drabble #request #writing #fanfic #jack sparrow x reader

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hyphypmic · 5 years

Text

HypMic: BNHA

Anon asked: How about the characters being students/teachers in Boku no Hero Academia as a part of the universe? And please, take all the time you need, honey.

Well well well, let’s go

—

Let’s get one thing straight first, all TDD members (with the exception of Ramuda which I will explain later) are part of the top 10 heroes, Jakurai being the closest to number one followed by Samatoki and Ichiro interchanging every once in a while)

Ichiro

He wouldn’t be a teacher I can tell you that

But he would have his own agency

And honestly, he probably did graduate from UA, but one of the top of his class and is like really known

And he’s in line to being the youngest top pro hero

As for quirk… he’d basically have the hypnosis mic quirk where he would be able to summon speakers, hypnotise people n destroy their minds with music

The downside is though that

Anyway, yeah the Buster Bros Hero Agency is really out there booming you know

Omg the buster bros would be related to Present Mic because he’s Hizashi Yamada but he’s more of a cringe uncle than anything but he did take care of the bros when they were younger… but Ichiro was basically still had the whole Ichiro Yamada arc n all

Im pretty sure he became like an official pro hero after he graduated, but a young hero long before that

(Ok you know the buster bros + hizashi Yamada need a post of their own)

Jiro

Ah well, like in my past post, he would have the same quirk as Ichiro (summoning speakers, hypnosis with his voice, using hypmics as an extra tool to control his quirk etc etc)

Wants to become like his big bro obviously, but kind of on the reckless side

Would be a year above Midorya and the gang (so I guess 2nd Year), but he would be friends probably with Jirou because no doubt both having music quirks makes things interesting

Also a delinquent holy fuck like, troublemaker tm hahah

Anyway, he helps out with present mic and with his brothers sometimes take over the radio show because why not

But he and present mic get into the biggest shouting matches because why not

Ichiro is the strongest out of the three n doesn’t really need a microphone to amplify his voice (but of he does use his mic goodbye)

Jiro prefers to use the mic because he aint that confident yet, but he’s more skilled in like arts and stuff so his costume designs are lit

Saburo

Wants to be like Ichiro obviously and the quirk runs in the family

Except though that Saburo as a first year in the hero course in UA, is gifted also in gadgets

So even if he has friends in the hero course, you can probably find him hanging out with support course people because inventing and tinkering is his jam

And hella smart, with like midorya levels of strategising and Momo level intelligence

Also bumps heads with Bakugo a lot but has a good healthy respect for him

Anyway, he’s the most quiet out of the Yamadas and is most of the reason why Ichiro decided that when he was old enough (like what, 17-18?) he would get an apartment somewhere else away from Mic’s place so that Saburo would be able to be quiet in peace and what not

Likes using the fucking mic because he feels like he has more control and his mic is totally decked out so it’s awesome

Samatoki

I don’t think he would be a teacher like, he would be a pro hero and he has a squad (he refuses to call it agency but it really is

I think he would be more vigilante vibes and tbh his quirk would be some sort of fire quirk, not like an endeavour kinda thing but more of like a fire bending thing where there literally has to be flames (even the smallest spark) so he could make it more n stuff

Which is why he always has a lighter and cigarettes

Literally, do not piss him off while he’s smoking

And of course he and Ichiro are fighting for like a slot on the top hero ranking thing, but mostly they have this petty rivalry

But he and Ichiro are actually friends its just… well maybe not a Kacchan-Deku kinda level but something that used to resemble that and now is a p solid brotherhood

He protects the weak and all that, but he has that of course Samatoki attitude that just happens to go uwu sometimes

Jyuto

Would probably still be in the police force except with like a quirk

Which tbh I think he’s an invisibility guy but not like hagakure, kind of like the invisibility he can control

Because looking n basing this a bit on my past superpowers post, he would be invisible

But the catch has to be like he has to hold his breath so he could sneak around

And he would prefer to work with the police, but his go to call guy is Samatoki (because tbh, with all the trouble Samatoki personally goes searching for, jyuto won’t run out of a job)

Anyway yeah, invisibility is pretty fucking amazing because h can search for info (as long as he doesn’t run out of breath) and sneak where he needs to sneak

So covert operations always work out for him and what nit

Riou

I think he would like teaching, but he’s more of a combat training and strategy more than anything

I personally think he wouldn’t have like a super powerful quirk, like he wouldn’t have the explosion quirk or a sound quirk, he would just be kind of like Captain America where he just has an enhanced overall physique which helped him with like the army and what not

But the thing is, he’s honed his body to near perfection, enhancing the strength and speed that was enhanced with him to begin with

And he uses tools and support items to his advantage, like metal knuckles or weapons or guns or whatever honestly, he knows what to use and how to use it, which is what makes him very, very dangerous

Gets along with Aizawa because he’s very cool under pressure

But lord god, them sparring together is such a thing to watch

Ramuda

Okay he wouldn’t be part of the top 10 because he’s like not that interested in that kind of thing

He would probably be content doing his own thing, having a fashion line that rivals best jeanist

But, he would be really famous, but for some reason never on the top 10 pro heroes thing because I think he would love to take over and be known in a different way

Like yeah he would save people when he encounters it, but not necessarily like go on patrol and whatever, he would have his own agenda

But anyway, yeah his fashion line would be really hawt and whatever

As for his quirk though, he would be a shape shifter like really, I can see Ramuda just kinda designing clothes while being a talking cat and whatever

He’s limited only moving objects, so he can’t do still objects but he can do for example cutting scissors

But they can never be completely motionless that’s the catch

Gentaro

He wouldn’t really be a pro hero or a teacher, im sure he’s content with being a writer

Because okay, his quirk which would be like writing where his imagination never runs out and he can even control the pen so that he just has to say what he wants to be written

Or even think of what wants to be written

Like he could close his eyes and imagine scenarios and the whole story unfold before him and the pen would be able to articulate those thoughts

The downside is that it depends on his vocabulary and knowledge, so gentaro has to study too

If he were to teach though, he would teach literature in any school or just a freelance class in which he would allow his students to imagine and write properly

Dice

Ah his quirk would be luck, except it never works when there’s money involved

And he unfortunately has a gambling addiction

Like he could just persuade people to give him items, but the dumbass really just loves money and this is why he can’t afford nice things

Anyway, his luck quirk makes him extremely safe, so for some reason he’s good at stunts and running and parkour

And why his shit (except his money) never gets stolen

He has gentaro as a friend because the author just so happened to be writing on the bench in the park where dice stays

Well, he would be a hero, but kind of a small time kind of guy where he helps out… but sometimes with incentive because he’s broke af

Literally nothing can hit him (unless it’s money or coins or gold… just anything valuable really) so he’s pretty fine

Jakurai

Telepathy I mean, fuck hypmics and amplifiers, his amplifier is his mind

Im sure he can also mind control and plant images that seem so real

Like yeah, his way of attacking is using words and rap, but literally it’s a silent fucking attack where you think you’re being overwhelmed with sound but it’s really just Jakurai

And he’s powerful enough that he can create hallucinations

And the scary thing about the doctor is that he’s good at close range combat or hand to hand without his quirk

Like he was an assassin or a hitman or whatever, so he knows that you cannot always rely on your quirk

The catch with him is that he has to be completely silent or at least stay out of the hearing range of the people he’s attacking so that he could use it

But once he uses it, he can get as fucking close as possible and stab you from the back (but remember, he don’t need his quirk to kill)

But right now, he’s happily teaching at UA and helping out recovery girl

But seriously, Jakurai in battle is such a wonderful thing to watch and you’re gonna learn so much from him

Oh yeah, and one of the top pro heroes obvs

Doppo

I see him having telekinesis, but like it gets amplified the calmer he gets

Which is hard because he’s always anxious, so when he’s anxious he loses control, but it’s weak

Its stronger when he’s calm

I think he would be a teacher, but like for a regular subject like accounting or whatever

And he would be bullied a lot for his you know being Doppo, but if you mess with him when he’s in a calm angry spell, good luck to you

He can though save lives because that’s what people with powers do, have certain responsibilities to save people who are weaker

Gets along with Jakurai because the doctor sometimes plays music in Doppo’s head to calm him down which is always cute

He actually gets a calming thing made so he can focus his telekinesis, but his anxiety sometimes overrides it

Hifumi

he can make people hallucinate… however the downside to this quirk isa that he has to drink alcohol beforehand

Like he would always have a flask with him and he has to be high tolerance because the amount of alcohol consumed correlates to how strong his hallucinations/illusions would be

Like it wouldn’t matter how well the person he’s attacking can hold their alcohol, it’s all up to him

He would teach with his best friend boyfriend doppo and would constantly smell of alcohol

Aizawa gets from him a lot

Anyway, yeah that’s hifumi’s quirk, but his part time is also running a club because that’s what he loves doing

But yes, still afraid of girls so he wears his fucking suit to UA and… it’s really chaos if you put Present Mic, All Might and Hifumi in the same room

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roots-game · 5 years

Note

What is the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to the ROs, Ami and Kai?

A very long time ago, a young kitsune in the guise of a woman approached a traveler, long weary from the road.

“Good evening,” The woman said in purple robes slinking down from the tree she had been lounging on, “You seem tired good sir, as most travelers who come here do. What brings you to these crossroads? Perhaps I can assist you.”

The wanderer greeted the girl, wiping the sweat off his brow with his palm, “I have been traveling for many miles now young miss. The road has been most unkind to my old skin and bones, and yet here you stand as fresh as the dew on the morning blossoms. How can this be this deep in the woods? There must be a place to rest nearby, no?”

“Yes,” the girl smiled through teeth and red lips, “Yes. I do. I know a place. A temple not far. A place to rest. Come,” She beckoned with a finger, “Come follow me.”

The man, eager for sleep and shelter did not question. He simply straightened the cloth pack on his back with care, for his most treasured companion rested inside. A small pup he had come across on the way.

Deeper and deeper off the path and into the woods the pair went wordlessly. Until the cracking of a branch under the man’s feet roused the pup from its slumber. The young thing squirmed and tumbled out of the cloth sack onto the damp dirt below.

The old man tried to scoop the pup back into his arms but the young thing would not stand for it. Its hair stood on end. It’s eyes fearful and it’s voice shrill as it howled and barked at the woman.

“My apologies,” The man said embarrassed, but when he looked up the woman was gone. He could only see the sleek shape of a fox as it slunk into shadows and out of his sight.

The traveler swore to anyone who would listen that the fox had five tails.

The grocery store was only a couple blocks away so Isaac had opted to walk. He was in the Foodland parking lot, almost to the front sliding door, when someone brushed against his side.

