#no clue if I’ll get the handwriting correct

[tlouramblings]

Just wanted to share a piece of merch I recently got, a sticker from TarynPlattArt on Etsy! This is one of my favorite scenes from Part 2! So happy to own a piece of merch of it!

#my camera quality sucks #next I’m going to attempt to DIY the cassette Joel gives her for her birthday #no clue if I’ll get the handwriting correct #tlou 2 spoilers #the last of us #ellie williams #joel miller #tlou #the last of us part 2 spoilers #tlou 2 #tlou spoilers

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

Like a Worm on a String | Erik A | Trial 5.2 | Re: Kenshin, END, Byrne, Akito | ATTN: Akito

First, Erik A looks to Adrik with a small frown at the mocking look on their face for That of all things, instead of the actual awful shit the hosts had done. But… for now, there were more important matters to figure out. He shakes his head in particular to some of what Kenshin says first.

  “I do have one thing to correct there, in that… I’m not sure if all of us were being tested as a potential ‘Vessel’, because it sounds like they already found one, and the woman who was picked was lying in the cell room. I guess she was also in the VR, and Jae-min said something about… her knowing about things that ER1K4 had done…? 

Point is, I still think that she might be the replacement ‘vessel’ they found, so the experiment they were doing NOW is… to find a replacement for all of the other color coded subjects that were raised for the project maybe? They seemed to want that same ‘ideal’ number, so… I can only assume at least. We didn’t find a clear explanation for WHY that’s happening, but… I mean, I can assume some things based on who’s running this.” 

He also gives a glance to a bit about what END said the post before last-

  “And thanks for the explanation- I wasn’t kidding when I said that that taser only has one tase between charges though, I’ve messed with it some before I passed it on to Erisu. So… if there were two uses, and the charger was THERE… was the pillow other people mentioned being burnt just… a test use of it then??? In the lobby???” He’s not sure if that makes sense, but it’s his best guess. Not like he saw it himself.

And then there’s Akito talking and… oh. Everything that Byrne says hits hard, and he can tell that even just expressing this much is painful for him to. Erik A gives a nod, acknowledging what he’s shared. Breath, Byrne…

  “...I can’t say I can defend everything that Akito’s said before, so I’m not going to try about that. I know… I know there’s been a lot of heart between you both and I’ll admit, that does sound suspicious to know, so it makes sense that you’d find it that way. I could say it could have been from other things or him just getting lucky, but I… would hope that now of all times we can get a real answer for that, for my peace of mind too if there is one. I know that I also knew shit about Eureka that I probably shouldn’t have, right? So… I dunno, it’s not impossible that it’s for a more benign reason too. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, especially when I was also able to get at least… part of that myself, even if not anything as detailed as that.”

 He takes a deep breath.

“Personally, I don’t think Akito did this. Or, at the very least, I don’t think he’s Az-8, and I’d… Like to trust be able to trust him on more than that too because I’m not sure how a third party would have gotten into things to kill Erisu otherwise. Because… I mean, it’s almost glaringly obvious that he’s suspicious, right? With the clues that we found. I don’t want to speak for him too much here, but the receipt for those items were about things I did in fact get in the gacha. The fact that… something that looked like his thermos and breath mints were by the surveillance cameras. The fact that the letter that Jae-min saw in VR by apparently matched Akito’s handwriting, and what END already said about who the ‘Vessel’ is supposed to be. It feels almost too easy, like they were left out on purpose. But I know we need to figure out more anything else about that.”

“If I’m wrong, if he has been stringing me along this entire time, I… I guess I’ll accept that if there’s actually way to prove it. But fuck, as it stands, I think it’s a hell of a lot more likely that he’s being framed for this for a number of reasons, and I’ve been trying my best to have some kind of level of faith for a while now because of a couple of things. I know we’ve talked about the possibility of this happening before, too.”

And a lot of those reasons, were… things that were personal too, weren’t they? Erik A turns to Akito, 

  “Do you remember what I told you once? About… letting more people in on whatever things you want to take on by yourself, because it can look more suspicious for you to not?? I know you think it would be more suspicious to let people know more things, and it can be sometimes, but now of all times where you’re already being looked at with it, some truth would be real nice.”

There are things he can say, but… coming from Akito himself with what he’s actually willing to say, Erik A thinks it’d be a lot better. 

Finally, he turns to END again, and gives a somber nod. He knows what she means, having talked about it already 

  “Yeah. The Kaleidoscope Project… It sounded like for all of those test subjects raised from before they were even born, it was intended for all but one of them to physically die, the last to have their mind presumably altered to house everything else. I don’t know how much they knew about all of that before recently, because it’s clear from TEXTS and interaction that Weiss… definitely only found out and tried to get away before of it in more recent years, before the Erika Foundation clearly caused what happened to him and then kept him in a medical coma for quite a fucking while.

An… and Calluna, and probably Az-8. I can only assume they were trying to escape that fate for themselves by bringing other people into it. Whatever the cost for survival, right? But now, we’re stuck in the same mess because of that.”

A rat in a maze making other rats run a maze, as he’d talked about with An once. Of course he can’t blame them for wanting out of that. But he can still be pissed about being dragged in alongside them.

#Erik A #chapter5 #trial5 #submission

[age-of-portal-masters]

4 - A Zombie Girl’s Wish

The chill of midnight stung Seth’s face. He had no clue how damned cold Fantasm Forest got at night, and was a little unprepared. This note was the only thing keeping him going. Sure, he had no way to power a resurrection, and this wasn’t even the correct grave site. But it was all he had to go on. So, he must persist.

He stumbled into the vine infested edges of the Verdant Lands, and came face to branch with an imposing, drooping tree. At its base, a crevice seemed to have been dug a very long time ago. It was nothing but a pit of tall grass. Seth hacked at the grass with his pocket knife. Caked in sweat, he unearthed a wooden casket. He braced himself to see the contents.

It was empty.

No, no, no. This can’t be. There should be a body here. But it has been hundreds of years. Someone else must have found it before me. Infuriated, Seth kicked the casket to pieces. This was a waste of time. How useless.

“Who the hell are you!?” a voice carried through the wind. The ferocity of the voice scared the wind still. 

Seth nervously turned around, preparing his face. “Ah, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here- By the Ancients! What are you?” 

A short blue skinned girl stood there. Her hair was a disgusting shade of hot pink, but even more revolting than that was the smell. She smelled like decay, and her clothes were tattered. 

“You need to leave here. Now.”

Seth wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Now, what have I done to offend you so badly? I’m very sorry for disturbing you tonight ma’am.”

 “Like hell you are. You went and destroyed my bed. What if I walked into your house and ripped your possessions to shreds?!”

 Oh. “That’s… a casket over there though? I’m confused.” 

“Shut up! Shut up! I don’t want to see your ugly mug around here again! Now get the hell out of here!”

“Wait, wait a second,” Seth hurriedly fished the note out of his bag. “Is this your handwriting?”

The decaying girl stopped shouting, but she was visibly angrier. “Why, that- how do you have this?! My lady? Pft, how goddamned naive can someone be?” But the anger morphed into tears. “Why did I trust her…”

 Seth had no interest in playing friendly with the zombie girl, but he became intrigued by her tale. 

“Virtue lied. At least, she lied to me. I laid in my box waiting for the sleep to pass over. But she came at night and poisoned me. I am not dead. I am not alive. I am stuck in limbo, endlessly enraged with no end to be seen,” the girl said. “Virtue stole everything from me. I don’t remember writing this note. I don’t remember her. Just that broken promise. And her sick, sick face.”

“How cruel of a fate she has damned you to,” Seth was still thinking of a way to salvage the situation. He wasn’t expecting to walk out with anything but a corpse. Luckily, however, the occupant of the casket was communicative! Finally, progress. “You can’t even remember your name.” He mused further. Then, Seth decided on an approach. “Do you want to take revenge?”

“On Virtue? I doubt it’s even possible. You have no idea how powerful she is. Or, was, rather.”

Seth faked a consoling face. “She’s also buried somewhere we can’t access. No, I ask if you want to join me. Let’s burn the Skylands to the ground together. You didn’t stay here for hundreds of years willingly, did you?” 

 “...I was chased out of every town I entered. I was desperate for help from any healer I could find. But I was harassed and hurt with every attempt. So yeah, let’s burn this world to ashes.” Her face formed a mischievous smile.

Seth thought to himself. Just one incomplete Outlaw isn’t going to be enough to stop the Skylanders. I’ll need to find others. He needed more information. “What about the ‘others’ mentioned in the note? Do you remember them?”

“Not personally, no. Maybe I did at some point. Get me out of this forest and put a map in my hands and I might be able to find one or two resting places.”

“Good idea. Let’s jog your memory… but first,” Seth flipped his pocket lighter open, and hovered a grass blade above. “Let’s make a REAL good show!” 

Seth would never return to the Kaos’ manor again.

#skylanders #oc #fanfic #tw decay mention

[specialagentsergio]

love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”  

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #tattoos rlly are a rabbit hole for some of us like i already have an appointment for my second one lol

[mediocre-writerr]

don’t blame me [emily prentiss]

emily prentiss x fem reader

requested: i have a emily prentiss request! reader and emily have been fighting and something happens to the both of them and they make up at the end

“Emily please!” you placed your head in your hands as you were having yet another argument in your shared apartment.

You took a deep breath as she started yelling again, “What Y/N?! Are you cheating on me with Spencer?” 

“What?” you ask, giving her an incredulous look. 

“You two have been awfully close lately.” she points out.

Spencer has always been your best friend. Ever since you joined the BAU together and being the youngest out of the pack. The two of you grew an instant bond despite all of his annoying knowledge. 

“We’ve always been close Em! Do you really not trust me that much?” you ask, looking up at her. 

She just stood there unsure of what to say. But the silence said it all, she didn’t trust you. 

“We’ve been dating for almost a year now and you don’t trust me. Got it.” you whisper, getting up to pack an overnight bag. 

Emily didn’t say anything. She just stood there and watched. Tears stinging her eyes. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow at work. I’ll be at JJ’s.” you whisper, leaving the apartment.

Emily didn’t know what to say. She was running thoughts through her mind. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. This was the longest relationship she’s ever been in (Doyle does not count). 

I guess she was scared. She didn’t want to ruin it so she was self-exploding the relationship herself. Making Y/N hate her until she eventually runs off so she doesn’t have to deal with the pain of Y/N breaking up with her on her own.

You found yourself at JJ and Will’s house, knocking on their front door. 

JJ opened the door confused, but with a small smile on her face, “Y/N, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” 

“Emily and I got into another fight. She thinks I’m cheating on her with Spence.” you say, “Can I stay here tonight?” 

“Of course. Come in, we can talk more about it here.” she whispers. 

Will comes down the stairs, “Hey Y/N, it’s nice to see you again...” 

He continued talking, but you couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. So you stuck with the pleasantries, “It’s good to see you too.” 

JJ poured the two of you a glass of wine as you curled up onto the couch. Henry came running into your lap when he saw you on the way to say goodnight to his mom. 

“Hey bud!” you say ruffling his blonde hair. 

“Hi.” he whispers meekly as you gave him a squeeze. 

You smile at the boy as he hugs his mom goodnight. 

You start to explain everything to her from the past week of the two of you just going at each other’s throats. And even though you were a part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you had a hard time reading Emily. 

Or anyone who wasn’t a killer/kidnapper/arsonist. 

“Y/N, remember that this is her first actual long-term relationship?” JJ says giving her a piece of the puzzle and you nod not understanding her point, “And you know that her relationships haven’t quite worked out in the past?”

“Mhm, I don’t see your point.” you say, completely clueless.

“You do work the BAU correct?” JJ asks laughing. 

You roll your eyes softly, “Duh.” 

“I think you should talk to her. Just ask her what’s going on and go from there.” she suggests and you nod, “Get some rest, we don’t know when Hotch is gonna call.” 

You didn’t understand what JJ was trying to get at. Emily was the best thing that ever happened to you and you would never break her heart in anyway. But the past few days she’s been breaking your heart.

Something she always promised she wouldn’t do.

As JJ expected not even three hours into your sleep, you were woken up by a phone call from Hotch talking about some unsub in Newport, Rhode Island. 

The two of you slowly got ready as the lack of sleep the two of you were experiencing was apparent. JJ drove you two to the BAU headquarters. As you exited the elevator Penelope held a drink carrier in her hand full of hot coffee.

“Thank you.” you whisper to Penelope, shooting her a grateful smile and patting her back. 

As you went into the briefing room, Emily was already sitting there next to Derek. Spencer was also sitting there across from Em with a small smile on his face. 

You walked around the table greeting everyone. You ruffled Spence’s shaggy hair, and fist bumped Derek. Purposefully, avoiding Emily. You didn’t want to talk to her if she doesn’t even trust you. You took the spot next to JJ as you waited for Hotch to come in to give the background. 

“Hello everyone, sorry about the lack of sleep tonight, but this is the fifth death this week.” Hotch says stifling his own yawn, “We have Peter Taylor, age 34, single with no kids. Blunt force trauma to the head before being shot in the heart.” 

Hotch goes over the rest of the victims going all the way to the very beginning. All of them had the same MO’s: blunt force trauma and being shot in the heart. They were also men around the same age. 

He was about to continue on as everyone pitched ideas for what kind of killer this unsub may be, but Hotch got a call. He stepped out of the room and as we waited, Spence kicked your leg softly from under the table. 

Sliding you a note from his notebook: Are you and Em okay?

You quickly wrote down a response: Honestly, no. 

That’s all you put. He read it trying to study, both you and her. Emily noticed the little exchange of notes that was passed. It was enough to make her feel insecure about her own state. Passing notes like they were back in elementary school. 

But maybe this was for the best, Emily thought. 

“Alright guys, we gotta go, there was another body found.” Hotch says, “Wheels up, like now.”

“His killing time is shortening which means he’s gonna go out of control.” Derek says and we all look at each other with determination in our eyes. 

All of you headed onto the plane in a flash. Every time you were on the plane you took the spot next to Emily. It was a little thing the two of you did, basking in the comfort and the safety of each other before going out into the dangerous field. 

Sort of like a good luck charm.

But this time was different. Emily waited for you expectedly to take the seat next to her, but you didn’t. You took a seat by yourself, away from the rest of the group. The entire team eyed each other, all of them concerned at the couple’s behavior recently.

You put your headphones drowning out the rest of the noise, trying to get much sleep as possible. 

When you arrived in Newport, the air was cool as the costal breeze hit your hair. The smell of the salty sea filling your nostrils. You loved being along the coast, it was one of your favorite things. 