“Oh man,” she said, clasping her hands together, “Hey are you okay?” Her accent and the cadence of her voice told Isaac that she was from the island. She was a pretty girl around his age, with a bronze complexion and long wavy black hair tied up with a yellow scrunchie. A reusable shopping bag was looped around her shoulder, filled to the brim with pork.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry,” He nodded at her and gave her a weak smile. He could feel his shoulder tense; he was awful at small talk. The girl’s eyes widened just a smidge, “Oh. I thought you were local for a moment. Your accent.”

“Nah,” Isaac said inwardly pleased, “From the mainland. Arizona. I just got here a couple of hours ago. Wanted to… see the mountains. Do some hiking.”

“My name’s Anela,” She smiled at him in an easy way that made him relax, “And we should really not stand in the middle of the doorway, huh?” They laughed and stepped inside into the cool air-conditioned lobby of Foodland. Isaac introduced himself to her then and noticed her bag was filled with pork. Ground pork. Pork Chops. Bacon. Every pork product he could think of, she had in her bag.

“Having a barbeque or something?”

“Hm?” She said following his eyes, “Oh. Ah. No.” She sounded embarrassed, “My mom. She wanted ah- hm.” She pursed her lips, “Say Isaac, how familiar are you with Pali Lookout? And more importantly, do you have a car?”

That’s how Isaac found himself driving down Old Pali Highway around midnight. The girl from Foodland, Anela, sat next to him on the passenger side. Her stash of pork from before now cooked with rice and greens and prepped into Tupperware containers.“I’m getting the creeps out here,” Isaac said turning down the radio station they had been listening to.

“Just a little midnight picnic.” Anela said with a small smile, “Don’t tell me you’re chickening out now. Didn’t you mention you wanted to see the mountains? That’s why you came here right?” Isaac flushed a little, feeling like he was caught in a lie. “Yeah. That’s why I came here.”

“You’ll see,” She nodded and pointed up towards the mountains, “The view is amazing at night.” “Yeah?” He said with a small guilty smile, “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” Just as they saw a sign for the lookout, the car shuddered to a halt. Isaac cursed and guided the rental to the side of the road. He tried restarting the car, but it stalled every time.

“What do we do?” He looked at Anela, “I don’t have money to get this car fixed. It’s not even mine.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. These things happen sometimes,” Anela said placing a hand on his shoulder apologetically, “Just stay in the car. I’ll be right back. The car will start soon I promise. Just calm down.”

She bent down scooping the bag with their dinner. She was about to open the car door when Isaac pointed down the road. An old lady in a white flowing dress and her white dog were walking in the night coming towards them. Anela slumped back into her seat and rubbed tiny circles into her temples.“Oh boy,” she sighed.

“What? Maybe she can help us out.”

“That’s my uh- Auntie.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

The old lady was now right by Isaac’s window, her dog panting by her feet. “How dare you kids come here.” She was livid. Isaac squinted, the woman’s eyes glowed red through the dark with her rage. She looked at Isaac and then Anela. A flash of recognition dimming the anger in her eyes, if only for a moment.

“Anela?”

“Hi, Auntie.”

“Are you dumb Anela? Gimme that bag.”

Anela handed the bag of pork platters to her aunt. The old woman tossed it on the side of the road in disgust, her dog eagerly chasing after it.

“Who’s this hapa haole boy? Why’d you take him up? It’s dangerous up here by the cliffs. You wanna get this dumb boy dead?”

“No, auntie. We just wanted to see the mountains.”

“You wanted to see the mountains?” The old woman howled with laughter, “Don’t make me laugh, honey girl. The both of you ain’t here to look at no mountains.”

The young girl blushed and looked away.

The young god leans against the concrete ledge of the overpass scanning the people who walk below him with a focused eye. Hawkish, despite his troublemaking smile.

Yet….. no matter how hard he tries. Has tried. And will try again, trouble never finds him. Still, he paws at the concrete crumbs between the sidewalk gaps, rolling the little false stones in his palm like a set of dice. Peering down he chooses his mark, and flings the little bits of ground downward.

A man looks up squinting, searching for the stone that scatter of his shoulders, but is left wanting. He keeps walking. Same story over and over, but still the forgotten god tries.

Another.

This one walks in all leather. She seems different somehow. Perhaps this one? He readies the pebble, flicks it over the edge. Right in the face. He watches.

Eyes flutter and look upwards.

“You,” She says pointing up at him, acknowledging him? Acknowledging him, “Come down here right now.”

He scrambles behind the concrete, hiding himself, grinning still.

It’s what he always wanted, to be found. But how to make an introduction? He hasn’t had many of those, but he figured it can’t be hard? Right?

He pops up, eager, to be talked to. To be spoken with. To be friends with.

It’s unfortunate, when he ends up tumbling down the stairs.

#shinasti #louis #misao #anela #this got stupidly long #so i'll add kai and ami's in a seperate post #also tried something different this time #different writing styles for each RO #:thinking emoji:#tell me if you guys liked it cause it was sort of fun to do

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hencethebravery · 5 years

Text

TITLE: A Super Solid History of the “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy(s),” c. The Beginning (or There About) to Now-ish

SUMMARY: Human beings are absolute fools when it comes to love. It’s largely the reason why God, in all Her infinite wisdom, so cleverly decided that the beings in Her employ (and thereafter) would have nought to do with such petty, earthly matters. Not they had seen a memo or anything, but it merely seems obvious, does it not? (Ao3)

NOTES: Hello, hello! Here be my very first Good Omens fic. Please note that I have only just started the novel and so this is mostly a product of my having watched the series several times over.

. . .

+ Perhaps one of the cruelest tricks that God has ever played (and the list was indeed long) was in allowing angels to believe they were incapable of love. There is some amount of debate as to whether or not this was entirely by accident. She was a busy woman after all━perhaps that was why it, the question of whether or not angels were truly capable of love, had slipped through one of her metaphysical cracks (of which, admittedly, there were many). Those who managed to refrain from falling had quite an easier time believing this particular theory to be very much the case. A largely unspoken, slightly offended, “She would never,” followed by an affirmation of the belief in the long held assumption that they were above such things anyway, so really, what did it even matter, and can we please return to the task at hand?

Those who did happen to fall on the other hand, went in rather the opposite direction. In a somewhat convoluted fashion (they were technically still angels after all), demons argued that, no, celestial beings had never been capable of love, and, yes, this was done with abundant amounts of purpose. Not to mention the longstanding rumor that perhaps they were always capable, which served the purpose of both dividing and controlling the heavenly population by means of dispensing vague, unverified information. And to the more skeptical among them they might say, “Well, she’s God isn’t she? It’s not as if she lacks the ability.”

In point of fact, they were both wrong.

From the very moment they had begun their stint upon the Earth, Aziraphale had often pondered the nature of love. They had heard the rumors, of course, not that they held much affinity for such behavior. No good has ever come from a rumor, they thought, particularly when their mind was especially prone to recalling those terrible centuries of heavenly warfare. No taste for it━the whispering between nebulas; the speculating of who would be staying and who would be going. Aziraphale had often suspected that it was part of the reason why Crowley had ended up doing… what he did. That perhaps the assumption they would fall did more to provoke the descent than anything else. It was a shame, but it had been so long ago, and there didn’t seem to be much to do about it now, at any rate.

Regardless, the question of love as it pertained to earthly beings, that made rather a bit more sense. Not to the humans themselves of course, but to Aziraphale, and even to Crowley, the emotion was in fact easily explained and somewhat predictable when applied in almost every conceivable situation. Usually.

“There is no possible way that girl is worth so few goats.”

Aziraphale had never felt truly comfortable with early human rituals as they pertained to establishing their various relationships. The use of the dowry, for example, particularly when a father might value a herd of sheep over the life of his child (and at this point in time, rather too young, in their estimation), stirred something… untoward in their gut.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

Even then, Crowley had possessed the somewhat uncanny ability to speak the words that Aziraphale often thought but feared to say aloud, and while a part of them was grateful to hear them spoken, the other part was curious as to how their supposed enemy could be so well-attuned to their thoughts. Could be the point, I suppose, they thought, looking quickly away before Crowley could notice, to catch us unawares with their deceptive bouts of intimacy.

“Well there, Aziraphale, how ‘bout it? Can I count on you?”

“Oh, um, my apologies,” they stammered, unfamiliar fleshy fingers tangling together, “count on me for what?”

“Your discretion,” Crowley reiterated with an air of unrepentant espionage curling around the crown of their head, “she is worth far more goats than... that.”

Aziraphale envied the demon’s seemingly instinctive use of their own hands; tossed about in the air, waved vaguely in the direction of the unfortunate scene which played out before them. How did one use one’s own hands as a means of further emphasizing their point? Marvelous. They would have to spend more time working on that.

“ Aziraphale ,” Crowley repeated, one eyebrow raised smartly above their golden eye, “I know you can’t be a fan of this either.”

“Well, no,” they admitted, “but I am merely here to observe, and I did promise myself that last time would be the last time.”

Crowley hummed with a mildly infuriating tone of knowing skepticism (which Aziraphale didn’t much appreciate), “Alright, well, if you’re here to observe and all, I guess there’s nothing you’d be able to do about this.”

Aziraphale was, as it turned out, not quite quick enough in noting that, as a matter of fact, yes, they would be well within their rights to interfere when a demon was involved, but by that point Crowley had vanished from their side, and a slithering serpent had already begun making its way towards the feet of the large old bearded gentleman who had offered far too few goats for so young and bright a person.

. . .

It was right around the time human beings started getting rather more polite with their food that Aziraphale managed to develop a fair higher degree of grace with his own hands. Rather difficult to eat a steaming bowl of noodles without the use of… “chop-sticks.” Gracious, Gabriel would be horrified by the very idea. Not just by the “sullying of the vessel,” but the notion that one might do so with sticks? Unthinkable. Regardless, it all came fairly easy after that (the hands); throwing a pair of dice, holding a quill or a pair of knitting needles. After a time he discovered that he very much enjoyed the tactility━the variety of sensations felt on the surface of the skin he had been ordered to have.

He had also, around this time, begun to go about being referred to as “he.” Moreso to blend in than anything else. It was hard to pin down when exactly, but at some point humanity became far more reliant upon noting the difference. It made a certain kind of sense, he supposed, if they were going to insist upon such hierarchical-like systems to survive.

“They are Her creations after all,” Crowley reasoned, casually (almost certainly, casually) observing Aziraphale’s hands as they cupped his bowl of broth.