It brought you calmness and peace. 

You and the rest of the team got to work as you reached the police station. Hotch paired the team off as per usual, pairing you and Em to go check out the most recent body. 

The two of you walked together in silence, neither of you knew what to say. It wasn’t the comfortable silence the two of you have while lying in bed watching whatever was on the TV. It was an awkward silence of you at your breaking point in the relationship, not understanding what’s wrong. 

“Blunt force to the head, shot to the heart. This is an act of our guy.” Emily says softly, the first time that you were speaking since last night. 

You looked down at the body and noticed a little paper sticking out of his pocket. Picking it up with your glove, you opened it as it read three simple words.

Don’t Blame Me

“Don’t blame me?” you say, more of a rhetorical question than anyone else. 

“What?” she asks.

You hand her the note, “It says don’t blame me.” I whisper.

The handwriting didn’t look a man’s handwriting. It was neat and polished. Men’s handwriting are usually messy and sometimes illegible. 

You start to walk away from the scene finished with the crime scene, leaving her behind. When Em notices you’re gone she immediately starts running after you.

“Y/N!” she yells, finally catching up to you and spinning you to face her, “What’s the matter with you?” she asks.

You scoff in response,��“Tell me why.” 

“Why what?!” she asks, yelling, frustrated with how cold you’re being to her.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N I-” she paused struggling for what else to say, but nothing was coming out.

She was left speechless, just like she was when you left the night before. 

You nod, “Never mind. Come talk to me when you’re ready.” you whisper, disappointedly. 

As the day went on you learned more and more about the unsub. The team gathered more clues and realized that all of the victims were connected to one women. 

Hayley Nolan, a bartender at the famous bar in town. She was 26 and very popular with the guys and gals around town. 

Whoever this unsub was targeted all of the men who flirted with her. She wasn’t married or had any kids. But she was in a relationship with a one Matthew Grimes. 

We interrogated Matthew, but checked all of his alibi’s that he was at work every night of the attacks. 

You and the team were in Hayley’s home, making sure to keep a cop with her at all times. When you took a look around the house as you watched the time go by, you realized that Matthew still wasn’t back yet.

“Hayley? Where did Matthew say he was going?” you ask as you entered the living room again. 

She shook her head trying to remember, “He said he was going to the gym, but that was a couple hours ago.”

All of you shared nervous glances as you realized that he was probably in danger right now. Reid and JJ come bursting into the room, “We found out who the unsub is.”

“Hayley, does the name Taylor Hunt ring a bell?” Reid asks as he sits down on one of the chairs in the living area. 

Hayley nods softly, “Yeah. She’s one of the regulars at the bars.”

“Does she ever seem protective when someone tries to flirt with you?” you ask.

“Yeah, all the time. I always thank her for it by giving her free drink. Why?” and then it all starts piecing together for her, “Oh my gosh. You don’t think she-” 

JJ squeezes her hand softly, “You see Taylor is living in her own little fantasy world. Making her believe that you’re flirting with her and want to be with her. When in reality you’re just being nice. So she kills off anyone who she thinks is a threat.” 

“We need to find Matthew now.” Derek says sternly. 

You and him run out of the house and into one of the vans. Driving your way as quickly as possible to the gym.

Your phone started to ring and you answered it, your eyes scanning the road you were driving on, “Police called and said they’re inside the gym. Hostage situation. Me and Prentiss are right behind you.” Hotch says. 

Making your way into the gym, the two of you noticed that you Hotch and Emily were already in there. Both of them had their guns away so both of you put your guns away. 

When Taylor saw us come into the room, she pointed her gun towards us. But Emily was quick to intervene.

“Hey, it’s okay. They won’t hurt you. I know how you feel.” Emily says softly, trying to get through to her. 

“You do?” Taylor asks.

Emily nods and you were intrigued at where she was going with this, “I know how it feels to love someone so much you’re scared everyday that you’re gonna lose them. Everyone is so intrigued by them and they’re so beautiful and funny that you can’t help but feel that she’ll choose someone else.”

Your tilt your head to the side as Emily makes a quick side glance to you.

“But the difference is that you’re stronger than me. You’re trying to protect what you have with Hayley. I tend to just cause useless fights because I’m scared that they’ll break my heart. So instead of being surprised by the heartbreak, I explode our relationship.” Emily adds on. 

And everything finally starts clicking. Everything JJ was trying to say, all of it.

“Now you don’t want to do that so if you really love Hayley, I need you to put the gun down. And let Matthew go.” she whispers.

Taylor lets out a quiet sob before putting down the gun and letting Matthew go. Em goes over to her and puts her hand behind her back, handcuffing her. Hotch takes her to the cop car while Morgan tends to Matthew’s wounds. 

You ran over to your girlfriend embracing her in a huge hug. She holds you close and tight, like she’s afraid that you might walk away again.

Taking your hand you place it underneath her chin to get her to look at you, “I love you. And I am never gonna break your heart. I promise.” 

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss x reader

[kirishimaswife2819]

Kitty || Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get hit by a quirk that turns you into a cat, and Shoto finds you and takes you home

Word Count: 1.5k

A/n:  This is my first post, so don’t mind if it’s a little bad. Also if anybody’s interested, I am taking requests. On my page there’s a post about the rules for requesting, so check those out before you request. -Danielle <3

You sat beside a rather large bush, looking for somebody familiar, but nobody you knew was coming by. Earlier in the day, you had been at the park with your little cousin, who didn’t have her quirk yet, or at least, you thought she didn’t have a quirk yet.

The little blonde haired girl chased you around the park, since you were playing tag.

“I’m gonna get you!” She exclaimed, as you turned to see how far away she was. But you underestimated how fast she was and she was right in front of you. You stumbled back on a branch, and your cousin leaned forward, touching your shoulder, and suddenly you weren’t in the park anymore. You were on a rather busy sidewalk, trying to process the situation

You went to bring a hand up and rub your head, but found that you couldn’t. You looked down to be met with, paws? Your eyes widened, when you stood up on four legs and realized that you were an animal. Quickly, you scurried out of the way to avoid being stepped on, and sat beside a bush, waiting for somebody to help.

Throughout the day, a few people stopped to pet you, but none took you anywhere or attempted to. It was late and there was a slight breeze, causing you to shiver despite the cold. As you sat there, tired, cold and hungry, you spotted a familiar head of red and white hair walking down the sidewalk.

He almost walked right past you, but you meowed and he stopped to look at you.

“Hello there,” he spoke, looking at you. You were a kitten with h/c fur, and e/c eyes. He spoke again, “What’s a little thing like you doing out here all alone?” Shoto bent down, and scratched behind your ear, causing you to let out a purr and rub your head against his hand.

“You must be cold,” Shoto said, and you licked his hand as a way of saying yes, “Well, I can’t just let you freeze. Follow me.” With his words, he stood back up and began continuing to walk home. You happily followed behind, having to walk a bit fast to keep up with his big steps. Shoto looked back every few seconds to make sure that you were still following him. 

Finally, you made it to his home. He opened the door and allowed you inside, following behind and then closing the door. You took note of how nice Shoto’s house was, as he led you to his bedroom, and let you in. Immediately, you jumped up on the bed and curled up. But you were still hungry.

You let out a meow, and Shoto looked at you.

“What?” He questioned, and you looked around the room, and spotted a trash can. You went over and put your paws up on the edge to look in. Shoto grew even more confused, “What are you do-hey!” You knocked the trash can over and grabbed a food wrapper, setting it on the floor.

“Are you hungry?” Shoto asked, and you meowed, “Well you could of said that instead of knocking the trash can over.” You glared at him, as he exited the room. Soon he returned with a plastic container with something in it. He sat it down in front of you. He then spoke again, “We didn’t have any cat food, and all we had were soba noodles. Um, I don’t know if they’re poisonous to cats or not, so you probably shouldn’t eat too many.” He was speaking as if a cat could understand anything he was saying. But since it was you, you did understand and didn’t eat too many.

You watched as Shoto grabbed his bag, and pulled out a textbook, along with some papers. You abandoned your spot on the floor, and jumped up into his lap as he sat at his desk.

“What are you...” he trailed off, watching as you curled up on his lap, and purred, laying your head down and closed your eyes. Shoto let himself smile softly and he brought a hand down to rub your fur. You purred even louder at the action, and relaxed into his touch. After you had fallen asleep, Shoto took his hand away and went back to his homework. 

After he was done, he closed the text book and looked down at you, who was still sleeping on his lap. He didn’t have school tomorrow, so it was okay that he stayed up pretty late working on homework. He scooped you up, disturbing your sleep. You let out a protest meow, and he shushed you.

“Shh, I’m just going to bed,” he said, setting you down on the bed. You continued to lay down but lifted your head up and watched him as he got ready for bed. When he went to get changed though, you looked away, since he thought you were a cat, and didn’t know you were actually a human girl.

You would be lying if you tried saying that you didn’t have a crush on Todoroki. It was nothing major, but you definitely liked him and wouldn’t mind dating him. Of course, you never acted on these feelings, since Shoto didn’t seem like he was interested in dating anybody at the moment. He finished changing, and brushed his teeth, before shutting out the light and crawling into bed. He laid on his back and you curled up on his chest, your face facing him.

Shoto smiled at you and gave you one last goodnight scratch behind your ear, before taking his hand away and laying it beside him.

“Goodnight kitty,” he said, and you gave a meow in reply. Shoto gave you one last small smile, that you loved seeing, since he didn’t smile much, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. You knew that chances were that you would turn back at the same time you turned, so you kept an eye on the clock when you awoke various times in the night.

The next morning, you got up and made sure Shoto was still asleep, and you were correct, at around the same time you turned, you turned back. You made sure Shoto was asleep, before taking a pen and writing a note on a piece of paper.

Shoto,

This is awkward, but I was the cat that you let stay with you last night. I got hit with a cat quirk, and no, I will not be telling you who I am, I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Anyway thanks for the soba, and the bed to sleep in.

P.S. you should smile more, it’s cute

With that, you quietly slipped out of the room and luckily didn’t run into anybody as you made it back outside, and into the real world. The first thing you did was go back home, and see where your little cousin was and what happened.

It had been a few weeks since the cat stayed with Shoto and he got the note. He did have to admit, he felt a little awkward about the whole situation, since he cuddled with the cat and the cat was there when he got dressed, but he got over it.

And since then, he’d been trying to figure out who the cat was. He was having no luck until he caught a glimpse of your paper in class. You and Momo were discussing test scores, and you had sat the paper down on Momo’s desk. Shoto curiously looked over, and found that you had the same handwriting that whoever the cat was did. 

Then he looked at your appearance, you had the same color hair that the cat’s fur was, and the same color eyes. You also knew Shoto’s name, and went to school with him, so it would be awkward if you told him.

“It was you,” Shoto spoke, causing you and Momo to look at him.

“What?” You questioned.

“The cat, it was you,” Shoto said, causing your face to go red.

“What are you two talking about?” Momo asked, looking between you two.

“A few weeks ago, I found a cat and took it in. The next morning I woke up to  a note, saying that the cat was just a person hit with a cat quirk, I had no clue who it was, until I saw L/n’s handwriting,” Shoto explained the situation.

“Shoot, um, yeah, sorry about that, my little cousin got her quirk for the first time and it just sort of happened,” you explained, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck.

“I see,” Shoto replied, as Momo went over to talk to someone else, leaving the two of you to yourself.

“Look, I-”

“Go on a date with me,” Shoto said, causing your face to get even redder.

“What?” You asked.

“Go on a date with me,” Shoto repeated, “Did you like the soba? We could go get soba together.”

“I mean, yeah the soba was good. But you wanna go on a date with me?” You questioned.

“Sure, I think we’ll get along pretty well,” Shoto said, giving you a small smile, “You can see more of my smiles that you think are, what word did you use? Cute?”

“Um, yeah,” you replied, “Sure, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Excellent,” Shoto replied.

#shoto todoroki #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader

[alchemistbee]

Flowers and Chimes

「 Five Hargreeves x Reader 」

N/A: This took me longer than expected, but it was another idea I had laying around. Here Five is aged up to be around 16-17, like the reader. The main idea was that reader in an ex-Commision agent who happened to escape, and Five finds them. I apologize if it’s confusing I am not the best writer. And if it’s too long :”) sorry for the grammar errors! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: After Hazel leaves an address inside Five’s pocket he decides to investigate where or to whom it leads him to. The last thing he expected was to stumble into a familiar face.

Warnings: Swearing. it takes place during Season 2, so expect slight spoilers if you haven’t watched it.

Words: 1902

[ gif taken from @thisgameissonintendo ]

The Commision was a high secretive organization that’s whole goal was to keep time and space flowing correctly. It was like knitting, one wrong turn and the whole piece was ruined, that’s what their agents were for. To make “corrections” in the timelines, to make sure the game was kept intact. Whether it was something or someone who messed up the time lines, the commission would gladly take care of it. Their team of agents were the best from the best, and you were no exception to that rule.

Your years in The Commission had turned you into the perfect killing weapon for them, something they took pride on. The agency considered you to be one of the most skilled agents they had, agile, quick and sharp, gifted with enhanced intelligence that couldn’t compare to anyone. Above that, you were loyal, for almost 42 years you had worked under their wing, they had no reason to suspect you would have left out of thin air.

Taking in at seventeen, very young, not as young as Lila, but after watching you for some years the Commission had concluded that you were quite...special.

After Five’s famous escape, you had decided that it was your time to do so as well. You had only met the man a few times, shared one or three missions together that were tasked by The Handler. Strangely, she had made everything possible to keep you two from being partners, but it hadn’t been enough to stop the two of you from sharing a few moments. The man was quite grumpy and arrogant at times, but that didn’t seemed to stop you from having conversations with him. never

Apart from being a skilled assassin and being able to take the soul out of a person’s eyes in a single second, you were a very bubbly person. You were what people considered too good, kind, and Five was quite amazed someone like you worked for such a horrific place, but at that time, he didn’t care enough to ask the why’s of it.

Your escape hadn’t been an easy one, not at all. When Five escaped the security increased, you had to be patient, and once an opening made its way to you, you didn’t let it slip away. Between all the commotion, the briefcase you had stolen malfunctioning after getting shot mid-traveling. It caused you to not only go too far back in time, but your body too. In any other circumstances, you would have been completely upset at the fact that you were stuck back in your teenage physical body, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized it was an advantage. Commision wouldn’t know, and you were sure you could find a way to go back to your body eventually.