Aziraphale made a somewhat half-hearted attempt to cool his soup, lest the demon sitting across from him note his discomfort. In as polite a fashion as possible, so as not to rock any proverbial boats, he made the potentially ill-advised decision to be predictable and “play dumb.”

“And,” with a mild stutter, “and what is it you mean by that?”

“Oh, don’t be dense, Angel, you know exactly what I mean by that.”

He hated when their conversations took these kinds of turns. When their differences became undeniable and he was forced to reconcile with the truth of their circumstances: That all evidence to the contrary, the demon sitting across from him was supposed to be his mortal enemy━and for what? Some… pesky disagreement? An oversimplification to be sure, it must be conceded, but all the same, for… what, exactly? What had it all been for?

Having accepted the frequent refrain of Aziraphale’s silence in moments such as these, Crowley had returned to his own drink; a sharp yet sweet rice wine that Aziraphale had recommended. All the better for his own sanity, for his own return to his hot bowl of flavorful broth (with some kind of... fish base, in which large pieces of seaweed, accompanied by smaller cubes of to-fu floating alongside; absolutely fascinating, by the way), and unsettling, unwelcome questions that did little good for him to ponder over. But ponder he inevitably would, and he felt it prudent to admit that he had himself often wondered what might have happened if he had been more… present during the whole debacle (the war, as it were), or even if he had known Crowley at the time━would the outcome have been the same?

It doesn’t seem a particularly worthy avenue of thought to continue shambling down, especially if one were to consider the fact that it was all decided upon long, long ago; but as he sneaks a glance upwards, to the sight of a demon sat across from him at a table, taking careful sips of a rice wine he has no reason to drink (other than to acquiesce to Aziraphale’s own enthusiastic request) he does have to wonder, How bad can they really be?

It’s on this particular evening that Aziraphale and Crowley happen to “brush hands” for the very first time. Azirphale had, on occasion, been made aware of the concept, but had yet to fully partake in such an episode. Human beings seemed to make quite a to-do of the whole affair. He had borne witness to such things with his own eyes, and was rather struck by the intensity of something that seemed so bafflingly simple. But then again, that seemed to be the nature of love. At least as it pertained to human beings. Angels were immune to such things, clearly.

They had both reached for the bottle at the same time, is all. Nothing to fuss over. It was bound to happen sometime━trapped as they were in these rather cumbersome… things; adjusting to the speed and the space of it all. Moving with both certainty and uncertainty, holding things too tightly or not tightly enough. Silly, unreliable things. You had to wonder what She’d been thinking (not that Aziraphale would ever say so, of course).

The poets will speak of a spark, but Aziraphale didn’t much know about all of that. He could acknowledge a warmth, perhaps even a… tingle? In retrospect he might even recall a raising of the soft hairs along his arms. But really, there’s not much to say about it. Other than the fact that from the perspective of an outsider there was perhaps an unnatural pause. A stiffness that mortal beings struggled to find. Most living, physical beings required breath you see━they are frequently at the whims of their world; it is, quite nearly, impossible not to be in motion for any extended period of time. That was just the way She wanted it. The unrepentant motion. The force. The push forwards. Don’t stop, never stop. Until, you know, She says so.

These two beings, however, they weren’t human beings. They were created by God, of course, but they were relatively new to this “body,” business, and as such they still seemed to be encountering the unfortunate and inconvenient side effects. Touch being just one of many. Angels didn’t really touch in the same way humans did. Their natural forms failed to really give them the ability. They did in fact… collide with each other from time to time, but it was limitless. There was no barrier. If anything, it was a bit unpleasant━the lack of boundaries. Something about “seamless teamwork,” is what Aziraphale could recall from his discussions with Gabriel, or Michael. It was difficult to tell the difference sometimes. Regardless (or perhaps irregardless), human touch would appear to be quite a bit different. Because there was a pretty significant boundary, and for whatever reason that Aziraphale had yet to identify, it felt somehow more intimate than the traditional, angelic “brushing of hands,” as it were.

Crowley, in a rare moment of clumsiness, must have felt similarly because in his shock had pulled his hand back so swiftly that he managed to knock the half-empty bottle to the table with a soft snick, with a gentle, rhythmic dripping of the remaining wine to follow.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, moving quickly to right the bottle and dab at the developing stain. Crowley had stood rather abruptly after that, and not in the smooth, serpent-like manner that Aziraphale had become accustomed to, and with hardly a “so long,” turned and fled the scene. They would never mention that particular moment again, but Aziraphale, to his great, great consternation, did struggle to put it entirely out of his mind.

. . .

Oh, centuries pass. Not entirely unlike an unfathomably long sigh, the world continues as the world often does. As do the angels and the demons playing their parts in some… hip yet indescribably vague off-broadway production (with no discernible plot) written by and for an audience of precisely one. Maybe. Probably. Over the course of The Great Exhale (™), Aziraphale observes. He learns. Which should be obvious, as that was something of the job assigned to him in the first place, but he really takes a genuine interest in the task. So much so that he keenly starts to observe other observers, humans who frequently come to be called “authors.” Authors are truly outstanding observers in their own right; even going so far as to record their observations in impressively long works of art━in letters and in image, the authors and artists in question lend a helpful amount of weightiness to a position he had come to doubt on occasion.

“They see things in ways we can’t, you see,” Aziraphale had tried explaining to Gabriel during one unexpected (and painfully awkward) meeting. As he had come to expect, Gabriel listened with a look of mild confusion (and pity), but it didn’t bother Aziraphale all that much. He had his books. “You can tell the others there’s no reason to worry,” he continued quickly, hoping their conversation had reached its conclusion, “I have all we need right here.”

“No surprises, Aziraphale,” Gabriel warned in goodbye, slipping out the door, “and remember, they can’t see nearly as well as we can.”

“Well, we know that’s not true.”

The surprising (yet unmistakable) tenor of Crowley’s voice echoed from the darkness of Aziraphale’s office, which had been empty the last he checked. The angel in question could do little to prevent the slight hitch in his breathing, concerned with not only the unexpected appearance of a demon, but so quickly after the departure of an angel that would certainly see said demon immediately and irrevocably smited.

“That’s cheeky,” Aziraphale mumbled as Crowley sauntered out of the back room, his hair in its usual impeccable coif.

Shortly after Aziraphale acquired the bookshop, and not without some degree of honest ignorance as to why, Crowley did what he unfortunately happened to do best, and asked Aziraphale precisely what was the point of it all? And as had become usual practice, Aziraphale had a maddeningly difficult time coming up with an answer.

“You know, I’m not quite sure,” he finally admitted, “as soon as I do I shall let you know.”

“With bated breath, Angel,” Crowley had responded in distraction, his own nose lost in one of Aziraphale’s many books that he had seemingly no definitive explanation for.

. . .

The thing about Aziraphale’s exchange with the archangel Gabriel, that is the somewhat truncated version of an answer to Crowley’s “why,” was much longer and perhaps more blasphemous than Gabriel wanted to hear. But it was, possibly, exactly the kind of thing a demon (or rather, this demon) would want to hear.

Though Gabriel’s visit made for something of a stressful few hours, it was a particularly lovely day nonetheless. The leaves had begun changing their colors, but it was still pleasantly warm when standing in the sun, and should he feel just a touch too warm, a perfectly timed (some might say, miraculously timed) gust of wind would breeze on through the open window. Despite the fresh autumnal air, the smell of the books often lingered; the unmistakable scent of old paper and ink blending seamlessly with the decaying leaves which wound through the air and along the pavement.

“Do you happen to recall,” Aziraphale began, pouring Crowley an exquisitely steeped cup of Earl Grey, “when I first acquired this shop?”

In so much as Crowley could be predictable, he did, quite predictably, feign forgetfulness (not that angels or demons could forget very much by the very fact of their design). “Not certain,” he pondered theatrically, his sharp chin resting in the palm of his hand. “About what century was this, d’you think?”

Making the conscientious decision to refuse to participate in Crowley’s strange theatrics, Aziraphale continued, adjusting his vest as if it had suddenly shrunk while he was wearing it (which was certainly possible, he supposed). “Well, you had asked of me an admittedly fair question as to why I had purchased the shop at all, and I had told you I wasn’t quite certain as to why, and━”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his tea, “let’s hear it then.”

“Well,” he began, somewhat taken aback by Crowley’s abrupt demand for an answer he had recently pretended to have forgotten, “I━I do believe it might have something to do with… love. Of all things.”

Crowley’s nose did indeed wrinkle, as if a bad sort of smell had passed beneath it from having even heard the word, but he did have a thoughtful look. If Aziraphale had to describe it, he might find himself comparing it to a rather more subdued version of the look that had passed over Crawley’s face subsequent to the infrequently mentioned Flaming Sword Incident (™). An expression of pleased surprise which, in retrospect, betrayed a yearning optimism that most demons should not, under any circumstances, possess.

See, as it happened, Aziraphale had been doing a lot of thinking as of late. Not a great habit, a stern-looking Gabriel would often scold in his head, It’s all been figured out anyway, no need to go reinventing the wheel. As it happened, Gabriel was quite unimpressed with the invention of the wheel. No great feat, in his estimation. Not that he found humans to be impressive in most cases. Aziraphale couldn’t blame him, he supposed. Gabriel hadn’t been tasked with the job Aziraphale had━maybe if he had been, he would’ve arrived at similar conclusions (likely not so, but it was hard for Aziraphale to deny giving others the benefit of the doubt).

If you were in fact playing one of the two roles assigned to you (that of Angel or Demon), you might be privy to something of a hotly debated topic. Love. What was it? Who was capable of it? Was it a uniquely human trait? Was it freely available to all beings? And of course, as was the question in most things, how in the world was God involved in all this?

“Oh, Angel, not this old… chestnut,” Crowley nearly spat. Despite the darkened frames over his eyes, Aziraphale practically felt his rolling of them.

“Now, hold on,” he continued, hoping to cut Crowley off at some self-righteous pass he knew wasn’t far behind, “just… wait.”

Obviously, it was rather difficult for anyone to speculate with any degree of certainty the true machinations of God’s mind. Whether God had designed everything (angels included) with the capability to feel and/or express love in its entirety or not, Aziraphale had begun to wonder whether or not it very much mattered (the debate, that is). You had to start with the Assumption (™).

“Which is…?”

A self-fulfilling prophecy. An angel such as Aziraphale, assuming that it didn’t much matter (whether or not God had given angels the capacity for love), which was the general opinion of the heavenly chorus━or Crowley and other demons similarly assuming it was all a vile manipulation borne of boredom and the Almighty’s irrepressible urge to have a hand (metaphorically speaking) in just about everything. All this and still the usual refrain from both sides: Humans and love, they know not what they do. As if the heavenly (or not so heavenly) were, at the very least, immune.