There you were, stranded in Dallas, Texas for three years now. You had found an old cabin to live in, not too far from the city but not to close either. You didn’t want unwanted attention to come your way. It was 1963, quite a busy year for the Commission considering the assasination of Kennedy took place here. They wouldn’t notice your insignificant presence, and if they did well, you weren’t considered one of the most dangerous and skilled agents for nothing.

What you weren’t aware of was of the mess your old un- official partner Five had let loose. He broke a fabric in time, changing the timeline and moving the apocalypse from 2019 to 1963. You had felt the shift, but without the knowledge of what it meant, you hadn’t paid the slightest attention to it.

——

Five shut the car door behind him, his eyes carefully studying the small cabin in front of him and glancing down to the poorly folded piece of paper in his hands. He found this address written alongside the cassette Hazel had hidden in his pocket. He knew that whatever was here would help him save the world, or at least find information related to it. After all, Hazel wouldn’t have used his last seconds to shove a random address. It had to be connected.

Shaking his head, Five shove the note back to his pocket as he made his way inside the property. The house seemed quite old, but it was clear that someone lived there due to the good state of it. There were various flowers decorating the front of the house, windows and roof. There was no way those flowers would be able to live by themselves unless someone took care of them. On top of that, the place echoed with the soft tones of the wind chimes clanging against each other, they looked fairly new, or at least to be cleaned regularly.

Strangely, the flowers placed on the area gave him a familiar feeling in his chest. The wood creaked under his shoes the moment he stepped into the porch, he leaned closer to the door in hopes of getting any clues of what was inside, but as much expected, it was too dark to see correctly. Without thinking it twice, Five easily teleported inside the old cabin, almost stumbling on his feet when he landed on the misplaced rug that rested in the center of the room.

The brunette male guided himself inside, where he viewed the interior of the place. It was quite normal, the kitchen was clean, with a few coffee mugs still inside the sink, the living room was a bit dusty, but nothing that couldn’t be taken care of with a few cleans. There, his eyes caught one particular wall that looked pretty much like Eliot’s whole place. There were numerous newspapers pinned to the cardboard, numerous names, maps and photos of people connected with red strings, and on the table near it, yellow folders. The person who lived here, you, were looking for something...or running from something.

He scanned the loose papers on the papers, noticing the small written notes in them. Five squinted his eyes at them as he found the handwriting...familiar. The answers had to be here somewhere, a key or tool to help him stop the apocalypse he brought with him. What was Hazel trying to tell him? What did he want Five to find in this place?

While the physically teen boy strode through the small space, you happened to arrive from the long way of work. Unlike others, you didn’t own a car and wasn’t planning on doing any time soon. Besides, being stuck in a teen body didn’t make it any easier to get a car. The chance of getting stopped by the cops was high, and you didn’t own any paperwork that would make them turn their heads from you. With new groceries in hand, you had walked down the same sidewalk that led to your place, soon noticing a un-familiar blue car parked in front. You quickly felt your body tense, the only thought running in your mind being that commission might have finally found you. But how? You had been careful all these years to stay off the radar, and there was no way that this year, with so much going on, they wouldn’t be focused on you.

You were smart enough to go around the house instead of entering through the front. Dropping the groceries in the back, and silently opened the back door that led inside. Whoever had passed your property was going to have a bad time. You shut the door slowly, surely making no noise as you took light steps through the small hallway. You could hear steps inside, things being moved and placed back. From the corner of the wall, you managed to give a quick glance at the person who had intruded your home; a young boy dressed in what seemed to be a school uniform. You felt your heart start to rise, unsure of what a young boy would be doing investigating your things. Yet, you knew better than to let your guard down, it was never too late for the Commission to hire and manipulate children to do their bidding.

You sneakily made your way into the kitchen, grabbing the nearest pan at your reach before swinging it toward the boy without a warning. Surprisingly, The boy felt you coming, and just in time was able to dodge what might have been a horrible concussion “Shit!” You heard the boy mumble under his breath, quickly to a fighting stance while looking at you with a fierce glare.

“How did you get here?!” You held the pan tightly between your hands, ready to throw another swing “Get out of my property kid! They sent you, didn’t they?! If they think I’ll hesitate to end you, they are completely wrong” you threatened, keeping a close watch on the boy, trying to decipher his next move.

Five squinted his eyes at you, slightly tilting his head with confusion as to why Hazel had sent him to the house of this crazy person “What? They?-“ Five tried to take a step forward, but was only met with another swing from your part. He quickly tried to get a hold of the pan, throwing it across the room thinking that you wouldn’t fight without a weapon. He was surprised to be wrong when he felt you kick him in the stomach, throwing him backwards against the table.

Five groaned, his eyes flushing with slight anger, he had just lost any respect he had for you. If you wanted to fight, a fight you would have. To Five’s shock, you were better than he had expected. You had managed to dodge many of his fists, his kicks, while he had been met with a few unpleasant hits. He definitely was beginning to think that Hazel had done this out of a cruel joke to get back to him for all those years.

You were fierce. You were skilled, quick and agile like him. Could it be that you…? He felt his back fall against the floor, the heavy weight of your body against him as you held a knife in one of your hands “I guess Commission has lost it’s touch, huh?” You smirked down at the boy, seeing his eyes widened with stress when you lifted your hand with the knife in hand. You weren’t hesitating, you were going to kill him.

“Commision? Wait!-“ Five yelled, but as he saw you were not stopping, he turned to use his last resource. In a matter of seconds, the knife went down, but instead of stabbing his chest, it got stuck in the wood under him. Five teleported out of your grip, flashes of blue appearing behind you, and without hesitation, Five wrapped his arm around your neck from behind, holding you still from making any more swings at him.

That’s when realization hit you. You knew this boy. You recognized the blue flashes. There was no one in this world who could teleport like that besides one grouchy man. How couldn’t you have realized before? He had the same eyes, the same fighting style. This boy was—“F-Five?” His name left your lips quickly, and in that exact second, you felt Five lose his grip from your neck. He took a step back, watching his eyes widened as realization slowly hit him. He begun to recognize who the person in front of him was, his eyes completely filled with shock and relief. It...It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

“(Y/N)?”

It suddenly clicked to him. Hazel hadn’t given him this address to search for information, he had given him this address to find...You.

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #number five #number five imagine #aidan gallagher #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #fanfiction #my work #tua #tua s2 #five x reader #tua fanfic #tua five

[missing-marvel]

The Shape of You (Pt. 4)

Pairing: Vision/Reader

Part 3, Part 5

Words: 5698

A/N: *shows up several months late with coffee and a new chapter* What’s up y’all, who’s ready for more metal husband?

-

You awoke feeling sluggish and hazy, practically choking on dust and resisting the need to sneeze. The feeling quickly shifted to panic as you opened your eyes to even more darkness which only worsened when you tried to move, something blocking the space in front of you as well as tangling around your legs. It wasn’t until you rolled to the floor with a loud ‘thud’ that you remembered falling asleep on the sofa. You didn’t remember grabbing a blanket, however, which had gotten wrapped around your legs in your sleep.

You recognized Vision’s silhouette as he appeared hurriedly from the other room. You couldn’t see much in the dim light, but you could recognize him by his eyes alone. They glowed softly in the dark, that electric-blue bringing some familiarity to your surroundings.

The lights came on and you were momentarily blinded, shielding your eyes with your hand as they adjusted. “Sorry,” you said, blinking the last remnants of sleep away. “I just fell off the sofa. I’m okay.” You took a good look around the room for the first time since arriving, still not bothering to get up off the floor. It looked like a fairly basic living space. There was a patterned rug, a coffee table, some shelves with a few random knick-knacks, the usual. You did notice the lack of a TV, however. You supposed it wasn’t worth investing in one if no one would be living here ninety-nine percent of the time.

Still a bit groggy, you almost didn’t see Vision walk over to you and extend a hand to help you up. To be completely honest, you were perfectly comfortable on the floor but you weren’t going to turn him away. You uttered a quick ‘thanks’ as you got to your feet.

You had absolutely no idea what time it was but it was definitely dark out. Not a speck of light filtered in through the drawn curtains. Whether it was evening or early morning, however, you hadn’t a clue. “What time is it?”

Vision pointed to a digital clock sitting on a bookshelf close by. It read 6:30.

“I only slept for a few hours?” Well, more like several hours, by your estimate. It was broad daylight when you’d arrived. Still, that was surprising given that you’d basically passed out as soon as you got indoors and hadn’t slept in like two days.

Vision shook his head, however, cutting off your train of thought. He held up one finger on his right hand and put it down before holding up nine in total. It took you a second to understand what he meant, thinking he was saying ten before realizing.

“Are you saying I slept nineteen hours?” Vision just nodded and you let out a sigh. That explained why you felt so stiff. That much time on a sofa, even a surprisingly comfortable one, would take its toll. One other thing struck you, however. “Wait a minute, so it’s six in the morning, then? It’s awfully dark out.” You chanced a peek out the window to actually confirm that it was, in fact, dark outside.

You turned back when you heard the familiar scratch of pen on paper. It looked like Vision had found a new notepad somewhere. By the time you walked over, he had finished writing. “Clock is an hour ahead. Haven’t fixed it. Only got power back on a couple hours ago.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.” This time of year, it was perfectly normal to be dark at 5:30. However, it was also cold outside and you were beginning to notice that in here as well. You picked up the blanket off the floor and draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tight around yourself. “Is there heat at all?”

Vision wrote his response as quick as possible, handwriting still impeccable as always. “It’s on but not very strong. Building isn’t in best condition anymore. There’s fuses missing so I prioritized some things. A few lights aren’t going to work.” He stepped aside and gestured somewhere down the small hallway behind him. On the wall was an open panel.

“Wait this place still has a fuse box? The Avengers couldn’t afford someplace with circuit breakers?” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at your own joke, if you could really call it that. You were just happy your custodial knowledge was relevant for once.

“Old SHIELD building,” Vision quickly noted. If this place had been built by the Avengers, it would be far more modern, probably to an unnecessary extent. Tony Stark would only stand for the best, even if it was a safe house that would almost never get used.

“Shield? Are they still around?” You only sort of understood what SHIELD was. No more than any other member of the general public. They were a kind-of, sort-of government agency or something like that. They always kept their stuff super secret so most people never really knew what they did. Then there was the whole deal with Hydra which nobody understood. You decided a long time ago it wasn’t worth worrying about, much like most of the American populace. Perhaps you should have paid closer attention.

Vision simply tilted his hand side-to-side in a gesture that implied that the answer was complicated and really not worth getting into. He shifted the conversation to you instead. “How are you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that. You weren’t doing so well yesterday.” You tried not to let the worry in your voice show, though you weren’t sure what good it would do.

You thought you saw a hint of a smile cross his face as he turned back to his paper. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.”

“Vision...” You recalled back to the other night, when you’d told him nearly the same thing after a couple solid days of no sleep. Before you could retort, however, he’d turned and headed toward the other room, gesturing for you to follow.

The small office space was an absolute mess. The only reason you called it an office was the papers and folders scattered around the room as well as the computer tucked away on a desk in the corner. Underneath a blanket of dust, it looked almost exactly like the first computer you’d ever owned. Actually, it might just be the first computer. You were pretty sure it should be in a museum.

Vision navigated the difficult terrain with ease as he made his way to the desk. You, on the other hand, felt like you were doing a balancing act as you tried to limit your steps to the few parts of the floor that were visible. You didn’t know what all these stacks of papers and folders were exactly, but you figured it was best not to mess with them.

“There’s no way that thing works,” you said once you’d cleared a spot to stand by the desk, your own little island of shag carpeting amongst the sea of paper.

Vision pried open a panel on the side of the computer, carefully removing a CPU board with all the expertise of a seasoned technician. The actual monitor was half buried in a pile of miscellaneous cords and plugs next to the desk. After a brief moment of inspection, wherein he must’ve decided all appeared fine, he went ahead and booted the thing up.

It chugged to life like a patient coming out of surgery, slowly and with great difficulty. It made sounds you were pretty sure should only be coming from a lawn mower but all the lights eventually blinked on in time. As it did so, you braved the sneeze-inducing dust pile for the monitor, the air turning cloudy as you shifted all the junk that had been untouched for years. “I’m guessing you’ll need this?” You hoisted the dinosaur of a monitor up onto the desk, Vision taking it gratefully and nodding a thanks your way.

For a minute after he plugged it in, it seemed the screen wasn’t going to work. Only after staring at it did you realize it was working, albeit extremely slowly. A symbol was appearing on the screen, the shape becoming more discernible the longer the machine whirred. As far you could tell, it looked like some kind of government emblem, like an eagle with a crest in the center. It wasn’t until it had spent a solid minute loading that you were able to read the text surrounding it. “Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement... Logistics Division? What on Earth does— wait, that’s what SHIELD stands for?”

Vision nodded in a way that suggested he wasn’t overly fond of the acronym either. You were beginning to think he wasn’t so difficult to read after all, not like you thought when you’d first met, at least. It just took time, much like reading the decades-old monitor had.

“I think someone just really wanted the initials to spell out shield.” You gave a breathy laugh, more air than sound. “What’re you going to do with this old thing? Can it even get internet?”

Vision shook his head and reached for his paper from the edge of the desk. “Not that kind of computer,” he wrote. You resisted butting in as he tore off a new sheet, still not used to the pauses in conversation that resulted from the rather roundabout method of communication. “It’s wired directly into an old SHIELD system and by extension, hopefully, the Avengers emergency system.”

“Really? I would’ve guessed this place predated the Avengers.” As you spoke, Vision got the keyboard hooked up which had been stuffed into one of the desk drawers. It was missing at least a quarter of its key caps, the really chunky, old kind that made a satisfying click-clack when pressed. Apparently they’d prioritized actual computer hardware over keyboards considering there were offices at your job that still had keyboards just like it. Correction: your old job. You’d almost forgotten.

“SHIELD software was integrated with Stark tech after the Battle of New York. In theory, we should be able to put out an emergency signal on a secure Avengers server from here.” You almost hadn’t noticed Vision writing again as you zoned out a bit.

You would’ve been more excited over good news, but you’d learned over the years what happened when you got your hopes up. “So when you say in theory, I’m guessing the odds aren’t exactly...” You trailed off, unable to continue without sounding horribly pessimistic.

“It will work,” was all he wrote, a noticeable firmness in his grip as he held the pen. You didn’t say anything else but moved closer to the desk, directly by his side now. There was what could only be described as a hint of doubt in his expression before he turned back to the monitor as green text cluttered the screen.

“We can only hope so.” You let your hand brush his shoulder as you navigated back towards the door, no longer particularly caring to avoid crumpling the paper on the floor.

You weren’t sure how long it would take Vision to finish what he was doing, especially with the tech he was stuck with. You found it more than a bit ironic that possibly the most advanced machine on the planet had to use a decades-old computer to call for help. It felt weird to think of him as a machine. After what you’d been through in the past 24 hours alone, you’d begun to think of him as just another person. Well, not just another person, that wasn’t what you meant. How to put it...? You just couldn’t explain it. There was no precedent in your mind for a situation like this. Vision was a living being. As alive as anyone, maybe more so. That much you could say confidently.

Trying not to get too lost in your thoughts, you busied yourself investigating the rest of the apartment, not that there was much to find. Living room, connected kitchen, hallway with the office and stairs that led up to a bedroom and bathroom. All pretty standard. All of it looked fresh out of the 80’s. Well, maybe not fresh.

Just as you completed your lap of the place, you were interrupted by a low grumble from none other than your own stomach. That was a problem. There was definitely not food here. You had no other choice really than to shove the feeling to the back of your mind for now. You got yourself a glass of water to make do. At least the plumbing worked.

By the time Vision came back, it had been less than twenty minutes. “That was quick. Any success?” You sipped your water, ignoring the slight metallic tang it had.

Vision wrote as he crossed the room to stand opposite you from the island counter. “The beacon is active. Now someone just needs to hear it.”

Despite his lack of vocals, you sensed a definite lack of confidence in his words. “How long do you think that’ll take?” You hoped not too long. You were concerned about your food situation.

He didn’t bother writing a response. The expression on his face made it clear; he had no idea. Maybe never, if no one was out there to hear it. You only hummed a response, neither confirming nor retorting. The sound of you sipping your water seemed immensely loud in the heavy silence of the room.

“Well, what do we do now?” You were becoming anxious again. You didn’t like being forced to sit and wait. At any minute, you felt like law enforcement would start breaking the door down.

“We wait. There’s nothing else we can do.” He seemed apologetic. He wished he could give you a more concrete answer, some sort of assurance that this would all work out, but he couldn’t. Not truthfully, anyway.

It looked like you had some time to kill. You weren’t sure what all there really was to do. Still, it wasn’t all bad. At least you had company. “I wonder if there’s a better way we can communicate,” you mused, turning your mind to less dire matters.

Vision seemed to brighten up a bit as he was struck by an idea. “You don’t happen to know any ASL, do you?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately, no. I assume you do?”

He responded by holding up his right hand in a closed fist and sort of nodded it up and down.

“I’m guessing that means... yes?” It wasn’t a far stretch. You’d actually thought about learning ASL before but never gotten around to it. There were more uses for it than people realized. Too bad work left you too busy and tired to make the time for lessons. Well now you had nothing but time.

Vision just nodded his head in the more familiar interpretation of the word. He grabbed the pen and paper again off the counter. “I could teach you some. At least the important parts, if you want.” He hesitated a split second between sentences, just a bit nervous, though the pause was nowhere near long enough for you to notice. It was barely a stutter in his programming, a single digit skipped somewhere in his code. Nothing to be concerned with.

“Yeah,” you said, maybe just slightly too enthusiastic. “Yeah, that’d be great! I— I mean, it would be useful, you know? Way more efficient than pen and paper. Uhm...” You were struggling to ask how he wanted to start when your stomach growled, providing a convenient segue into another topic. “Heh, sorry. Didn’t realize how hungry I was.” You tried to pass it off as no big deal, although you really were starving. You hadn’t eaten anything since before setting Vision free. It had been well over a full day since then.

He looked surprised for a moment, which he was, before he began writing. For a genius super-computer, he could sometimes be very forgetful of the needs of his human cohorts. They were very fragile things, humans. The need for sleep and food was something Vision never had to worry about, something he realized he took for granted. Something akin to guilt began to gnaw at him when he too realized how long it had been since the escape. He should’ve brought up the matter earlier. “We need to get you food,” he wrote very matter-of-factly. It wasn’t something up for debate.

“I don’t exactly have a lot of cash on me, Vis.” You flinched at the nickname, quick to move on before he could call you out on it. It had been merely a slip of the tongue, just shortening his name for the sake of convenience. It could have been a gesture of friendship towards the android, though you weren’t sure you’d quite earned the right to call Vision a friend, even if you were fond of him. “I’ve got like 10 bucks, tops.” You pulled a few crumpled bills from your pockets to emphasize your point. You obviously couldn’t use your credit card, either. You’d seen enough movies to know that.

Vision thought a moment before coming up with an idea. “It’s not the most ethical thing to do, but I could get cash out of an ATM. It’s technically a matter of survival, after all.” He demonstrated exactly what he meant by phasing his hand through the paper as you read, something that could just as easily be done to a cash machine.

It wasn’t so much the legality of the idea that bothered you. After all, you’d stolen multiple cars. It was the matter of Vision’s safety. Not that he couldn’t protect himself but he would be spotted quite easily if he went outside. That was just a matter of fact. And if someone called the police on a strange magenta man or anything along the lines of ‘robot,’ you could pretty much guarantee trouble. “I don’t know... What if someone sees you? The last thing we want is to compromise the safe house. I can just wait awhile longer, I’ll be fine.”

Your stomach chose that moment to grumble again, completely undermining your point. Vision shot you a look that more than sufficed to communicate what he was thinking but he wrote it down anyway. “It would seem we don’t have much of a choice.”

You sighed, all but forced to agree. Although, it would be nice to get some actual food before your stomach started eating itself. “Fine,” you relented. “But we wait until it gets dark out. It’s safer that way.”

Vision wasn’t about to argue.

-

Memorization wasn’t really your strong suit, but you seemed to do surprisingly well with the start of your sign language lessons. It helped that your teacher was so patient.

Vision thought it would be best to start with a few simple phrases for the sake of saving paper. Common things such as ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you.’ You had the benefit of only really needing to recognize them as opposed to being able to do the signs yourself, since Vision could obviously hear you, but you took it upon yourself to mimic the gestures anyway.

It had been a few hours and your head was starting to ache but you insisted on continuing. You were certain you were doing well and you wanted Vision to be impressed. Not only could you remember how to spell your own name, you could spell his as well. The rest of the alphabet may not have stuck as much but oh well. For now, words and phrases were more important.

“That’s... someone?” You guessed as Vision held up his index finger and waved it in a sort of circle. He’d been quizzing you for a few minutes now, to which you’d done pretty well. He shook his head this time, however, and tried not to look amused by the almost comically offended look on your face. “What? Yes it is! I’m certain that means ‘someone!’” You were insistent on the fact. Vision hadn’t tried to trip you up yet but he must be this time. You tried to mimic the motion, repeating the word as if that would change anything.

He shook his head again, not bothering to hide his smile this time. He reached for your hand, raising it higher to show you that there was, in fact, a slight difference between what he was signing and what you were. For a moment, you looked almost startled, like a deer in headlights. He didn’t miss the hint of color that tinged your cheeks. His assumption was merely that you were embarrassed by your mistake, though it was an easy one to make. He switched back to paper in order to explain. “This,” he repeated his first gesture. “means ‘always’. What you signed was ‘someone.’ See the difference?”

You nodded in understanding although your attention was beginning to drift. You felt like you were cramming for an exam in a class you hadn’t been attending. You may or may not have actually had to do that before. The point was, you’d learned just about all you were going to for the day. And just in time, it seemed, as you glanced toward the curtains, no longer backlit by the afternoon sun. You’d managed to kill most of the day, between checking that the computer was still working and just generally talking with Vision. There wasn’t much else to do, not that you were complaining. You were quite enjoying the android’s company and not just because you were stuck with him. And to top it off, you’d managed to distract yourself from how hungry you were. Until now, that is.

“How about we call it a day on the lessons, hm? I’d say now’s about the best time to head outside. There’s just one thing we have to do first.” You turned and exited the room without explanation, only saying you’d be right back. You ran upstairs to the bedroom, hoping you could find what you needed. You hadn’t voiced your plan to Vision, although you saw no reason for him not to go along with it. It was a smart idea if you said so yourself. At least that’s what you told yourself as you began rifling through drawers.

Vision wasn’t sure what to think at first when you came bumbling down the stairs again with a messily folded bundle in your hands. But your intention became clear quite quickly once you’d returned, immediately holding out the clothes to him before bothering to explain.

“I hope this isn’t rude but you kind of… stand out. I just thought, maybe it’d be a good idea to disguise yourself. Just for safety. Is that okay?” You hoped there was no offense taken by the gesture. In truth, you were glad Vision was going with you and not just because of the money thing. You didn’t feel particularly safe walking the streets alone at night, especially when you didn’t know the area. But having Vision by your side made you feel nigh invincible. There was just the small issue of technically being wanted criminals.

He smiled, more to himself than anything. It was just strange, he thought, how concerned you were with his opinion. Of course he wasn’t offended. It was a smart idea. He chuckled a bit, although it was a strange action given his physical state. The motion of a laugh was there, his shoulders shuddering as any human’s would despite his lack of need to actually breathe, but there was no sound. It was one of those mannerisms that was ingrained in his programming, though he wasn’t sure quite where it came from. Not from Jarvis, certainly, since the AI had no physical form, and Ultron likely hadn’t been terribly focused on such gestures at the time of his creation. In reality, it was simply something he’d picked up on his own, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

You let out a breathy chuckle of your own as he took the clothes, glad to see he agreed with you wholeheartedly. He got dressed quickly, leaving only his face visible when he was done. Luckily, it was cold enough outside for him to get away with wearing gloves, a scarf and a hat. The clothes were a bit old-fashioned but in a professional way. The long wool coat and slacks in particular gave the impression of a scholarly type, perhaps even a professor. You couldn’t help but think it was a good look for him.

“Well don’t you look just dashing,” you teased. You’d found a coat for yourself as well, deciding your own jacket wasn’t going to be enough. You silently thanked whatever SHIELD employee set this place up for supplying a myriad of spare clothes. “Oh, one more thing.” You turned to the coat rack by the door, grabbing a scarf that had been left hanging there. “Just in case.”

You hesitated at the front door. Despite the fact that you were merely going to look for a convenience store or something similar, your anxiety spiked as though it were a dangerous mission. You could just imagine all the ways you could get caught. It was almost enough to make you stay here, slowly starving to death waiting for something to happen. Vision noticed your apprehension, however, and did the first thing that came to mind to soothe your worries. He gave you a warm smile, holding out a bent arm for you to take. He thought you might find the somewhat old-fashioned gesture funny and he was right. You laughed, taking his arm anyway. It was a nice reminder that the odds of anything bad happening were tremendously low, which you mentally repeated to yourself as you stepped outside.

-

Everything had gone off without a hitch. There was a small grocery store a few blocks down which you’d run into just before closing time so the store was nearly empty. Vision had waited outside near the ATM, which had provided the funds you needed. Other than the bored clerk at the store, you hadn’t seen so much as a single soul this whole trip. By the time you and Vision were walking back, burdened by just a few days worth of groceries (which would ideally be more than enough), your previous worries had all but melted away.

You only wished the weather matched the feeling. Nothing was melting in this cold. In fact, a few snowflakes had begun to fall. They were almost mesmerizing under the blueish haze of the streetlights, whipped into a frenzy by the faintest of gusts. The sight wasn’t enough of a distraction, however. You couldn’t help it when a shiver wracked your body, your coat not doing nearly enough to prevent it. Vision noticed this, however, and stopped you both in your tracks.

He was quick to reach for the paper and pen in his coat pocket, a look on his face of more concern than you thought necessary. It was only a little chill. “Are you cold?” The question wasn’t particularly necessary, the answer being obvious. Still, it was polite to ask.

You tried to shrug it off, noticeably tensing to suppress a second shiver. “I’m fine. Let’s just hurry back.” You turned to keep walking, knowing there was still a decent walk ahead but he stopped you, putting a hand on your arm for the briefest of seconds. He just looked at you a moment, seeming to forget about his paper. You caught the faintest hint of conflict in his expression, though you didn’t know why. “What is it, Vision?”

Realizing he’d made you worry, Vision seemed to snap back to his senses. He gave you a reassuring smile and reached for his scarf, undoing it quickly. You were facing him, standing close enough to see the circuitry in his eyes. He paused again, however, debating his next action. For a being that didn’t have nerves, he sure felt nervous and didn’t fully understand why. He moved at a pace far slower than he was used to, hesitantly wrapping the scarf around your neck for you. His touch was light as a feather as if he were afraid to touch you. You could do nothing but watch him, lost in the details of his eyes and face as your grip on the grocery bags began to loosen involuntarily.  There was a moment where neither of you moved, his hands still lingering on the loose fabric of the scarf.

Your heart skipped a beat at the gesture, mind racing to find a logical conclusion that didn’t concern such things as the vague and confusing emotions that spiked in your chest just then. It was cold, so Vision gave you his scarf. Your hands were full, so he put it on for you. But what you couldn’t answer was why he lingered the way that he did and more importantly, why your chest began to feel tight in a way that wasn’t as unpleasant as you’d think. The most sensible reason you could think of was that he was simply a gentleman, and perhaps a little unfamiliar with personal boundaries. That was the only possibility you had the strength to consider. Anything else would open doors you were afraid to even imagine.

Footsteps scraping heavily against the pavement cut the tender, if rather nerve-filled moment short. You turned toward the sound, though Vision remained facing slightly away, bowing his head somewhat in an attempt to conceal himself. You froze when a figure emerged from the alleyway; a heavy-set man whose posture listed to one side, most likely from some kind of injury. His clothes were noticeably old and ragged, most definitely not warm enough for this weather. You would’ve asked him if he needed help were it not for the knife he brandished at you.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he said, his voice wavering. Funny, you were just about to say the same thing. Clearly, he wouldn’t be doing this unless he was desperate and in a bad situation. Unfortunately, you weren’t much better off. “I saw you, I know you have cash. Just hand it over and no one gets hurts.”

Under normal circumstances you would’ve complied but you’d used up pretty much all the cash you got and you couldn’t risk giving him your wallet. If your ID found its way into police hands there’d be government agents swarming this place before you ever got the chance to bail. “We don’t have any money left, I swear. Please, just walk away.” You moved slowly, setting the grocery bags on the ground and raising your hands in surrender without making any sudden movements that could set him off. You weren’t as afraid as you probably should’ve been, choosing to try and reason with the man rather than flee, which would probably be the smarter option.