“It’s the isolation you see,” Aziraphale managed to somewhat tangientally conclude, “the being… trapped, as it were. In their bodies.”

It was in that moment that Aziraphale worried whether or not he had gotten a tad too close to the Spilled Wine Incident (™) which had occurred several centuries earlier ( long unspoken of). Wondered if perhaps Crowlely had, in his own time, reached a similar conclusion, and was in fact thinking the same exact thing. That of angelic… mingling and the somewhat invasive ability to see into the heart of someone’s soul, versus the perfectly human ability to hardly know a person at all except perhaps through a brief brushing of hands. The arrangement of words on a page. The splashes of color on a canvas. That perhaps God, in all her… strange, bureaucratic dereliction of parental duty had in fact given human beings one single instance of superiority.

“Love.”

In a limit imposed by God, human beings could only love one another given truly uncomfortable degrees of uncertainty, and what angel or demon had ever taken such a risk?

In case you (the reader) were wondering, interrupted God with a very gentle boom (otherwise one’s head was quite likely to explode), it’s them. The two of them. Idiots.

“So, the bookshop,” Crowley spoke, filling the void of Aziraphale’s silence, “you wanted to know more about this… Risky Business?”

There was almost certainly the undercurrent of a joke in there that Aziraphale would require an explanation for at some other juncture, but for now he merely nodded. “I believe so,” smiling into his cup, “for how valuable are our observations if we’ve only ever made them through our own omniscience?”

Long, long story, very much shortened to a far more reasonable and linear degree: Since The Beginning, angels and demons had largely felt confident in their belief that they knew far more than the average human (Agnes Nutter aside, of course); and Aziraphale, in the midst of an occasional crisis as to who knew what and how well, had, with the acquisition of his quaint little bookshop been unconsciously soothed by a truth several centuries in the making. That angels, like humans, did not in fact know everything. That they were not necessarily immune to what it was they had supposed, and that, quite blessedly, there was just… so very much to know. Even after all this time. Pages and pages and pages of things to know.

“It’s a fair point,” Crowley answered with a brief smile of his own, “never much cared for all the…” A signature wave of his free hand, bereft of his teacup, “...business anyway.” Referring of course to the traditional forms of angelic and/or demonic communication, which funnily enough, neither gentleman had experienced for quite some time.

And it was, during this particular turn in the narrative (quite nearing its conclusion, I promise you), that an angel and a demon would brush hands for a historical second time. Historic for the existence of hands, the fact of their briefly touching again, and of course the reality of their circumstances (which Aziraphale had become rather tired of noting). They both reached for the teapot at the same moment you see, which, if one were a betting man (or woman), they might imagine a divine hand or two, or several, or however many hands God might prefer to have, in the mix.

What made this particular time so different from the first was not only the fact of their very recent conversation, but the privilege of having several hundred years to have a good, rational think on the matter. So rational, in fact, that the urge to spring violently apart and knock something over seemed to be entirely absent.

“You know, I’ve often found it rather funny,” Aziraphale began quietly, painfully aware of where their fingers touched, “that despite my theory, you have often been quite good at mirroring my own thoughts.”

“Ironic,” Crowley agreed, “though you are rather easy to read I’m afraid.”

The beautiful thing about a brush is the secondary movements that might come after━particularly when the brush might provoke a pause. Most anything can occur in the midst of a pause. One might move a finger, for example, which in turn might elicit a not unpleasant shiver down one’s spine. There’s also the accompanying sound, which, for all his talk of humans being superior, it was a shame that their hearing was so dreadfully ordinary. It would be rather difficult for a human being to hear breath in the same way Aziraphale or Crowley might, sitting apart as they were. The intake and the exhale, all occurring within a brief, blissful pause which, along with their shared breath and the clinking of china, was accompanied by the continued autumnal breeze, and the scattering of dried foliage.

“I think,” Crowley continued, his hand moving, ever so slowly, to fully grasp Aziraphale’s own, “that we should consider testing your theory again.”

“Q-quite,” Aziraphale managed to answer, wonderfully overwhelmed by all the knowing (and marvelous not-knowing) occurring within the tangle of their hands. “I do enjoy a thorough undertaking of the scientific method.”

. . .

They were both wrong (the gossiping, angelic and demonic masses) because, in an infuriatingly on point God move, they were both partially right, weren’t they? Yes, of course, angels were always capable of love, but God was rather busy wasn’t She? She’s a deity just like any other━lots to do. Being in charge while also doing Her best to refrain from micromanaging, which She’d been told employees didn’t actually like, so can you really blame her for being a bit aloof sometimes? An honest mistake, really. Nothing quite so sinister as the demons might like to believe, nor so benevolent as the angels would like to think. And besides, She’d given them humanity, and She did love a good game of risk.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #@hencethewriter #y'all it has been #about 5 months #working on this garbage #also i wish tumblr #would fix it's fucking formatting #but we know that'll never happen so

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comicteaparty · 5 years

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July 8th-July 14th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party week long chat that occurred from July 8th, 2019 to July 14th, 2019. The chat focused on Court of Roses by Kelsey Peterson.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB START!

Hello and welcome everyone to Comic Tea Party’s Week Long Book Club~! This week we’ll be focusing on Court of Roses by Kelsey Peterson~! (http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/)

You are free to read and comment about the comic all week at your own pace, so stop on by whenever it suits your schedule! Remember, though, that while we allow constructive criticism, our focus is to have fun and appreciate the comic. Below you will find four questions to get you started on the discussion. However, a new question will be posted and pinned everyday (between 12:01AM and 6AM PDT), so keep checking back for more! You have until July 14th to tell us all your wonderful thoughts! With that established, let’s get going on the reading and the chatting!

QUESTION 1. What has been your favorite scene in the comic so far? What specifically did you like about it?

QUESTION 2. What do you think is the story behind Merlow’s bad dreams? What demons is Merlow fighting exactly, and why do some of those “demons” want him to hurt others? What does it have to do with Merlow being triggered by Nocturne?

khkddn

1) hmm visually speaking I think my fave scene is when Diana shoots all those arrows http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/comics/117/ it just looks so cool

But I also liked when merlow bonded with the kiddos who were curious about his bagpipes, that was a cute moment

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. At the moment, who is your favorite character? What about that character earns them this favor?

QUESTION 4. What do you think is the cause of Nocturne’s unfortunate circumstances that he mentions having to make due with? What might this have to do with his poor amount of stamina or immense magical gifts?

RebelVampire

1) Probably the scene where Nocturne and Merlow sleep in an alley under the rain. I am a sucker for rain, and I liked seeing Merlow's acknowledgement that he was kind of a dick but that Nocturne was still able to forgive him. Plus, the atmosphere the rain added was too perfect. Somehow a spot of warmth among the cold and bleak. 2) I see this going in one of two ways in terms of my current theories. Way 1 is that Merlow's dad wasn't just an elf, but like, ultra evil wizard elf. And his dad is trying to control Merlow and use him as a beautiful and dangerous pawn. Way 2 is that Merlow got possessed by a literal demon and that fighting the demon from taking control is a daily battle. I think in regards to hurting others, asides it just being that's what evil things do, having Merlow hurt others is a pretty quick way to break his spirit and just have him cave to the dark side. Nocturne kind of looks demon-y so there could be that connection. Or maybe whatever Merlow has within him just hates Nocturne's species since that seems to be a common theme in the world.

3) Nocturne. Nocturne is classy, powerful, but has that cute smidgen of vulnerability that makes him endearing. Also very classy, and how can you not like classy people? 4) Nocturne maybe had a fight that did not end well due to overconfidence maybe. And this left him permanently weakened with poor stamina. I also get the sense that there is some deeper emotional trauma hidden in this. Like the person that caused his weak stamina was someone super close who probably betrayed him. Cause every story needs a good betrayal? XD Alternatively, maybe he just had a poor dice roll to begin with for the game.

Nutty (Court of Roses)

Those theories with Merlow and Nocturne are really cool, Rebel! aaaaa it's so neat to see people speculating this stuff.

That alley scene came out so nice too, I was happy with it. My own favorite scene so far... it's hard to pick, but I think it was the whole sequence of the main bards fighting the bandits that stormed the festival. Getting to let everyone show off, from Sven's muscle, to Feliks' conjuring madness, to Diana's enchanted tidinit, to Nocturne's mysterious power saving Merlow.(edited)

RebelVampire

QUESTION 5. What has been your favorite illustration in the comic so far? What specifically about it do you like?

QUESTION 6. What do you think the background stories are for Feliks and Sven? How might Merlow’s pre-established friendship with Feliks affect his interactions with the rest of the bards given they have more history?

Attila Polyák

I like had no time the entire week and could only read till the page where we see Sung from a distance. I didn't want to comment before I catch up, but now that I found a bit of time I get a server not found error. My luck is horrible. :( That said I do feel like my favourite scene will be the bit where Merlow performed and the cats came to listen. That was soo hear warming, but I'd like to read the rest before saying anything.

Nutty (Court of Roses)

Ugh, sorry, comicfury just, goes down sonetimes...

khkddn

3) merlow is my favorite character, he just seems so nice and sunshine-y! Diana is also cool too though, and I also like Feliks... decisions is Hard

ErinPtah (Leif & Thorn | BICP)

I don't feel like I know any of the characters well enough to have a favorite yet! I know how they act on the surface -- so far Merlow is the most entertaining and Nocturne is the most aww-inducing -- but we haven't gotten into the depths yet. Anyone could become my official favorite with the right reveal.

Was Merlow actually "triggered" by Nocturne, or just upset? Important difference there! I took it as the standard fantasy trope of "these two species have a history of antagonism, but after fighting on the same side for a while they'll develop an Unlikely Bond, and discover that they are Not So Different After All."

Favorite scene so far, hands-down, this page. Perfect cinematic smash-cut, makes me laugh every time. http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/comics/22

...no elaborate backstory theories from me, pretty sure Guilded Age permanently ruined me for theorizing about fantasy comics. Just looking forward to seeing where things go.

Nutty (Court of Roses)

That's a really popular page lol!!!

keii4ii

I have yet to catch up with the archive, but omg that is an awesome-tastic page (and now I wish Discord had a horrible bleeding music note emote to go with this)

snuffysam

real talk? my favorite scene in the comic was this: http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/ not even technically a scene, but the two panels side by side of merlow drinking alone, followed by merlow having a good time with all his friends, just got me right there in the feelings instantly. and the way the panels link to the first and latest page respectively is a stroke of genius. instant hook.

besides that, my favorite scene is the one of diana, sven, and feliks banding together to stop the bandits. these three were at each others' throats a second ago, but having to fight off those attackers brought them closer together. and we got to see them performing as a band while doing it. really makes me look forward to more things to come with the protagonist quintet working together.