The man stepped closer to you, his grip on the knife visibly tightening. He was nearly within arm’s reach now which wasn’t ideal but you held your ground. Vision caught the man’s movement out of the corner of his eye, his hand reflexively grabbing at your arm protectively. The man furrowed his brow, glancing between the two of you in confusion. At this distance, even without Vision facing him, he could almost definitely tell something was strange here. Having given you his scarf, the only things covering Vision’s face were a hat and upturned coat collar. You spoke up again, drawing the man’s attention before he could get too close of a look. “This doesn’t have to get messy. Please… ”

You weren’t sure exactly how long the three of you stood there, time frozen around you. The only things that moved were the snowflakes that had grown more frequent in the past couple minutes. The man finally shifted, albeit barely, one foot scraping harshly against the concrete as he braced himself. He glanced between you and Vision again, jaw clenched tightly. “I ain’t walking away empty-handed. I can’t. Just gimme your damn wallet.”

Vision tugged gently on your arm. You weren’t sure exactly what he was trying to say, either trying to pull you closer to him or signal that you should run. You didn’t think running was a good idea. You feared Vision’s injuries acting up again and you didn’t want to test your own speed either. You turned back to the man, desperately pleading at this point. “I can’t …”

“Then I’ll just have to take it from you.” He didn’t give you another chance to argue, immediately lunging at you haphazardly. He couldn’t even get close to hitting you, however, as Vision’s reflexes were far superior to the man’s. The android grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully to the side and forcing him to drop the knife. The man yelped and threw a punch at Vision, who dodged it easily. The man didn’t seem to understand just how drastically outmatched he was, not even now that he had a clear view of Vision’s face. Whatever was going through his head, he still seemed to think fighting was his best option. He took another swing at Vision who, up until this point, had no intention of fighting back. But he was left with few other options. He pushed back against his attacker, sending the man sprawling to the ground with a painful ‘smack’ as he hit the pavement. There was genuine fear in his eyes when he looked back up at the two of you.

“Vis, we gotta go.” It was you holding his arm now, pleading with him to leave. He nodded quickly, completely in agreement. The two of you paused only long enough to scoop up the dropped grocery bags before making your escape. The man didn’t dare follow you as you disappeared down a side street, desperate to avoid any more prying eyes. This was the exact sort of thing you’d been afraid of when you’d left the safe house. You could only hope the man kept his mouth shut about what he’d witnessed tonight but it seemed luck may not be on your side.

-

A/N:  I want to mention that I don’t personally know much ASL and had to rely on videos, etc. so if anything at all is wrong, I apologize. Feel free to call me out.

#vision/reader #vision x reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

[psychicpersonlover]

Impossible Wishes

Authors Notes: 

This was a Antsy Xiefan book that I was going to make on Ao3, but I quickly lost interest in the idea as I don’t think I’m that good at writing angst. Anyway, I hope someone can find it enjoyable. (Also don’t comment about grammar on my posts please I don’t edit these properly because these works would normally just get deleted. This is just a way for me to not feel like writing is a complete waste of time). 

The game began as it always had. A loud alarm issuing us to leave the started positions.

The Minds Eye would surely begin decoding.

The Postman would do the same after sending a letter to The Mercenary making sure that he doesn’t panic about having to decode the machine.

Finally, The Batter, the new guy, wasn't told what to do.

It didn’t matter. We aren't told to care about that. All we have to do is find them. “Ready?” I ask the empty air around me. “Then let's go.” I began walking. Long legs carrying me quickly to a cipher machine. Gripping an umbrella in my hand I found a cipher machine. Looks like I’d catch the postman first. Dodging my weapon he jumped through a window his dog chasing after the fear-filled man. He was too far for me to catch him. At least on my own, I couldn't catch him.

I opened the umbrella throwing it in the air and felt my body dissolve into nothing.

Then it went dark.

It always went dark. I couldn’t see him. I just had to hope that he knew what was happening. We couldn't be together, at least according to the manor owner. Unless of course, they managed to impress the manor owners. If they could achieve a 4 man win 100 rounds in a row they could see each other again. Why else would they be so fierce to the survivors? They had to. They needed to see each other again. Survivors couldn't understand that. Hunters and survivors were forbidden to speak to the other. Hunters could talk to hunters, and survivors could speak to survivors. That’s all.

A feeling forced me out of my thoughts. He was done with his hunt. It was up to me now.

Closing my eyes and opening them once more I found myself back in the match. My other half seemed to have run into trouble. He had caught the postman, and he was halfway done with his time on the chair. Yet the mercenary had arrived to do his job, to save him. Forchanatly without me even thinking my soul catching ability activated and he was caught in illusions. Which caused him to collapse on the ground allowing me to hit him with the umbrella.

He was a fighter though and attempted to go back to the chair only to be hit again. Causing him to scream out. He fought. And he was determined to win. Managing to break the postman out of his chair's restraints before falling over. I managed to get a hit on the postman but with the help from the mercenary's fight, he was able to run off. Tide didn’t last long though. I chaired the mercenary and walked off after the other.

1 cipher remaining. That worried me. I had to find this postman. If they popped the cipher he could escape. He couldn’t let that happen.

10, they had a streak of 10 it was the closest they had gotten. It wasn’t much but it was close enough. They couldn’t risk losing this.

Luckily I was able to find the postman who was whimpering on the ground. The small dog seemed to cry to the man. Trying to help him. It was a rather upsetting sight. But it was one that I had gotten used to. It was hard not to feel bad for the blond man. He appeared to be kind. Hurting him made me feel like a monster. But rules were rules.

Slowly a bent down picking the man off of the ground. Just in time too as the last cipher popped. A mistake made by the batter no doubt. The mind's eye is far too experienced with the machines to do something like that. A smile emerged on my face. This would make things easier. Calmly I placed the postman on a rocket chair seeing sparks coming from the back of the chair where a large rocket was tied on the chair. One down. Three to go.

A noise alerted me that the mercenary was unable to escape his place on the chair, and was sent flying directly after the postman. Two to go.

Calmly I lifted my feet off the ground allowing myself to float over to an exit gate where the mind's eye was decoding. Noticing my arrival she began to run, however, she wouldn’t get far.

She was downed in moments due to an ability known as detention. She cried out for the batter to go to the dungeon. Leave her behind.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Quickly I picked her up and placed her on the chair. I had no clue where the dungeon or the batter could be.

So I threw the umbrella towards the opposite gate.

Fan can find him. I know he can. I felt myself fade back to nothing. He had to find him. I can’t keep on like this. I need him.

Time had passed. Lots of it. I had no way of telling if he had succeeded until we swapped places. Then I’d know if our win streak would continue.

Eventually, I felt myself being pulled back out. Closing my eyes I reappeared in a room. Our room. The walls of the room had white paint with black designs on them. There was no window in this room and it held a desk in the corner of the room. Over the desk was a large mirror. A large cabinet with all of our clothes inside. I sat on our large and empty bed my umbrella beside me as I looked forward. The match was over.

Slowly I stood up eyeing the room. Noticing a new paper on our desk. Or rather a letter addressed to me. “To Xie Bi’an” Written on the envelope written in rather neat handwriting. Fan’s handwriting. I knew it all too well. Whenever we weren’t in a match we would write and update each other on the situation. Slowly I opened the letter, being careful not to rip the envelope.

“Dearest Xie,

That was a close match. With the mind's eye decoding, the time was limited. Even more so than usual. We got lucky. I shouldn’t have taken so long getting that Postman. I’ll be better. Not that it seemed to matter. 4 men win. We are growing closer to be together again.

You not missing anything either. The manor was quiet as I arrived back. No one spoke a word to me.

Not that it matters. I only care for you, my dear.

I love you. Please do not be saddened by my words. We will be together soon enough. I know it.

Love always,

Fan Wujiu“

A smile appeared on my face. He always knew how to make me smile. I miss him dearly.

He has to be correct in what he said.

We will be together soon. Nothing can stop us. No one can stop us.

#xiefan #identity v #idv #idv wu chang #idv batter #idv postman #idv minds eye #idv mercenary

[gasolineghuleh]

ODC Chapter 1

I never put chapter one separately on Tumblr, oops.

Below the cut is the first chapter of my currently on going long fic, featuring my OC. The entirety is available on ao3. 

The wind whipped and whirled through my hair, billowing my skirts around my feet as I clung desperately to my umbrella, hoping against hope that the rain lashing down around me hadn’t soiled the books under my arm. I clutched my small bundle tighter and leaned into the wind, struggling up the sleet slicked hill under my feet. The cobblestones were soaked, and traction is hard to come by, especially on these older roads. One of the street lamps softly illuminating the road blinked twice before extinguishing, plunging me into a darkness that’s only permeated by the occasional flashes of lightning and the moon, shrouded in clouds.

A soft whimper left me as I attempted to tuck my hair back behind my ear, the wind having torn it loose of my already loose ponytail. I’ve seen it storm before, but never this badly… and never with this oppressive feeling behind it. Certainly, my small convent had weathered its fair amount of storms, and I didn’t feel any worry for the stone walls. The air felt thick and heavy, as though I was breathing through a soaked rag. It was suffocating and almost panic inducing. I stopped for a moment, looking down the street from whence I came. A small tickle in the back of my mind told me that something was off. Something was wrong.

The bookstore I had just left had turned its sign off, leaving that area of the street in darkness save for one single light, an uncomfortable shade of scarlet just outside of a café. I’ve never eaten there personally, but I’ve certainly heard the rumours of… unusual clientele. Images of hooded and masked figures flashed through my mind and I cringed into myself, clutching my books tighter. Almost on instinct my gaze turned to the cliff that loomed above the town as a flash of lightning illuminated the outline of a large ruined castle, stark against the blackened and angry sky. With a yelp, I scurried down the alleyway nearest to me in an attempt to dodge the worst of the rain. I may be straying from the Church of Our Lady, but I believed in consequences at heart.

Spotting an awning in the alleyway, I took a moment to duck underneath it to take a respite from the rain. I was finally able to relax somewhat now that the rain was no longer pelting me, and I took some deep breaths, leaning against the brick wall that I had found myself beside. With a furtive glance to the side, I took the time to unwrap my newly gotten books from their linen wrappings and smiled to myself when I noticed that they’ve managed to remain dry. The smell of the leather greeted me warmly as I ran my fingers over it, feeling the bumps and ridges on the cover. Whorls of shadow coursed their way up the front of the book before dipping around to the inside, causing the cover to be lifted slightly off of the first page.

I sighed deeply and placed my hand on the cover, the warm leather thrumming with barely contained life under my fingers. The moment passed, and I rewrapped my parcel and stepped back into the rain as my umbrella shielded me once more. Steeling my resolve, I made my way back up the street as the cobblestones slipped and slid under my thick soled heeled boots. My convent wasn’t too far away now, but it’s up a steep hill and I knew I would need all of my strength to climb it, especially in the now-approaching-hurricane type rains.

The wind tugged and pulled at my umbrella but I pressed on, my long skirt whipping back and forth under the gale onslaught. The sidewalk was empty save for myself, and I startled slightly when a large, white limousine car passed me by. It passed slowly, and I got the feeling along the back of my neck that something wasn’t quite right. Regardless, I could see the large gate of the convent looming in the distance and I ducked my head down, powering through the last of the steep hill.

I swung open the large, barred door to the convent and cursed inwardly. Ahead of me was one of my fellow Sisters, bounding towards me with her habit flying behind her as she practically skipped. She was beaming a smile right at me, and I felt compelled to smile back, even uneager as I was to see her. Sister Marta has always been a rightful ray of sunshine throughout the convent, and it’s hard not to return one of her sunny smiles, no matter how drenched to the bone I was.

“Sister Marta, hello,” I said, putting on some false cheeriness. Happy as she was, she was never particularly bright in the area of intellect or societal clues, something I had grown quite willing to manipulate recently.

“Sister Lunaria! Where have you been on this awful night? It’s raining fit for Revelation!” She smiled at her own joke and I groaned inwardly to myself, closing my eyes for a brief moment before responding.

“I had some errands to run. Mother Superior gave me the day, once I finished with my translations. Some pocket change later, and I’ve got a nice new book. I thought it sounded nice, on a night like tonight.” I looked out the window just as a flash of lightning sparked across the sky in a low, concerning arc. A brief thought of the trees in the orange grove being struck crossed my mind before I saw the face in the window and I gasped, all thought of the trees gone.

“Sister?” Marta moved to me and took my umbrella gently, leaning it against the stone wall to the side of me with a tenderness I’d come to expect from her. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Must um.. Must just be a chill, from the rain. I think I should retire, Marta.” I went to move towards the dormitory but stopped when she put her hand up, ticking one finger from side to side.

“Not quite yet! I need to see what book you got! Maybe I’ll want to borrow it when you’re done, silly.” A small spark of fear shot through me at the thought of her touching my new book-- my precious book that I spent six months of my earnings on, and that made my finger tips warm when I brushed against it, even through gloves. Even simply seeing it in that book store was enough for me to become beholden to it.

“Of course,” I said, gritting my teeth into a widened smile. Carefully I managed to unwrap the books, sliding the larger one forward so that it covered My book completely, showing her the cover. “It’s Anne of The Green Gables. I remember the matron at the orphanage reading it to me.” I managed, with some difficulty, to contort my face into something resembling nostalgic loss as I caressed the cover of it, keeping a tight grip on the other book underneath.

“Oh, Lunaria, that’s wonderful! What a grand idea!” Marta clapped her hands together in joy, gifting me with yet another beaming and sunny smile. “You should get that habit and wimple off, you’re probably bone cold!” It’s only now that she frets, shooing me towards the dorms. I supposed she’s on hallway duty tonight.

“Yes. Good night, Marta.” I started to leave before remembering to toss behind my shoulder a final farewell, “Go with God, Sister.”

Her own voice is muffled as she turns to leave, but I was sure that she gave the same farewell. She’s as to-the-letter as Novitiates can get within the Clergy. Finally alone I moved quickly to your private dorm, a gift now that I’m finally among the senior Sister’s in the convent. The door shut quietly behind me and once more, I ached desperately for a lock. Hedging my bets on solitude I moved towards my window, opening it and placing my hand below the pane. When I felt no water on my hand, I sat down in front of it and carefully unwrapped my parcel.

The book tumbled out of the linen wrapping and I grabbed it greedily, holding it to my chest like a lost child for a moment before settling it on my crossed legs. I brushed a hand over the cover again, snatching my hand back when it practically burnt me. Determination reignited, I brought both hands to my wimple and snatched it off of my head, my long lilac and white streaked hair falling around my face as you leaned back over the book.