Nutty (Court of Roses)

That makes me so, so happy, Sam, I was really excited to make those and code them properly, and I'm happy they have such an impact. :3

RebelVampire

QUESTION 7. Which characters do you enjoy seeing interact the most? What about their dynamic interests you?

QUESTION 8. Do you think Merlow will ever meet his father or open up regarding the subject? What about Diana and her mother? Will something regarding Diana’s enchanted instrument and the history behind it come to play in the story?

RebelVampire

5) Favorite illustration is definitely this place. http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/comics/135/ I adore the particle effects, the change in colors and tone, and everything just works really well together. It's super awe inspiring to see Nocturne get a moment of badassery. <3 6) Feliks probably got banished for too many shenanigans. Since I'm pretty sure Feliks is a bit too comfy with spending nights in jail. As for Sven, I don't know. Maybe he's the one without some sort of tragic back story. Or maybe Sven has a tragic backstory but the tragedy of it all just flew over his head and he didn't notice. I do think there's gotta be at least something bad that drove his desire for justice. Like maybe he had a hero who died tragically or something. I don't know. But I do think Merlow and Feliks' past relationship is gonna drive some wedges. Cause Feliks seems like the type to go "well I've known Merlow longer than all you have" so ya know, everyone will be mad cause it can mean nothing while also being still true and itll just make everything awkward. And Merlow will make adorable faces and try to peace keep.

7) Merlow and Nocturne. They're both really different in terms of their relationship with being bards (or w/e Nocturne wants to call himself). And I think that their different viewpoints really bring out different sides to them that we wouldnt normally get to see. And theres no like bitter conflict either. Just two ppl filled with warm fuzzies trying to get to know each other and navigate the world. 8) Yes to both. The latter because I think he'll have to explain his past more in detail at some point, and that probably means telling everyone the circumstances of his birth. The former because wishful thinking cause there's nothing like meeting your long lost dad who went to get some milk and never came back. Diana too, of course, will probably have to talk about her mother who probably died tragically or, at the very least, when Diana was least prepared for it. I do think Diana's instrument will create conflict. In that someone will go, "Let's steal that enchanted weapon." And then it gets stolen and Diana freaks and everyone does bard battles to get it back for her.

Copper Mouflon

Been reading the comic and so far I'm really enjoying it! Didn't expect to as it's not what I usually read, but hey you kept me hooked and going for the next page! Absolutely loved http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/comics/118/ made me laugh out lout. There's obviously a lot of backstory in these characters and I'm curious to see where this will go!

Copper Mouflon

NNNooooo! I reached the end! Job well done! It only gets better as the story goes along, by the way, Nocturne is BAD ASS, but most of all I love who they all seem rather normal (in the context of the story) yet they all turn out to ... well be so awesome.

Nutty (Court of Roses)

:D!!!

RebelVampire

QUESTION 9. What sorts of art or story details have you noticed in the way the comic is crafted that you think deserves attention?

QUESTION 10. Besides getting hired for a murder investigation, what other consequences do you foresee for the group in regards to what happened at Saung? Will it gain them notoriety, or will it be swept under the rug?

RebelVampire

9) Honestly the detail I'm addicted to is Merlow's hair. Like I like the thought that goes into that colored bit of it, cause that seems like it'd be annoying to remember to include all the time. But more than that, I like seeing the fact that Merlow will actually undo the braid http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/comics/70/ . Like there's several scenes like this where theres recognition that hair isn't plastic and displaces and people don't wear their more elaborate styles to bed usually. It's a nice realistic depiction of how hair works in everyday life. 10) I 100% think they're gonna have some notoriety from it. Cause what makes a better story than some bards who beat up bad guys at a festival. Plus, I'm sure other important people will sing their praises as well. Of course, this notoriety doesn't always mean good. Like sure maybe the king's 2nd cousin's butler will hire them for a job, but now bandit dude's secret twin brother can come and exact revenge on them. It's gonna be a dual edged sword where benefit and trouble will both come looking for them all.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 11. What do you think are this particular comic’s strengths? What do you think makes this comic unique? Please elaborate.

QUESTION 12. Who do you think murdered the count and for what reason? Was there any specific reason the murder took place during the festival? Do you ultimately feel Merlow and company will be able to help?

Attila Polyák

Okay, so questions, yummy! 1, Definitely playing for the cats in the alley, buut the beginning of the bard festival was pretty cool as well. That said, I just feel like that scene grabs the essence of performance so well. I really liked it. 2, I feel like his demons are literal demons and they cause his nightmare, tho I have no idea how he met/got posessed by them. Connection to Nocturne? Probably looks, he is an infernal after all. 3, Torn between Merlow and Nocturne. Merlow is just an ultimate positive dude even tho his demons seem to be rather messed up and Nocturne. Well... He's just plain awesome. 4, I think Nocturne is in this state mostly because of his own decisions. While we do not know much about him, we do know that he is: Not a bard, Someone used to having money around but not in any fear of not being able to use it, Fond of music, Is, magically speaking, rather powerful, In general a sophisticated person, In possession of some rather unusual items. While these circumstances could mean a lot of things, my guess is that he's kindof an alchemist and he somehow traded his stamina for magical capabilities in pursue of another, probably greater, goal. 5, I think my favorite illustration is the middle panel on http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/comics/134/ but really anything on this and the next to pages are. Just. Pure. Awesome. 6, I don't think Merlow's earlier friendship will influence the rest of his relationships as he seems to be generally friendly with almost literally everyone. 7, Merlow and Nocturne. I just find it to be a cool friendship, even though there are quite a few hints that there should be some friction between them for very real and serious reasons. Also Merlow "fanboying" about cool music is just adorable to see. 8, For Merlow... Yes, and I wouldn't be surprised if the topic was very eeply connected to his demons. Diana and her mother... I donno, maybe, but I'm more leaning towards no right now, but it could still happen.

10, I think that being part of the murder investigation will literally mean that they will be doing less bard stuff, which is obvious, but considering that they specifically came to town for the bard contest, it's still a shame. Now... beating the bandits already started them on an inevitable ride to notority, and being involved in the investigaton of such an inportant murder case. That will also boost them on their personal hype trains'. 11, Imo the greatest strength of the comic is the simple fact that even though a lot of not so great things happen to the characters (being thrown out to the streets for night, a murder case, bandit raid, inner demons, etc...) both the characters and the general tone of the story manages to be very positive. That's kinda odd, because this should be like... a bit of a dissonance. But the positive tone is just, simply there. I'd attribute that mostly to how Merlow reacts to everyone around him, but still since we see the story mostly from his perspective it just shines through a lot. Even when he is in pain, literally at times, he just somehow manages to feel positive. 12, I'm really unsure about the murderer, but I kinda feel like it's somehow directly connected to Merlow. Thus I ultimately think that the party will be able to help, one way or another, but the entire situation still feels a bit hazy.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 13. What are you most looking forward to in the comic? Also, do you have any final thoughts to share overall?

QUESTION 14. Overall, do you think the new troupe of bards will be able to get along? What obstacles do you think there will be in them learning to cooperate with one another?

RebelVampire

11) While there are a lot of strengths, the one that stood out to me the most was the character designs. They're all so individualistic, yet each one is very specifically tailored to the character's personality. Like the minute I saw Merlow I was like "this is just a nice dude who maybe is a bit sensitive." and thats exactly what i feel like i got. and i always appreciate when the writing and visual design go hand in hand. 12) I think the count was murdered because nice counts disrupt the order of corruption and makes all the other nobles look back. As for the festival, yes. I actually think someone is trying to pin it on a bard. Especially if that bard's name is Merlow cause Merlow seems to have shitty luck. As for helping, I mean, I'm sure Merlow and company can find something. Although I personally feel like investigative wise Feliks and Nocturne are probably the best suited for the task. But hey the others can provide moral support?

13) I'm looking forward to just finding more out about Nocturne and why people seem to hate Nocturne's species. But just more Nocturne being fancy and classy is fine too. 14) I think the group will get along, but I think some relationships will fair better than others. Like I don't think Feliks and Sven are gonna become best pals anytime soon. And I kind of feel like Sven is gonna struggle fitting in cause he seems a lot more high energy than a lot of them can handle. Outside of that obstacle, I do also think that the biggest obstacle for them will be secrets. Cause they all seem to have something they want to hide, and hiding things from people who are supposed to be your allies can lead to bitter feelings. as everyone wonders why they arent trustworthy etc. etc. so i guess a better way to put it is trust will be their biggest obstacle, and that theyll have to accept a certain level of vulnerability.

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB END!

Thank you everyone so much for reading and chatting about Court of Roses this week! Please also give a special thank you to Kelsey Peterson for volunteering the comic and creating it! If you liked Court of Roses, make sure to continue to support it via some of the links below!

Read and Comment: http://courtofroses.thecomicseries.com/

Kelsey’s Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/kelseynuttyp

Kelsey’s Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/kelseynutty

Kelsey’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/CourtofRosesCmc

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #book club #bookclub #webcomic book club #webcomic bookclub #comic tea party #ctp #court of roses #kelsey peterson

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satire-please · 5 years

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Play is the Work of the Childhood

Summary: I once saw a fanart of Hua Cheng snuggling a kid Xie Lian. Therefore this fic was spawn.

Perhaps Xie Lian should have seen this coming.

After all, in his 800-year experience, what goes around, comes around. What misfortune you see and witness will eventually happen to you.

Life enjoys being fair in that aspect.

Still, he didn't expect to be in this position as a wave of green smoke bellows from the mouth of the monster he and Hua Cheng just fought, just slain, it rushing at him and encasing him in a smoggy fist.

For the vile creature's last attack, it shakes Xie Lian like a child throwing a tantrum before throwing him across the cave.

He smacks into the stone wall, the pain makes him gasp...and the smoke rushes into his mouth.

It burns.

His lungs, his head, his bones twisting, his skin shrinking.

"Dianxia!" Xie Lian hurts, his brain rattling in his skull but he can still hear the desperate panic in Hua Cheng's voice, the ring of steel clashing in the background. "Are you alright? Answer me!"

Xie Lian coughs a few times. His ears ringing, he collapses down the rock face disoriented and forces his eyes to open. Hua Cheng's form is blurry but he can tell the man is sprinting towards him. "I'm fine–"

"Your voice! What's happened to you?" What was wrong with his voice? Well, it does sound different. The tone is off. Higher, younger.