This time when I touched it the cover was cooler. I opened the book delicately, running a finger down the first page as the black text seemed to leap out at me. In delicate, malicious lettering it spelled:

Malleus Lexicana

A chill ran up the base of my spine to tickle at my neck as I brushed my finger over the words. They were slightly raised, as if inked over and over again. When I turned the page, a single name was inscribed there in jagged, neat handwriting. Emeritus. I frowned to myself, recalling my past lessons in Latin. Was I correct in assuming that the owner of this book was a deceased Pope? My hand twitched with the urge to cross myself and I quelled it easily. The desire to step away from my faith has gotten only stronger since I first brushed against the book all those months ago, and even my nightly prayers have gone unsaid for weeks now. Taking a deep breath, I spoke the words aloud.

“Malleus lexicana,” I breathed. The words felt both foreign and natural on my tongue as they rolled past my lips and my breath caught in your chest as the book seemed to warm again in my grasp. I turned the page once more and stopped at a beautiful illustration of a cross. Fingers fumbling for my own crucifix at your neck, I studied the detailed drawing before realizing that it's shaped incorrectly.

A new child… Birthed into sin.

“My Lord?!” I gasped, dropping the book as I rose up onto my knees, gripping my crucifix tightly in the palm of my hand. A cold finger trailed up my spine once more, twirling some of the hair at the nape of my neck and leaving me shivering in fear and frigidity.

Of sorts… But not your Lord, little Sister.

“Who are you? Where are you?” I asked, whirling around onto one foot and knee to look behind me into the darkest depths of my small room. It was empty, although the pitch blackness seemed to writhe and curl inward on itself-- it felt sentient and ominous, watching me. Another deep breath to steel myself once more and I picked up the book again, settling back down in front of the window as a small gust of air moved my hair from my pale face. I squinted slightly, the vision in my white eye better for text than my other.

Turning the page revealed more words, again in some bastardization of Latin. It wasn’t the high form of Latin that I’d been taught, although some of the words are recognisable to me at first glance. It seemed to be a prayer of some sort, I thought to myself as my finger glided down the thick page. It ended on the word “nemA” and my felt my heart catch in my chest before beating rapidly. The sacrilegious undertones of the text were quickly becoming apparent and I found myself excited by the prospect.

Come to me, Sister. Renounce this coven.

“It’s not a coven, it’s a convent,” I mumbled out loud, no longer questioning the odd dialogue that I had going with the disembodied voice. Perhaps it was the book speaking to me, and perhaps it was my God questioning the strength of my waning faith. I deserved to have it questioned, did I not? So many nights spent in quiet contemplation of my life and the years I have left to live… likely stuck in the same black habit and small convent that I served already, at nineteen years.

Are they not the same thing, when serving a Lord that one cannot see, nor touch, nor feel? Do you feel His presence inside of you, Sister?

I paused, my finger still on the ending of the prayer as I contemplated the voice’s words to me. Thinking back over the past months, I realized as my heart dropped into my stomach that I hadn’t felt the presence of anything that I would consider myself particularly beholden to. Every waking moment had been spent doing my chores for a meager amount of money so that I could purchase the book. My book.

Ahh, there we are Sister. Come to me.

“I don’t even know where you are!” I closed the book, setting it gently to the side before standing and looking out the window as if to see where the voice is coming from. The darkness yielded no answers to me, and I felt childish for seeking them there. The storm beat down harsher than ever and the genuine fear of a flood breezed past my thoughts. A flash of lightning arced across the skies once more, lighting up the vineyard bright as day. A small part of me hoped to see someone or something in the distance, but the light revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

I am not out there, Sister. Your naivety is showing. I cannot wait to urge it out of you.

“Well if you’re not out there, then where are you?” I whirled around to face my room again, the shadows in the farthest reaches of the room seemingly darker. Impenetrable. Answerless, cold, and quiet. I would find no answers there, either.

I can see what you see not, Sister. Your vision milky, then eyes rot…

I squinted slightly as I looked deeper into the shadows, leaning towards them in an attempt to pierce the darkness. Something was moving in the darkness, wriggling and pulsating as I stared at it. At a sudden movement towards me, I took a half step back in shock, gasping as I collided with my wall. Tendrils of shadow writhed at the corners of my vision and I gripped onto the side of my bed as a wave of dizziness overtook me.

Now you can see what cannot be… Shadows move where the light should be. Out of darkness, and out of mind.

“What are you doing to me?” I whispered, my voice tearing with fear as my eyes refused to leave the spot that the shadows danced. A gust of wind through my open window disturbed the smoky shadow and it scattered quickly, only to reform in the basic shape of a man. I briefly recognized it at the silhouette of the hunched man who worked in the book store.

Pressing myself farther against the wall, my hand flew on instinct to the crucifix around my neck. My heart beat pounded in my ears as the sharp corner of the cross pressed painfully into my palm. The shadow figure staggered closer to me, one arm raised slightly as it approached. It was all I could do to remain silent in my fear as it made its way shambling towards me. Its jaw dropped open as it spoke in old Latin, and it took me a moment to realize that the thing’s mouth wasn’t moving as it spoke.

Its hand came to my forehead, and I felt the touch of old and weathered skin against mine as it pressed gently against me. More Latin fell from its desiccated lips as I watched in horror. My body felt unbearably cold, and then blisteringly hot. I broke into a feverish sweat as the thing finished speaking, pressing harder on my head before pulling back altogether.

I felt my vision beginning to swim as my eyes rolled back into my head from dizziness and managed to get my back against my bed as I fell. I blinked twice, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

“Sister?” I awoke to a pounding on my door, and my head pounding with it. Struggling to sit upright, I looked over at my clock on the wall. 9 am, and I was due for chores. I called something unintelligible out to the person in the hallway as I swung my legs over the side of my bed and attempted to stand. Almost instantly a wave of nausea and dizziness overtook me and I shot out a hand to brace myself on the wall. Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed hard before calling to the person again.

“Enter, please. I need assistance.” My stomach roiled as I sat, closing my eyes to attempt to ebb the waves of nausea coursing through me. I heard the door creak as it opened, and cracked open one eye to see Sister Marta entering. Of course. “Sister Marta, good morning.”

“You don’t look well, Sister…” Marta came to stand before me as she rested the back of her hand gently against my forehead. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, her hand was cool against my skin and the gesture was welcomed. She brushed back a strand of my hair as she cupped my face, lifting my head slightly to look at me. “I’ll tell the Mother Superior that you’re ill. Perhaps you should lie down.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “I’m sorry to see you without your headdress, Sister, but your hair is beautiful. As striking as your eyes.” I cracked open my left eye and regarded her lightly before drifting it closed again.

“Thank you. Would you help me lie down before you leave?” I’d never felt this weak before, and I was becoming concerned for my own health. Sister Marta put her hand gently around my upper arm and lifted my woolen blankets with the other as she assisted me under them. My heart warmed for a moment as I felt her tuck me in and adjust my pillow.

“Would you like me to bring you some broth in a while?” she asked, moving towards my window and drawing the curtains. I heard her pause, and I tensed in apprehension. Had she seen the book? “No wonder you’re feeling ill, Sister Lunaria! You let your window open all night.” She tutted to herself and slid the glass pane shut, locking it into place and securing the curtains tightly so that the morning sun was dimmed.

“Oh, how silly of me. Of course. I must just have some type of flu,” I said, pulling the covers over my head as I hunkered down into my pillow. In truth, my head was pounding fit to burst and I felt dangerously close to vomiting. I heard Sister Marta make her way back to my door and pull it open.

“I’ll let the rest know that you’re unwell today, and tell them to give you some space while you recover. Would you like the broth for lunch?” she queried. I snaked an arm out from under my comforter and gave her a thumbs up, which seemed to satisfy her. A moment later and the door clicked shut once more, leaving me in silence.

I fell into an uneasy seep, tinged with dreams of reaching darkness and a single white eye to match my own.

When I awoke, my room was lit by the afternoon sun and the curtains had been drawn back from my window. A mug rested on my nightstand with a covering on top, and I placed my hand hesitantly against the ceramic. Still warm. Sister Marta must have kept to her word and brought me some broth for lunch. I struggled to sit up in my bed and drew the mug close to myself, inhaling the steam before taking a sip.

The broth was welcome as I sat and rested, taking deep and steadying breaths. The nausea had abated almost entirely, though I was still dizzy. I drained the mug and placed it back onto my nightstamp, wiping the back of my mouth on my bicep as I stood and moved towards the window. I swore quietly to myself when I kicked something heavy, and looked down to see the book.

“Shit,” I mumbled as I picked it up. Sister Marta must have seen it, as it was laying in plain sight. Almost instantly the warm from the book invaded my senses again and I felt myself growing stronger, throwing off the cold that seemed to have gripped me when I woke up. My crucifix hung heavy and cold against my chest, and I eyed it for a moment before looking at the book once more. “Tell me how to reach you,” I said, hoping that the book would respond… That I wasn’t insane.

Your mind will guide the way. Come to me, Sister.

“If I come to you… I won’t be a Sister anymore, will I?” It was a stupid question, but the answer surprised me.

Si, of a different sort. Come. Come.

The voice grew impossible to resist, and before I knew it, I found myself at the small closet in my bedroom. I pulled open the door and found a small bag I had stashed away in the back, and hastily folded my habits into it. I tossed in the rest of my underwear and tights, as well as an extra pair of shoes as well. Finally, I took the book into my hands and stared deeply into the cover for a moment, making the final decision in my mind.

“I’m coming. What do I call you?” The embarrassment of speaking to an inanimate object flares inside of me again as I shake my head and move towards my window, unlocking it and hurling it open. As I stick one leg out the window, the answer comes.

You call me Papa.

“Alright, Papa…” I start, grunting with effort as I duck through the small window and make the short drop to the ground below. The heels of my shoes dig into the softened Earth and I reel slightly, leaning back heavily against the wall of my convent for balance as I yank them free. “Looks like I’m coming.” Without stopping to think or renege on my decision I started off, my feet instinctively moving towards the cliff that bordered my town. The castle loomed high above me, and I swallowed hard as I steeled myself.

The path that led to the base of the cliff was easy enough to find and navigate. The sign posts throughout the town that had bore the name of the castle had all been scoured or burned away, which left me with a convenient trail to follow as I made my way towards it. At the base of the path that wound up the steep, rocky cliff, I found myself stopped by a wrought iron gate. It had the same odd cross design that I had found in the book carved into the metal, as chains held the gate shut. It stretched the expanse of the road and I huffed a sigh.

Let me get that for you, sorella.

I stepped back with a shocked gasp as the chains fell to the old and weathered cobblestones, the gate swinging open towards me on silent hinges. Though the iron was mottled with rust, it made no sounds as it opened, yawning open like a mouth waiting for me to enter. I took another deep breath and moved forward, hardly jumping when it clanged shut behind me, and chains wound back around it like live snakes.

The thick woods welcomed me into the all consuming darkness with a silence that settled on my ears like a blanket. It was dark and still, but I felt no fear. In the distance, a wolf howled alone and I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle at the sound. Besides the wolf, however, there were no sounds within the thicket of trees. The path itself lay clear of any forest debris that I had expected to find after the storm last night, and seemed to be very well maintained.

Before long, I was panting as the slope of the path grew steeper. My legs burned and ached, and my feet protested any movement inside of my heeled shoes. I stopped to consider the drawbacks of removing them for a moment, before deciding that it was a necessity. I unhooked the buckle on either shoe before stepping out of them and carrying them in one hand, continuing up the path slightly slower, as I attempted to dodge the still standing puddles of water in my stocking-clad feet.

Finally, after what felt like hours I arrived at the base of the castle. As I expected from the view down below, it was in ruins. A large bell sat embedded into the cobbles in front of the entrance, a large crack running along the surface of it. It was golden, and embossed with the same sigil I had seen down below on the gates. Weeds grew between the stones unchecked, and pieces of stone lay scattered around the ground in front of me. I bent down and picked one up, weighing it in my hand before tossing it aside.

“Ah, you’ve arrived.” I started, looking up towards the entryway. A tall and poised woman was standing there, leaning slightly against the bell and regarding me with piercing blue eyes. She was dressed in a similar fashion to me, I noted with some surprise. A smart black dress hugged her frame, which she accessorized with a black blazer and a large silver necklace… that same sigil again. On her feet, nearly the same shoes that I had removed not long ago.

“Who are you?” I asked, picking my way carefully across the debris towards her. She held out a hand towards me with a smile, and I took it without thinking. Her hand was warm as she clasped mine, patting the top of my hand fondly with her other. Her smile reached her eyes easily, and I felt instantly calm.

“You may call me the Sister Imperator. I’m glad to see you’ve made it home safely.” My heart squeezed at her words. Home. I’d never had a proper one, being raised as an orphan, and the thought of having a true home was enough to bring tears prickling to my eyes.

“The book said… Papa was the one who called to me. Am I to meet with him?”

“Soon, child. Let’s get you inside and warmed up. We’ll get some food into that belly and a nice warm drink, I think. Then we can go through all of the introductions and explanations that I’m sure you want.” Her eyes left mine and traveled down my body to rest on my crucifix. “You are of the faith? Catholic?”

My own eyes dropped to the necklace hanging between my breasts as my hand came up to grip it. A million thoughts whorled through my mind before it landed on one that I was sure of: this place already felt more like home than anywhere else I’d ever been. I squeezed the cross tightly in my fist before tugging it, snapping the chain from around my neck. The silver chain dangled from my palm for a moment before I tossed it to the ground.

“No longer.”

#lorraine writes #fics #ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #papa emeritus

[stxrrywildflower]

carolina (2)

pairing - emily prentiss x reader

summary - you meet emily in a bar, she doesn’t realize who you are until she hears a song about her on the radio

warnings - none

series masterlist

emily felt like she couldn’t breath.

the profiler tried to go on with her life, she really did. except, your song was already extremely popular. it was topping the charts, people were constantly talking about it, and it was played on most radio stations. it was incredibly difficult to avoid the song, nonetheless you.

an entire week went by of emily trying to escape the song. the details of your hookup were never released, emily was starting to regret not admitting it to j.j. and garcia. the tech analyst loved the song, always gushing about the lyrics. all emily wanted to do was yell that it was about her.

but she couldn’t for multiple reasons; your privacy and the reaction from others. sure the team knew of her partner preference but how would they react if they knew emily had hooked up with one of the most famous singers at the moment.

news articles were another issue too. drama outlets were pestering you with questions about who the song was about. each time, you would remain stubern and not open up. it made her want to scream.

emily decided to just move on, work becoming her main priority for the next few days. j.j. and penelope didn’t let up on their questions, though they did learn to be more subtle about it.

no new cases were presented which was more than suprising. the team was fairly thankful for it, paperwork and 9 to 5’s were usually uncommon. being able to actually work and be home in time for dinner was one of their simple pleasures.

walking into work, emily was focused on one thing; coffee.

she couldn’t have been in the main floor for more than a few seconds before penelope was rushing over to the elevators.

“hey em,” penelope greeted. “there was a package dropped off for you this morning. i told the delivery guy to just leave it at your desk.”

though emily nodded, her mind was already formulating theories as she hasn’t ordered anything recently. being a profiler will make you that paranoid.

just like penelope had said, a smile white box with a small gold ribbon sat on her desk. emily narrowed her eyes slightly, having even less of a clue on what it could be.

“well, are you going to open it?”

emily ignored the remarks from the team, taking a seat and placing her bag at the base of her desk.

with only slightly shaky hands, she reached out to untie the ribbon. the sides of the box fell away as the strings were released, leaving the top on. after pulling the final piece off, she froze.

inside was an envelope, another piece of paper under it. the note was in your handwriting, edges crisp and extremely neat. in cursive letters was ‘emily prentiss.’ all thoughts of it being a mix up went right out of the door.

she refrained from opening it yet, wanting to see the other contents in the box before reading. emily next put the note on her desk, now focused on what was under it.

of all things, it was a plane ticket. ‘washington dulles international airport (IAD) to los angeles international airport (LAX). 9:30 am.’ it was set for the following morning, first class and already paid.

emily opened the note, seeing a five letter offer scribbled down.

‘meet me in los angeles?’ -y/n

emily’s never taken time off quicker.

____

touching down in the warm city of los angeles, emily was a bundle of nerves. she was already begining to regret wearing joggers and a t-shirt.

she had no clue how to feel about dropping everything or just the situation as a whole  

it was only when emily grabbed her luggage that she realized just how much of an idiot she was. she had just flow across the country with no clue where to go, who to talk to, or where you were. she was acting on pure adrenaline and impulse. her luggage finally came around, emily picking it up and extending the handle to grab.

a tap on emily’s shoulder caused her to jump. she turned around, now in front of a man in a clean black suit. he was holding a name card and a small index card.

“emily prentiss?” he asked.

“yeah?” emily replied, not quite sure what else to say. “this is for you,” he added, handing over the small piece of paper.

‘if you’re reading this, i assume you arrived with no issue. i sent leo to pick you up at the airport, hope he didn’t freak you out. he’ll take you back to mine. xx - y/n’

emily picked up her luggage once more, ready to follow leo out. “just letting you know, it’s a bit of a drive,” leo offered, getting in the drivers side while emily took the back. she nodded, letting out a sigh with it. at least she could think for awhile.

pulling up to your house, scratch that, it was pretty much a mansion, emily didn’t know if she had guessed completely correct on what it would look like or was just flat out wrong.

the house was in hollywood on one of the steep hills. after passing through the gates, a heavy security measure, she finally got view of the home. the outside was pretty modern, made up of mostly white and grey colors as well as many windows. a garden with a fountain in the center greeted her as they pulled into the circular driveway.

“well this is where i let you out. just head up the stairs and ring the doorbell. y/n should be down to greet you soon,” leo spoke. “i really hope everything works out. i’ve never seen y/n happier then when she came back from washington d.c.”

emily thanked him quietly, still processing the final piece of information he had spoke.

dragging her bags behind her, emily headed up the series of steps and to the door. just like leo had instructed, she pushed the doorbell button and stood back.

you didn’t greet her at the door, the lock on the door clicking signaling emily that it was now unlocked. she twisted the knob, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

the foyer may have been more impressive than the outside. a grand chandelier hug from the ceiling, a curved staircase leading up to the top floor. her heels clicked around the floor as she twirled around, looking up at the decor.

you heard the front door of your house open, the alarm alerting you just moments before. you were currently making lunch, just a simple sandwich and then fruit on the side

after putting your lunch on hold, abandoning your knife you were using as well as your now finished meal, you left the kitchen to meet your guest.

emily stood only slightly awkwardly in your open foyer. her bags were by her side, eyes darting around the room. half the stuff in there was probably worth more than she could think.

footsteps broke the profiler out of her observation.

you were finally in her eyesight a moment later, a small smile on your face as you walked down the hallway. what captivated emily once again was just your overall appearance. a sharp breath escaped her lips before she would realize that.

a loose oversized tan cardigan hung of your body, a white tank top underneath that with leggings as your pants. your hair was down, relaxed in its natural style. no makeup was on either, not even lipstick like you had on when she first met you.

“hey em,” god just the way you said her name made her blush.

“hi,” emily greeted, thankful her voice didn’t crack.

“i can take your bags upstairs,” you offered. “i’ll put them in my favorite guest room, it has the best views. you can go into the kitchen if you want, it’s just down the hall. the rooms open, there’s no way you can miss it.”

the two of you went your separate ways, you upstairs and her to the kitchen.

out of pure habit, emily ran her hand across the marble countertops, looking around at the details you had strewn about.

“sorry about the mess, i was just making,” emily jumped at your voice. she wasn’t expecting you back so soon. “it’s totally okay, honestly.”

another wave of awkward silence fell over you two, neither quite sure what to say. “look emily-” you started. “we do need to talk about what happened.”

“do we?” emily spoke. you laughed, “yes we do.”

while you took a seat at one of the counter seats, emily stood up. she was obviously holding back, reluctant how to go with the situation.

“come on emily. you’ve been all i’ve thought about for the past two weeks. hell, i even wrote a song about you. and we do need to talk about the elephant in the room,” you pleaded. “have you even heard it?”

emily nodded, “yes i have. my friend penelope sent me the link. listed it it then and didn’t really know how to react. it was kinda difficult to avoid, it’s playing everywhere. your doing amazing by the way. figured i could throw in a complement there.”

a blush passed across your cheeks. “thank you,” you whispered.

emily then looked down, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. you figured you might ask well just dive into the heavy stuff.

“all i’m saying is that you came here for a reason. there has to be some part of you that’s been thinking about me too. i would like to think you aren’t the person to just drop everything and meet in a whole different state for just anyone,” you commented.

you did get her there. emily did really just leave work without explanation to come see you.

emily didn’t respond, choosing to step forward to connect your lips. you hooked your legs around her, holding her cheek and arm in your hand.

the kiss was incredibly different than the one at the bar, that one being sloppy and rushed. you two were in a hurry, wanting to feel as much of the other as you could.

this one, you could actually take your time. very little could interrupt the two of you. you could actually savor the feeling of her body against yours.

“let’s give us a try,” you mumbled against her lips.

emily nodded, holding your waist a little tighter. “let’s give us a try.”

☆ ☆ ☆

tags - @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @kissessforharryyy @garcias-batcave @zoseph @kissessfordraco @ogmilkis @cm-is-kinda-cool @matthewgublerswife @guessthatswhyiliveinhell @spencerslatte @babyangellee @agentshortstacc

#criminal #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia #luke alvez #matt simmons #tara lewis

[dzamie-oc]

14 - Sea

I just... I really like that "here there be dragons" thing, okay? It got the imaginations of old timey bards and seafaring boasters going, and it gets me thinking about dragons, too.

Length: 1600 words Rating: G Summary: A sailor goes exploring in what he thinks are uncharted waters. He finds them perfectly charted.

-----

William checked his boat’s navigator against the old map spread on the table. It wasn’t a treasure map, and a lot of the handwriting on it was barely this side of legible, but it was one of his father’s most prized possessions, and he intended to finish it. The old man had always insisted to him that it already had been, but Will was no fool. Written on the space just - he checked his speed - just five minutes away was, in large script, “Here There Be Dragons.” He’d tried to explain to his dad that that was what old cartographers would write in unexplored areas, where the unknown was speculated to have fantastical, unreal beasts, but all that ever got him was a condescending smile and a shake of his head.

He wasn’t going to deface the map, of course; he was raised better than to mistreat old heirlooms. He was, however, going to fill in the region on a copy he’d made. Probably with some little doodles of fish, unless an island popped up real soon. Until then, of course, there was little reason not to enjoy the salty sea air, so Will set the navigation computer and strolled out onto the deck to watch and listen to the waves.

The sun shone splendidly down with only a few clouds in the sky, and its light glittered off the wide, open waters. Will half wished he’d brought some fishing equipment, though admitted to himself that it would mostly be there for habit - an excuse to just sit back and relax while pretending not to be wasting time. After motoring to the middle of the “Here There Be Dragons,” noting the surprisingly shallow depth on the fathometer, and anchoring his vessel, the amateur sailor went around the deck, trying to see anything of note in the area. He thought he caught a glimpse of a fish over one side, but other than that, nothing, after the better part of half an hour. 

He made a note of the somewhat shallow water on his map, and went to draw the anchor back up. However, the thought of relaxing in calm waters tugged at his mind, so he stayed his hand and instead settled himself in a chair outside the cabin. After all, he reasoned, he had budgeted ample time to explore an uncharted island or a somehow still-floating derelict, so he might as well use it for a nap. And like that, to the sounds of the waves ebbing and flowing atop the water, and gently slapping against the boat’s hull, he let himself fall asleep.

“...rwater? Captain Bradley? Is that you? Wow, time has been good to you!” a female voice said, rousing William from sleep.

Groggy, the sailor stretched, then squinted towards the voice, shading his eyes with his hand. “Miss? Who... why are you out so far? There’s nothing here.”

The voice made a confused noise. “Hm? I live here, don’t you remember? Oh no, did you somehow lose your memory?”

William shook his head. “Gimme a second, here.” He rose from his chair and stumbled slightly, catching himself on what felt like damp leather. “Thanks, but ma’am, you’re soaked!” Finally, he was able to clear his vision and adjust to the sunlight once again, and nearly fainted dead away at the sight.

“Well, SOME of us swim through the water,” said the scaly, blue-green... creature. One forepaw was outstretched to keep William balanced, and her hindlegs were easily a dozen feet past that. She resembled an eel, with her long body and her even longer tail, sporting a single fin down her length, and her head was almost avian with its triangular shape and beak-like muzzle, except she was absolutely covered in scales, and sported a single horn right below her eyes. The shape of her face didn’t lend itself to smiling, and nor do many animals express themselves with a smile, but the tone of her voice told him plainly of her happy, playful attitude.

Will realized he was staring, and tried to figure out whether it was more important that he was staring at a very large, potentially carnivorous creature with claws and what must be a powerful tail, or staring for an awfully long time at someone who thought she was familiar with him. Before he could come to a conclusion, however, the creature drew back and veritably strutted about the deck, striking a pose and showing off the profile of her horned head. “Hey, I hardly blame you for looking, when what you’ve got to look at is a dragoness as beautiful as me. But, seriously, are you okay, Bradley? You’ve hardly said a word.”

“Sorry, who do you think I am? I’ve never been out here,” Will admitted, then took a careful step towards the cabin. “Please don’t kill me.”

“You’re not Captain Bradley Clearwater?” the dragon asked, “then... why do you have his boat? And look just like him?”

“No, I’m William Clearwater,” he replied, half out of habit, “Bradley was my fa-”

The two of them stopped and stared at each other in shocked silence as the pieces clicked into place.

“Bradley had a kid!?” she shouted and rushed towards Will. “And he didn’t TELL me!?”

Will, to his credit, displayed a phenomenal reaction time, diving away from the lunging sea monster. Peering out from the cabin door, he saw her hesitate, then take a step back. “Also, uh,” she said with less energy than earlier, “I’m not going to kill you. Or, well, I’d rather not. Decency aside, Bradley would be pissed if I killed his kid.”

The sailor took a tentative step out of the cabin, though stayed close by and warily eyed the dragon. “Okay, first thing’s first, I’m dreaming, right? Fell asleep on the open ocean, and my mind is making up some sort of benevolent sea monster who knows my dad?”

The creature shook her head. “I don’t think so, unless you’ve been asleep for longer than you’ve been alive. I’m just one of the only dragons who let humans see us. How is Bradl- your dad, anyway? It’s been awhile.”

“He...” Will sighed. “He passed away a few years ago. That’s why I have his boat.”

“Oh. And you came to tell me the news?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t even know you existed - er, no offense. I just came because of a map he made that had been bugging me.”

“Ooh, a treasure map?” She stepped forward, her body lightly wiggling from nose to tail. “Can I see?”

Will looked at her still-wet body, and thought of the aged paper map. “I’ll... here, let me show you the copy I made. It’s not a treasure map.” He ducked in, grabbed his map from the table, and walked over, holding it so they both could see. “See, the only difference was that his map had a “Here There Be Dragons” in this empty spot, so I came to finish exploring.” He blinked, then looked at her. “Also, I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Well, if you were your dad, I wouldn’t have needed to tell you, so I haven’t yet. I’m Carol,” Carol said. “If that’s the only difference, I’d say it is a treasure map.”

“Wait, what?” Will stared frantically all over the map, looking for some hint or clue or anything that he might have missed, that Carol had somehow seen immediately. “How?”

“The real one says “Here There Be Dragons,” right?” She stepped back and raised a forepaw to her scaly chest, standing proud. “I’m the treasure!”

“No, it’s a shorthand that medieval cartographers used to represent... ah, nevermind.” Will smiled. “In that case, I think I’d like to get to know this treasure, at least for a couple of hours before I head back.”

“Awesome, I love talking about myself!” Carol chirped. “Plus, you definitely have to catch me up on the last... three hundred moons or so?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Will returned his map to the cabin, then emerged onto the deck once more to pass the time with his unexpected guest.

-----

Dragon and sailor spent the next few hours talking, teaching each other about their cultures, and just hanging out in general. By the time William had to leave, he had grown bold enough to ask if he could feel her scales - on purpose, this time, and Carol was more than happy to show him just where on her head to rub, and then joked that now, he was obligated to do that more, the next time he visited. After he said his goodbyes, Carol dove over the side of the boat and into the water. It surprised William, how little her leap made the boat rock back and forth, and what small splash she made, in spite of being easily four or five times as long as he was tall.

Carol helped lift the anchor, even though William tried to explain that it was an automatic thing now. Once it was all up, they bid farewell one last time, and then William started up the engine. With Carol keeping her neck and one forepaw above the water, the two waved at each other for a bit as they receded into their respective distances, and then the dragon vanished beneath the waves, leaving the man to his thoughts.