Oh no.

It couldn't be.

Xie Lian puts a hand to his throat and rubs it. He tries to prioritize. "It was just the monster's deathblow, a curse I think–"

Hua Cheng swears loudly.

"–But I'll recover, will you destroy the body? Its remains could still harm any that come across it. It would be unfortunate if the villagers still had trouble after they worked so hard to get us for help."

"Yes. It won't ever bother them or Dianxia ever again," Hua Cheng declares vindictively. "Where are you? I can't see you, the smoke refuses to clear."

"Here. Over here." Xie Lian calls. He tries to get up, but his legs catch in sometimes, he looks down to see what's the matter and finds entire lower body trapped in his robes. They tangle over his limbs oversized...why are they so big?

He knows why. Yet please allow him to deny it a little longer. The clues of his voice, his clothes and the small hand he brings to his face are obvious and sooner or later he must accept reality.

He's been changed.

The curse turned him younger...much, much younger.

"There you are! Let me take a look at you, we'll figure out the contents of the curse and break it to–" A red tunic fills the corner his vision and Xie turns toward it.

But his friend, no his companion, freezes in place.

The man is not even breathing. True neither of them need to breathe but Hua Cheng has always been very courteous to do so in the past, so it’s alarming for Xie Lian to see him stop. The demon king is a statue harder than any stone.

“San Lang?” Xie Lian attempts to free an arm from his tangled nest of fabric, but the large sleeve flops over his wrist. Hua Cheng is so tall. Then again everything is so much bigger from this point of view. “What's wrong? Did the creature hurt you too?”

Hua Cheng moves fast.

One moment he’s a few feet away, the next he’s crouched in front of Xie Lian, hands cupping his cheeks to verify that this image is no illusion. Xie Lian notes the coolness of that skin and how those fingers reach the back of his skull easily.

He blushes and glances to the side. Hua Cheng’s hands are one of his favorite things about his man.

“I am blessed.” Is the first thing the demon king says in a minute. His one eye drinking in every change to Xie Lian’s form, his head cocked to the side. “Huh. I never knew I wanted this.”

“Wanted what?” Xie tilts his face or tries to. In Hua Cheng’s tender hold the action has him leaning into his palm.

Hua Cheng makes a trapped sound at the back of his throat. "You're so little."

Xie Lian should take offense, but honestly, he is...little. He had always been a terribly small child once upon a time, or he supposes in the current present. He attempts to calculate his age based on appearances. He'd barely come up to Hua Cheng's hip, his arms are chubby, oh dear, he must be around five or six and his–

"Your hair is so short. Is this how you felt when I was transformed against my will?" Hua Cheng muses, fingers twisting in the dark locks that fall right below his chin. "I have every inclination to lock you up and do all that I must to protect you. You're beyond precious."

“Ah. Now I understand why you were so embarrassed. This is humiliating." Xie Lian murmurs in reply. Xie Lian view’s blocked by a curtain of black hair and there’s a cold press of lips on his forehead. “San Lang!”

“Sorry.” But then he feels the same sensation on his temple. “Excuse me.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks are not left alone. A pepper of kisses rain down on his nose and his eyelids and Xie Lian is going to die if his face gets any redder.

“S-Stop!”

“Must I? Very well.” Hua Cheng finally leans back on his heels, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. However, he keeps Xie Lian trapped in his embrace, especially as he stands up. Xie Lian’s tiny hands scramble for broad shoulders as he’s basically manipulated to sit on one arm, the other moving around his back protectively. “I apologize, I truly can't help myself, Gege. You are honestly the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

"You were just as cute. No, cuter!" Xie Lian pouts.

"I doubt it."

"You were!" He insists. Xie Lian watches Hua Cheng reach into his red coat for the dice. He tosses them up absentmindedly before the portal opens to the Paradise Manor.

“Nonsense, most considered me to be a vile and ugly child. They called me a feral cat.”

“I didn’t’!”

Hua Cheng smiled. “This is true. Only you.” And he kisses Xie Lian on the cheek again to end the argument.

The hallways echo with the sound of Hua Cheng's heavy boots before they enter the bedchambers, the closet.

It's larger than four Puji Shrines put together and a whimper leaves Xie Lian before he can stop it.

“Now let’s see what we can do about your clothes.” Good cheer has never been so menacing.

During the length of an incense stick or two Xie Lian is tortured with good taste. The large robes replaced with a barrage of outfits Hua Cheng fishes out of the abyss of the wardrobe.

It takes a while before Hua Cheng plants the new child in front of a mirror to work on the final details. The demon king is pleased to find that even a scowl on the younger face is adorable

“Is this really necessary?”

“Now, Dianxia it’s only fair and just. I recall when I was forced into child form, I couldn’t leave your arms for at least a day. You kept carrying me around and playing with my hair.”

It was soft. Who could blame the martial god?

"You were a treasure,” Xie Lian mutters.

“Yes, and now you’re mine. So enough objections and stay still enough to let me put this on.”

Well, Xie Lian can’t stop Hua Cheng from doing anything, not really, therefore he sighs and keeps his arms up as Hua Cheng fixes his sleeves. “I meant the clothes. This is a lot of work for a temporary situation. Where did you even get these?"

"Secret."

Xie Lian wrinkles his nose. The reflection shows the spitting image of his five-year-old self. In fact, he believes these are the exact same hair ornaments his own mother placed into his hair so long ago. A bright golden dragon with ruby eyes, glaring at all, perches on his head to keep his hair half up and out of his face.

All so Hua Cheng can cup, squeeze and poke his cheeks better.

Which he demonstrates.

Quite often.

It’s as if there’s a time limit to how long those fingers can stay away. Thirty seconds or less.

The mirror reveals a victim draped in layers of the finest silk, pictures of flowers and fighting scenes race across the fabric in dark heavy thread. His feet have matching slippers with twinkling small bells to give away his location immediately. He hates them. He shifts minutely and they ring. They sing. It’s been a long time since he’s been decked in such ridiculous finery.

Hua Cheng loves it.

“So this is how you were as a child.” Hua Cheng coos. Dressing him has taken over an hour, yet much to Xie Lian’s dismay instead of complaining, he seemed to relish picking out every single detail from what sash goes best, the golden one of course, to the bracelets and rings that cover Xie Lian’s fingers. He hums happily, “How did they ever let you out of the palace?”

“They didn’t.” Xie Lian was only allowed to start making public appearances at thirteen. And then only by his father’s side or securely placed in his mother’s lap. Just like how he's in Hua Cheng's now with a tug on the back of his robe so he falls right perfectly into the bowl those crossed legs make.

“I’ve been incredibly fortunate to see so many sides of you.” Xie Lian closes his eyes, Hua Cheng reflection is beaming. It’s unbearable. “My luck just keeps getting better and better if I get a chance to see you like this too.”

“San Lang, please! Do you ever tire of making me look like a tomato?” Honestly. Consider Xie Lian’s poor blood vessels.

“No.” Hua Cheng snuggles up to him, smugly rubbing his face into his soft fluffy hair. “Never. Tell me how you were like as a child?”

Xie Lian’s brows knit together in thought and then he answers honestly, “I was a brat.”

Helpless chuckles are muffled into his hair. “Oh really?” Xie Lian picks at the leather boots under him in retaliation, yet the arms around him just tighten.

“I was! I had rooms of toys–”

“And of swords?”

“Yes, and of swords too, they were separate chambers. I made castles out of gold leaf cards and demanded to continue sleeping with my mother far after it was considered appropriate.”

“Now that's a request I would never reject.”

Xie Lian smacks Hua Cheng’s arm with his tiny palm. It just makes the chest behind him shake more with glee.

“What else did you like to do?” Hua Cheng nuzzles the tiny god, the hair jewelry poking dangerously but he doesn't care. He adores how Xie Lian fits completely in his arms with this new size.

It's a good size. He loves this size.

Xie Lian chews on his lip. It was a long time ago. That part of his life barely a blur, a wisp of light if he concentrates too hard it'll flicker away. “I remember I used to like playing on the...swings.”

Hua Cheng’s whole posture straightens. “I need to find a swing set immediately.”

“That’s not important.”

“I assure you it’s suddenly very important. To me. I need to push you on the swings.” To Xie Lian's absolute dismay, the man gets up and his own feet dangle as Hua Cheng settles him over his shoulders. Like a father with a child. The dice reappear and rattle as they land in Hua Cheng's palm.

"Shouldn't we care about finding out how to break the curse first? That should be our first priority!" He's careful to rest his hands on the crown of Hua Cheng's head, making sure not to jostle the eyepatch.

"Later."

Xie Lian sighs and plops his chin on top of his hands exasperated. The moment Hua Cheng has left the Manor when they hit the street, the eyes of every nearby ghost bulge and pop.

No one can resist not saying anything.

"MY LORD WHEN DID YOU GET A CHILD?" The phrase has more heads whipping in their direction.

Over at a vendor, a ghoul squints and then screams, "WAIT, IS THAT GRAND UNCLE?"

Xie Lian doesn’t have any time to swear. Not when a twitter of painted ladies screech and bombard the pair, "LET US TOUCH HIM. HE'S SO PRETTY. HOW DID HE GET SO SMALL?"

"A curse," Hua Cheng says. "And no. You do not get to touch him."

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly more merge with their group, it becoming in a strange parade as the curious trail behind them. There are hunched goblins with moldy green skin that run a few paces before giggling at the sight. Ghost flames that hover playfully darting here and there. From the willow female sirens to the largest ogre they fall in line with brightest horrible grins. A few offer Xie Lian odd sweets made from rather questionable ingredients.

"TRY THIS LITTLE GRAND UNCLE, MY SUGAR SPIDER WEBS ARE THE BEST!"

"NO HE'S TOO SCRAWNY, HE NEEDS MORE MEAT ON THOSE BONES. HERE. HAVE MY ARM! I DIPPED IT IN CARMEL FOR YOU."

Others wave an assortment of meat buns as close as they dare since no one has forgotten that one time in the gambler's den.

“COME ON, EAT SOMETHING PLEASE! OH, YOUR FACE IS SO CUTE. LOOK UP FOR US SOME MORE." Xie Lian firmly buries his face into Hua Cheng's hair and shakes it back and forth.

"Make them stop." He begs. “Please.”

Hua Cheng hums. "Now, now don’t ruin their fun Gege. We've become a proper Ghost Parade by now. Why I don't think I could stop them even if I tried. You know how they get when you 'visit,’ you're just that popular."

Xie Lian groans.

"WHERE ARE WE GOING, MY LORD?"

Hua Cheng's eye twinkles. "Your dear Grand Uncle has told me he used to like playing on the swings, so we are on a quest to find them. Any idea where we may find some nearby?"

The colorful crowd goes wild. "SWINGS? DOES ANYBODY KNOW ABOUT SWINGS?”

“NAH!”

“NO.”

“I’VE GOT AN IDEA. WE CAN MAKE SOME. RIGHT NOW. DON'T MOVE."

In seconds what used to be a simple plaza becomes the weirdest playground Xie Lian has ever seen. The 'swings' are made from chains the large monster butchers carry around and they connect to three or four large thighbones tied together with pretty silk ribbons.

Xie Lian hopes those bones are not human.

Let him hope.

Hopes are dashed when they tell him they were very enthusiastically donated.

Hua Cheng slowly settles him on swings and makes sure his fingers are wrapped around the chains securely. He fusses before pulling the swing back with a few steps. The crowd cheers.

Xie Lian wants to die.

He feels another kiss to his temple and huffs with a twist to his lips. He guesses he should let Hua Cheng have his own fun and amusement at his expense. He did when the demon was a child. And perhaps he shouldn’t ruin the entertainment the ghost inhabitants somehow crave. As lame as it is. Who wants to watch a child being pushed to extreme heights on a gory swingset?

But he did...really like the swings.

“Are you ready to fly, Little Prince?”

"Are you going to let me touch the ground anytime soon?"

"Nope."

And Xie Lian should have seen that coming too. Oh well. They’ll find the cure to this aliment...eventually.

“Then let’s see how high you can make me go. Can you make me ascend a fourth time, San Lang?” He dares.

Hua Cheng’s fingers tighten on the chains above his, a wicked smile in voice. “There’s only one way to find out, Dianxia.”

Only the ghost city witnesses the figure in white and silk fly so high but their master never lets the small boy fall.

Not once.

Not ever.

#tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #my writing #kid fic #fluff

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antiquechampagne · 5 years

Text

Divine Inspiration

The morning breeze carried the honeyed scent of the nearby roses mixed with fresh earth through Barbara’s open window. She woke early, just as the sun warmed the horizon to get a start on the day’s baking. Taking stock of her wares, she realized a trip to the trader was in order. After the first batch of pretzels was out of the oven and cooling, she made her way over.

“Good morrow, Barbara! What do you need today?” Kornelius saddled up to the table laden with wares.

“Can I get a bag of flour, please?”

“Sure thing. Anything else? Maybe some salt? Sugar?” His words had a bit of a sting to them and he knew it. Barbara’s reputation preceded her, as it did everywhere in Pribyslavitz.

She huffed.

“Just the flour, then.” Groschen quickly changed hands.

Barbara headed back to her shop, her cheeks burning.

She puttered around the shop, keeping her hands busy while her mind stewed. Sugar! Really?! She could bake dozens of pretzels faster than anyone around could and they tasted exquisite… but there was one thing that eluded her. One prize that seemed forever out of her reach… she could not for the life of her bake a proper biscuit. Every time she tried, she would end up with a lump of pallid flavorless dough or a burned chunk of coal. She had all but given up ever figuring out how to create a sweet treat.

The bell above the door rang as a familiar customer entered. Barbara managed to have a smile by the time he greeted her.

“God save you, Tom.”

“And you.” He eyed her wares while stroking his luxuriously thick mustache. If it wasn’t for all the dice he played, Barbara would have considered Tom to be quite a catch. She forced herself to focus. No use getting distracted in front of a customer.

He picked up a fresh pretzel after haggling for a minute. As he popped a corner in his mouth, his finger raised up as if remembering something important. “Just a fair warning,” He mumbled in between bites. “The bailiff might be on his way. I saw him walking down the road.”

Barbara’s heart sank. She thanked Tom for his patronage as she ushered him out of the shop. Peeking beyond her door, she saw the Bailiff’s silhouette far down the rutty road. His armor shone as he waved a greeting to the people passing him in the street.

Barbara slammed the door shut, pressing herself against the wood. She wasn't ready to endure the bailiff and his incipient disappointment again. It was like this endless ritual. He would burst through her door, scrutinize her offerings and then leave in a huff over the lack of sweet confections—day after day.

She couldn't deal with it today—it was just too much. Barbara opened the door a sliver to spy the Bailiff jovially entering another shop across. Now was her chance. She slipped out and bolted the door behind her.

Her nerves were raw. Perhaps a nice walk in the woods could soothe her. The minutes trickled in a steady stream. She felt that the farther she wandered from home, the calmer her spirit became. She knew not to ramble too far. Bandits and Cumans hid in the woods to attack unlucky travelers. The sun rose high in the sky, its warmth pressing its balmy weight on her shoulders.

At an intersection, a familiar conciliation cross greeted her. Needing a rest, she sat on a nearby log. She thought long and hard about all the biscuit recipes she had tried over the year she had been the baker in Pribyslavitz, and each time she failed. Barbara offered a heartfelt prayer that God would somehow grant her the grace to finally create an eatable confection.

Rested, she rose to continue her stroll when her foot caught on something in the grass. Stumbling, she landed on her knees.

"Damn it." At least the bailiff wasn't around to see her fail again.

Before she could rise to her feet, her eyes fell upon the object that had tripped her. To her surprise, she spied a wooden box wedged beneath the log where she had sat. Intrigued, she tried to pull it free, but it refused to budge. After giving the log a good shove with her shoulder, she managed to free the box, pulling it onto her lap.

Barbara felt compelled by some outside force to open it. Luckily, the lock had long since rusted away, leaving it easy to pop open with a deft thump with a nearby rock. Lifting the lid, she found a single book. Its leather cover was intricately carved ivy with tufts of feathery wheat intertwined. In the center, crowned with a buzzing beehive, was a stately oven surrounded by loaves of bread, cakes, and buns.

Barbara delicately opened the book to pages filled with beautiful script and dotted with numerous detailed illuminations.

She cursed under her breath. She had no bloody idea how to read.

---

By the time she had returned home, she was exhausted, though more mentally than physically. Opening her shop, she soon found a rush of people through her door. She figured most were trying to finish their daily shopping and she had become their last stop to get a few loaves before heading home for supper. Happily, Barbara realized as she closed for the night that the bailiff seemed to have better things to do than food shopping.

Her mind returned to the mysterious book. She turned the pages absentmindedly as she ate her own dinner of lentil mash and hearty bread, studying the drawings to see if they held any clues to the contents of the pages. Unfortunately, none were forthcoming.

Discouraged, Barbara pondered about who might help her decipher the text... without charging too much. She spent the remainder of the night cleaning the shop before heading to bed, the book tucked neatly beneath her pillow. She would have to find a safer hiding spot for such a valuable item, but until then she wasn't going to leave it too far from her side.

As the pale moon arched across the sky, Barbara began to dream. She found herself in a quiet chapel in the woods surrounded by dozens of frozen figures, stately frescos staring at her with their unmoving eyes.

The belching blast of an alien-sounding trumpet abruptly broke the silence. Startled, Barbara looked up to see the wall glowing with a golden light. Out stepped a figure.

“Quiet, Boris,” it said. “And go and get a tissue.”

“Who are you?” Barbara blurted.

“I am Saint Honoratus of Amiens!”

Barbara quickly crossed herself as she knelt, bowing her head. God had truly sent her a boon in the patron saint of bakers. In their right hand, they held a golden baker’s shovel.

“Glory be to God! He has sent me a sign!”

"To be honest, we thought the recipe book would be enough. We normally don't send anyone on a personal intervention like this but someone forgot to check if to see if you could read."

The trumpet emitted an annoyed-sounding blurt. Barbara looked away confused, feeling she might be intruding on some otherworldly spat.

"But that is neither here nor there," the saint continued. They lowered the golden shovel to reveal a trio of perfectly round pale biscuits. A small heart cut in the middle exposed a red center. "These, Barbara—Baker of Biscuit Town—are Jammie Dodgers. These are God's gift to you."

A holy hand burned Barbara's forehead.

---

Barbara woke with a start, gasping as her mind buzzed and churned with godly knowledge. Even though the sun had yet to start to rise, Barbara began to prepare. She found her larder filled with every ingredient she needed, even though part of her knew she had never seen some of them in any market. As the town woke around her, she hardly noticed the bustling outside her windows as she stirred and mixed, kneaded and baked.

She pulled sheets and sheets from the oven, soon realizing she had nowhere to place the hot biscuits to cool. Looking around, the only place to put them was her display tables... which were still filled with yesterday’s leftover pretzels. In a fit, she opened a shutter and tossed them all into the street, her only worry the creation of these divinely perfect confections.

Like a woman possessed, she worked tirelessly, forgoing food and water in her quest. She wiped sweat from her eyes as she positioned each faultless biscuit on her table.

Suddenly, the bailiff burst into the bakery.

"It's I, Henry! Bailiff of Biscuit To-" Henry stopped, his boisterous entrance arrested by a wall of sweet-smelling treats. His eyes went wide as scanned the table laden with row after row of shortbread framed red hearts.

"Barbara?" he gasped. "What are these?"

Barbara puffed up with pride. "Why, Sir Henry, have you never seen a biscuit before?" She couldn't help but direct a small jab at the bailiff, but he seemed too shocked to notice. He stood, unmoving. "Well, try one, good man! You shan't leave me in suspense any longer!"

Henry carefully took a bite, crumbs catching in his bushy beard. Barbara held her breath. In her fervor, she had forgotten to actually taste the biscuits as she was creating them.

A huge grin spread across Henry's face. "At last, we have a proper biscuit in Biscuit Town! God be praised!"

---

Author’s Notes: I wrote this fic for a wonderful Youtuber (Sexy Biscuit) who does a great job of showcasing Kingdom Come: Deliverance. Their channel is amazing, as well as the game. They bemoaned that there was barely any fan fic out there for KCD, so I wrote them some. I hope they enjoy it!

#fan fic #fanfic #kingdom come: deliverance #kcd #henry #barbara #biscuit town #sexy biscuit

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dangan-your-ronpa-imagines-blog · 6 years

Text

V3 Boys First Kiss Headcanon Part 1

I’m going to divide this ask into two parts because it’s honestly kinda long and for the moments I don’t really have anything for the other boys left.

Also, I’m not really sure if I made this like a headcanon or an imagine, so yeah that’s that. Hope you enjoy this part and I’ll try to post part two soon!

- Mod Kaede

Shuichi Saihara

Oh, he is SO not ready for this!

To say Saihara was nervous would be an understatement.

He’s never kissed anyone before! What if he messes up the kiss and you break up with him?!

No no, Saihara. You’re being inrrational…

It could still happen though.

He never read any romance books before either, so he didn’t exactly know how to put the whole… Romantic scenerie. He even asked some of his friends for help, namely Kaede and Kaito, his two ‘hopeless romantic’ friends, as the others so nicely put it. He also asked Amami since he seemed to know one or two things about romanticism.

“Awww, Shuichi! That’s so sweet! But just be yourself and everything will go fine!” “Haha! You called the right guy for the job, Shuichi! Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, is a master of romaticism, after all!” “Ah, I’m sure I can give you a few tips on how not to mess it up... I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Just don’t worry too much and you’ll be fine, you have your own charms.”

Yeah he kind of regretted have called them all at once, but they were kind of useful, a few more than others, actually...

After everything was done, he called you to get ready because he was going to take you to a nice dinner night at a fancy restaurant. Wow!

He came to pick you up and he was lookng more... anxious tan usual. His hands were also sweaty… More sweaty.

You guys got to the restaurant and ate a satisfying meal, Saihara kept on stuttering and blushing and it got to a point where you couldn’t even understand him anymore, he said he was fine though.

After dinner you guys went on a nice walk on the park, it was getting kind of cold so Saihara offered you his jacket which you gladly accepted.

More time passed and you guys decided to call it a day and he escorted you back home.

Once at your front door you held his hands and started to say how lovely the night was, Saihara couldn’t help but stare at your lips for a little. They looked so soft, they probably are...

It was time? I mean, it looked like the perfect time to do it, right? Oh, he could hear Kaede, Kaito and Amami chanting “do it, do it, do it” in the distance…

He leaned a bit closer, mustering up the courage to finally kiss you- but he chickened up. He wasn’t ready to do it. He’s not man enough to take the first step. He could already feel his three friends scolding him, mostly Kaito.

But as if reading his mind, you suddenly leaned closer to him and-

G a s p!

“It was lovely night, Shuichi! I hope we can repeat it soon!” And you closed the door.

Saihara was struck into silence, just staring at the door, eyes wide open, face glowing red. He couldn’t believe it! You kissed him! And- It, it felt really good, too…

...he would like to repeat that…

Kaito Momota

Oh, he is SO ready for this!

He has the whole night planned out! It was a perfect night!

Training, then eat some snacks, then training again, and then stargazing!

Heh, nailed it.

You’ve been dating for one month now and Kaito doesn’t even know how could he managed not to kiss you on the lips for so long!

But today was the day! You finally will get to kiss an amazing astronaut such as himself, the great Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars!

He’s going to impress you by doing One. Hundred. Push-ups! Isn’t that cool?!

You’re gonna be so impressed! And to top it all off, he’s going to Kiss you! And no, not on the cheek or the forehead, kiss you on the lips! And it’s gonna be the most perfectly smooth best kiss you’ll ever had!

His exact words.

This night is gonna be the best night of your life, with the best boyfriend you ever had, and with the best kiss as the cherry on top.

Or so he thinks.

Or so he thought.

When the night strikes, he calls you over to do your daily workout rutine.

And his fool-proof plan is set in motion.

Unfortunately, you can’t make a fool-proof plan if it’s made by a fool.

Instead of one hundred push-ups, or even his normally fifty push-ups, he does twenty because in the middle of it he felt exhausted, got a cramp, and lied there on the grass of his backyard while telling you to keep doing your push-ups whilst feeling ashamed of himself.

And when it was time for the snacks, he went to open the bag of chips only to accidentaly rip it open and make all the chips fall to the ground.

R.I.P Chips. You will be missed

And when the second training session begun, this time with sit-ups, he literally couldn’t even do one because he got a cramp on his leg.

So the night was going great.

But do not fret for our little astronaut! For it was time to do the one thing he couldn’t fail at.

S t a r g a z i n g!

It was also the last part of his ‘plan to give S/O the best kiss of their life and be the best boyfriend in the world’, so he had to do this one right!

With you sitting beside him, and the starry night sky above your heads, he knew it was the moment. Now or never!

“Hey, S/O, look at me for a sec.” he caught your attention. “Yeah? What is it, Kaito?”

You both were now face-to-face with each other. Your beautiful eyes staring at his. He moved closer, trying to keep on a straight face and maintain serious and compose. Trying but failing to keep his nerves in check, then - in a fit of energy - instead of going in for the kiss smoothly, like in the movies, he makes you butt heads- foreheads more likely. Really hard.

In the end of the day, you and Kaito ended up sitting on the sofá with icepacks pressed on your foreheads.

Sadly for the hopeless romantic known as Kaito, he didn’t actually got to kiss you - unless you can count bumping foreheads as a kiss - but there’s always a second time to try it! ...or a third time..

Rantaro Amami

Yeah, he’s chill.

I mean, he’s Rantaro “The Suave” Amami, the coolheaded, and charming yet cryptic boy who is desired for many girls and boys alike, what did you expect him to be?

What, did you expected him to be all stressed out and having inside fits of rage because he can’t kiss you because everytime he tries to some unexplainable thing happens that just completely kills off the whole mood he created to make his first kiss with you the best for the both of you? Pfft, as if.

….

Okay, maaaybe there is a tiny chance of him being a little, widdle bit mad by the apparent bad luck around your romatic moments. But he won’t let it show its face!

...In front of you, that is.

He just really wants to kiss you, and he knows you want to kiss him too- you said it once out of frustation after Ouma interrupted the pair of you by spilling panta on you!

Luckily, there is one person Amami can let all his frustations out with, aside from you, and that person is his bestie that knows how to talk about feelings without being cryptic about it or mentioning a dead relative- Kaede! His first and most trustworthy friend, the one who tried to befriend him when the others didn’t know how to approach him and his cryptics and shady words.

Also the one who sometimes helps him make the romantic scenery.

Kaede is well aware of Amami’s attempts to kiss you, and of said attempts being interrupted by the recurrent classmate appearing at the wrong time, or the current troubles a white-haired upperclassman’s luck causes.

So she has a plan to make you both finally kiss with no interruptions!

It’s very simple, really. But hey, it could still work and at this point, you’ll try anything!

It all happens at school, before the last period.

Kaede guides you and Amami to her research lab, once there you saw how Kaede had made everything look like a scene straight rip-off an old, cheesy movie.

“Alright! If you stay here while everyone else is in class, that’ll give you some privacy. I’ll also lock the door and make up some excuse for you guys so you won’t have to worry about anyone coming in and ruining the moment. You’ll be able to be all romantic and lovey-dovey! So wait here ‘til I come back, and once I’m back I wanna hear that you two finally kissed, okay?!”

Then she puts everyone’s favorite Clair de lune by Debussy on the disc player before promptly leaving and locking the door, and leaving two lovebirds midly confused.

“..I like it that she wants to help but... maybe she didn’t needed to lock the door,” “Hey, you never know anymore. With our luck, even Koichi could come through that door to drink, get wasted, and escape from his students.” “Haha, yeah… Kaede really did put a lot of effort in this, didn’t she?” “Well, you do say she’s a hopeless romantic, ‘sides, this looks really nice.” “Yeah, really nice..”

There was a moment of silence after that, only you and Amami staring at each other’s eyes lovingly, slowly getting closer and closer to each other’s faces, until they were only inches away of each other, your lips almost touching.

This was the moment he was waiting for. A moment of peace, with no interruptions, no classmates causing ruckus and getting you two involve somehow.

Just you and Amami, enjoying each other’s company as he caresses your cheek with one hand and finally closes the gap between you.

Kokichi Ouma

Alright guys what the actual heck-

There are so many things annoying him right now.

He tries to kiss you at school, he can’t. Why? Because some blonde bitch keeps bothering him with nicknames and whatnot.

He tries to kiss you at DICE’s hideout - that he thought was a good idea to begin with -, he can’t. Why? Because DICE members keep playing pranks on him and/or you because of some prank war between them that you happened to get caught in the crossfire.

He tries to kiss you at home, he can’t. Why? Because either he gets a call from DICE to attend some issues, or you are too busy with work to pay any attention to him, which ultimately hurts him.

HE TRIES TO KISS YOU IN HIS SLEEP AND ENDS UP DROOLING ALL OVER YOUR HAIR-

So yeah, you guys are not allowed to kiss, apparently. That’s how the universe wants it, that’s how the universe’s gonna have it.

But, oh no. What’s this? The great and dreaded Kokichi Ouma will not stand this kind of insult from the universe!

He is the Ultimate Supreme Leader, he is better than the universe, he is above the universe. He will kiss you even if that creates a dark hole in the universe and destroys the Earth.

Alright honey let’s not take it that far-

He has a plan. An eerily simple plan.

Ask the DICE members to stop screwing with his attempts to kiss you if they don’t want him to dispose of all of their rubber chickens, pies, masks, beautifully fashionable scarves and Panta for eternity because honestly, he is to this of this bulshit (cockblocking, how Miu calls it), and he’s usually the one making people feel like this, not the other way around, so this is new. He won’t let you see it though.

As for the kiss, it was rather playful. Kokichi’s way.

He made you chase him through DICE’s headquarters, as though you were playing Tag, at one point you lost sight of him and when you were about to give up-

B A M!

Tackled to the ground by your little purple gremlin, who was laughing and complaining about how easy you gave up on finding him, because apparently you started to play hide-and-seek at some point.

As you were about to tell him to get off of you, he saw his chance and kissed you- so suddenly!

You were taken aback by that, but didn’t pull away. A few seconds passed and Ouma pulled away from the kiss with a classic ‘nishishi’ escaping his mouth as he got up. Taking a look at his face, he looked satisfied, relieved even.

Was he really expecting that kiss so much?

Bonus for Saihara’s one:

In the distance, hidden in some bushes, the certain friends of a certain detective are watching over him.

“Haha! I knew he’d do it! That’s my side- Wha?! He’s backing off?!”

“Oh, Shuichi… Remember our training!”

“Hm. Guess he wasn’t read- Oh?”

“Oh?!”

“Oh! I knew they’d be the one to make the move! Go Y/N!”

“Looks like someone took the initiative.”

“I gotta teach Shuichi how to not chicken up when you’re making your big move, that’s for sure. At least he got what he was aiming for, though.”

“I think our job is done, let’s call it a day?”

The three nod in agreement before being going to a suddenly-planned stargazing night, suggested by Kaito.

#mod kaede #ndrv3 #drv3 #boys #request #shuichi saihara #rantaro amami #kaito momota #kokichi ouma #fluff #imagine #headcanon #danganronpa

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