William looked at his map, thinking about his original plan for the trip - to prove to himself (and his father’s memory) that the map really was incomplete. He stared at the little mark he made on his map, noting the unexpectedly shallower waters he dropped anchor in. And, with a confident, humorous smile he suspected looked like the one his dad gave him whenever he brought up the old map, William put pen to paper, making sure to write in the correct place, and write legibly:

“Here There Be Dragons”

#dragon #dragons #smaugust #sea serpent #sailing #writing #writers on tumblr #smaugust 2021 #sea #sea dragon #text

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Lightning in a Bottle | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Music is Edmund’s love language, apparently. 

Request: Hey! Could you possibly do a cute high school au with Edmund? Maybe they’re both crushing on each other and everyone knows except themselves, anything you wanna do really haha 😂 thanksss :)

A/N: Thanks for the request!!  God, I love Edmund so much. And here, we have indie boi Ed. This oneshot is inspired by  Electric Love by Børns. (Specifically, the video linked) This is one of my favorite songs, and I thought it fit the indie-main-character-high-school vibe :) I didn’t really nail the “everyone knows but them” thing, but still crushes! Enjoy ~

masterlist | here is a playlist of the songs in the mixtape mentioned | read on ao3

Edmund Pevensie was obsessed with listening to music, particularly with old musical technology. While it wasn’t uncommon to have a fascination with cassette tapes or vinyl records, it hit a special chord within Edmund’s heart. Something about listening to music, old and new, on the outdated tech made the music sound better, hit harder, and stick in his mind better. He was the type of guy who took the AUX on long car rides to play one of his thousand Spotify playlists. 

Another notable thing about Edmund was that he was very intelligent with very high standards for himself. He was a natural at academics, having been in advanced classes since he was young, and he was the guy everyone hated in math class. After dozing off in class, and mouthing off to the teacher every now and again, he still came out as the teacher’s favorite and a straight-A student. 

The majority of the time, though, he tended to keep to himself. While he was genuinely liked by his peers and was rather charming, he didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Unlike his older brother, Peter, he liked to remain closer to the shadows with earbuds in his ears. He knew he could never fill his brother’s shoes; Peter had basically come into Cair Paravel High School to be captain of the soccer team. He was so good that even though his grades were subpar at best, he received a full-ride scholarship to Archenland University to study sports medicine and play on their soccer team. 

Then there was his older sister, Susan, who won her Student Body President campaign by a landslide. Everyone liked Susan; she was patient, gentle, and got along with pretty much everyone. She too got a pretty large scholarship to Beruna State College and is double majoring in child education and European history. 

Finally, there was Edmund’s little sister, Lucy. She was only a freshman at Cair Paravel, and very into student council. Edmund thought she was practically made to be an ASB kid; she was excited, friendly, and much too kind. Lucy made the switch to high school seamlessly and had a big group of friends by the time the final bell rang on the first day. 

Edmund was a senior now and he couldn’t wait to get out of high school. The people were unintelligent, he was constantly compared to his siblings and he was ready to start his life. Edmund had high ambitions to become a lawyer, specifically criminal law. He didn’t really have much to leave behind at this school, so he was just trying to get through it as soon as possible.

One thing he would miss was the quiet girl that sat behind him in his music appreciation class. Edmund didn’t really want to take the class, but at the last minute, he discovered he needed to fulfill an arts credit to graduate. He appreciated music and liked easy classes, so he chose this one. Little did he know it was mostly analyzing classical pieces. 

Y/N was super cute in Edmund’s eyes. She always mumbled sarcastic comments whenever their easily excitable teacher, Mr. Tumnus, would stretch when over-analyzing a stanza of music. By the time October passed, Edmund had grown quite fond of the girl. She almost always was reading a comic book of some sort instead of paying attention in class. Y/N even ended up lending Edmund a few for his viewing pleasures; he always made sure to return them in the exact condition he received them. Batman seemed to Y/N’s favorite. 

Y/N loved watching Edmund write. He held his pencil wrong and always had ink smudged all over his hand. Maybe it was because he was a leftie, or maybe it was because he wrote too fast. Probably a little bit of both. His handwriting was also weirdly slanted to the right, which didn’t make any sense to Y/N. He was left-handed but his letters slanted to the right? Not the mention how half of it was in cursive and half of it was in print. It was definitely messy but, oddly enough, still intelligible. 

“What are you listening to?” Y/N asked Edmund. “Better not be Christmas music. Christmas was last month.”

Edmund pulled an earbud out of his left ear and turned so he was sitting horizontally in his chair. He leaned an arm on the top of her desk and grinned. “Currently, I’m listening to Can I Call You Tonight? By Dayglow. What are you reading?” 

“Currently, I’m reading Volume 1 of The New Teen Titans,” Y/N copied Edmund. “I’ve never heard of Dayglow, are they good?” 

Edmund smiled, offering her his earbuds. “Listen and see for yourself.” 

As she listened Edmund searched her face for any clue to what she’s thinking. Her face housed a small smile so he concluded that she enjoyed it. Once the song ended, she took out one of his earbuds and placed it on her desk. 

“I like it,” She concluded, listening to the next song. 

“Good, so do I. It fits my mood for today.”

“What’s got you so happy today? You have a great way of showing happiness, by the way.” Edmund was dressed in all black with his hood up. Edmund rolled his eyes. 

“What I can’t be in a good mood?” 

“I never said that, Pevensie. You just look very Edmund-y today.” Y/N pulled the other earbud out of her head and held them out to him.

“No, keep listening. I’ll play some music for you throughout class and maybe you can tell me what you think at the end?” He pulled his hood off of his head and smoothed out his hair. “And what do you mean Edmund-y?”

“I don’t know, all black, hood up, dead look in your eyes.” 

“I don’t have a dead look in my eyes!” Y/N giggled at her own joke. “Just for that, I’m going to take this.” He snatched the open comic book that laid open on her desk. 

For the remainder of the class, Edmund dictated what Y/N listened to from his phone. He played everything from The Beatles, to The 1975, to COIN, to Duran Duran. Every now and then, Edmund would peek his head back to see her eyes glued to the back of his head. Her body swayed to the music almost lazily, and a smile graced her features. For some reason that made his stomach feel fuzzy. 

She returned his earbuds at the end of class, and he returned her comic. 

“That was fun,” Y/N complimented, shoving her materials into her bag. “I like the get better song you played.”

“I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers,” Edmund corrected her as they left the classroom. Music Appreciation was the class of the day for them, seeing as they were seniors who left at lunch, so the two started making their way towards the parking lot. 

“You have to meet your sister right?” Y/N asks, pulling out her I.D. so she could leave campus. “The really sweet freshman girl? Honestly, you two are so different I wouldn’t have guessed you were siblings.” 

“Oh, Lucy, yeah. We grab lunch every Thursday before I drop her back off for the remainder of her classes.” The two showed their I.D.’s to the campus aid and walked into the parking lot. 

“That’s sweet. We should grab lunch sometime, or something. It could be fun! We could do our analysis questions about Bach.” Y/N started to walk in the opposite direction and Edmund felt his cheeks warm. Luckily, Y/N’s back was now towards him. 

“Yeah, sure. Don Giovanni, right?” 

Y/N’s laughter could be heard as she grew further away. “That’s Motzart, Pevensie!”

Edmund shook his head and met Lucy. She was leaning against his car looking bored. 

“Who was that? Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, opening the door once Edmund unlocks the car. This made his cheeks flush more. 

“No, she’s just the girl that sits behind me in Tumnus,” Edmund puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine. 

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not, Lucy. It’s just hot in the car, it’s been sitting out here for ages.”

~

 One day in the middle of March when Y/N walked into Music Appreciation, she noticed a small rectangle box on her desk. Upon opening it, she found a cassette and a note. The note looked as if it was typed using a typewriter. 

Y/N,

I’m not very good when it comes to words, but I’m good when it comes to music. Hopefully, this says it all. Enjoy, my love. 

Side A //

Electric Love / Børns

I Love You So / The Walters

Fallingforyou / The 1975

Your Song /  Elton John

Someone To You / BANNERS

Side B //

Babe, Can I Call? / The Hunna

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy) / The 1975

Luv, Hold Me Down / Drowners

love somebody like you / joan

TV Dream / Larkins

Y/N didn’t recognize most of the songs, but just reading the titles made her blush. 

“Mr. Tumnus? Did you happen to see who left this on my desk?” She held up the cassette so he could see. He shook his head. 

“No, sorry.”

Other students started to trickle in and soon the bell rang, no trace of Edmund. It wasn’t uncommon for him to skip this class, it was basically pointless, but it made Y/N sad every time he wasn’t there. 

The door swings open and a drenched Edmund steps into the classroom. Without even looking up, Mr. Tumnus addresses him. 

“You’re late again, Mr. Pevensie.”

“Sorry, I got stuck behind a group of Sophmore girls who wouldn’t move.”

“In the rain?” Mr. Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

“No, if it was in the rain I would be wet right now, sir.”

He plopped into his seat and started raking his hands through his wet hair. His cheeks were slightly rosey, as were his nose. His lips were pinker than usual and they stayed slightly parted. Hair stuck to his forehead as he ran his fingers ran through it and the hair on the nape of his neck dripped down his back. Y/N had to stop herself from staring at him with her jaw unhinged. 

“What’s that?” He whispered, noticing the open present on Y/N’s desk. He had taken up sitting horizontal in his chair at all times so he could more easily talk to Y/N. 

“It’s a mixtape. It was left on my desk when I got here,” Y/N responded and handed him the note. Edmund took it and began to read; his eyes scanned the paper and his lips moved slightly as he read. Y/N couldn’t help her this time, so she allowed herself to stare. His lips were always so pink and so puffy. She fantasized about how soft they must be. 

“Wow, looks like someone really likes you,” He comments, placing the paper back on her desk. “Do you have a cassette player?”

Y/N didn’t even consider that. Who the hell has a cassette player in the year 2020? Apparently, her answer was evident on her face, and Edmund chuckles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a walkman and a pair of earbuds. 

“Here, you can have mine. I got a new one last month and I don’t really use this one as much.”

Oh, Edmund has a cassette player in the year 2020. 

Y/N smiled, taking the player from his hand. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on those songs. Whoever made that has good taste, you’re lucky.” 

~

When Y/N got home tonight, she took out her walkman. It sat easily in her palm, just big enough for the cassette to fit inside. On the bottom, “E.P.” was scratched into the plastic. She smiled and put her mixtape inside. 

As she listened, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Edmund. They had grown much closer in the past few months, even going lengths to hang out outside of school. Y/N learned that not only was Edmund extremely intelligent, but he was the funniest person Y/N had ever met. He always had a sarcastic comeback or joke to offer her, no matter the subject. He had also let many of his walls down, letting Y/N get to know him better. It all felt so comfortable and natural. No longer was he just the cute guy from Music Appreciation, but he was the pain in the ass that Y/N had fallen for. And Y/N had fallen hard. 

Against her first impression of the mixtape, Y/N had actually heard all of these songs. After the first day in January, Edmund had lent her his earbuds near-daily and she would listen to whatever he played for her. Her eyes widened. 

Why would Edmund carry around a cassette player he didn’t use? And to school for that matter? And the note; it was typed because Edmund had such distinct handwriting! Y/N rewound the cassette and listened to it again. Why didn’t she realize in the moment?

~

“Hello, Y/N,” Edmund greeted in the parking lot the morning, he happened to park next to Y/N. He gripped the coffee in his hand and got his backpack in the trunk. “How are you on this fine morning?”

“Tired, I stayed up, like, half the night listening to that cassette I got yesterday.” Y/N slung her own backpack over her shoulder. He closed his trunk and locked his car. 

“Yeah? And what did you think?” The two started walking towards the building. 

“I thought that the songs all sounded oddly familiar.”

Edmund took a long sip of his coffee. “Like you’ve heard them before?” 

“Mmhm,” Y/N hummed and walked onto campus. She held one of the straps of her backpack as she walked. “Almost as if this dumbass guy I know played them for me a while back,” Y/N’s voice was teasing and light. 

“Yeah? Who is this guy?” Y/N stopped walking and looked up at Edmund. 

“Thanks for the mixtape, Ed.” 

“Whaaaat...just because this guy has great taste in love songs doesn’t mean it was me. I’m flattered though, really,” Edmund took another long sip of his coffee. 

“Oh, what a pity. I actually got excited when I figured out it was you. Considering normal people don’t just carry cassette players in their backpacks. Especially not ones they don’t use anymore.” Y/N’s voice was thick with sarcasm. 

“Excited?”

“Yeah. I’ve kinda liked that Edmund guy for a while, but he doesn’t like me back so…”  

“You like me back?” Edmund was grinning from ear to ear. 

“Yes, babe, I like you back. I have since October since I started letting you borrow my comics,”

Edmund placed his coffee on a bench and pulled Y/N closer to him by the hips. 

“October, huh?” Y/N smiled bashfully at Edmund’s tone but nodded. 

“What? You’re cute, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, now you make me cute mixtapes.”

Edmund leans down and places his lips against hers. They were just as soft as she had imagined. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers quickly finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers. 

“Be my girlfriend, then?”

“You nerd,” Y/N took a small step forwards and pecked his lips again. “I would love to.”

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #edmund pevensie fanfic #edmund pevensie fanfiction #king edmund the just #king edmund #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #modern au #fluff #c.s. lewis #c. s. lewis #skandar keynes #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction

[thepetulantpen]

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind

(My blind!Geralt fic. I already posted this on my ao3, but I decided to put it up here, too. Enjoy!)

Plenty of boys are blinded in the Trials. It’s the price paid for tampering with vision enhancements, and it almost always ends with more boys dead- succumbing to complications, or put out of their misery.

Geralt is not one of those unlucky few. No, Geralt lived through the Trials- lived through more trials than most- and came out the other side mostly whole. 

So, of course, a fucking Bloedzuiger is what does it.  

Afterwards, he barely remembers the battle. His clearest memory is of getting acid in his eyes, followed closely by him blindly stabbing the damned thing to death and then stomping it into a pulp. In hindsight, it was probably already dead, but he hit it until it stopped making any sounds whatsoever, because he deserved a little overkill when it felt like his face was on fucking fire.

He doesn’t even feel panic in the moment of fading adrenaline. He’s made for survival and killing at the detriment of everything else- he feels nothing as the world fades away, filtering out everything save for the next steps, the next move. Just like a fight.

He finds Swallow by weight and smell, and drags himself towards the sound of a nearby river. Downing the potion and splashing water in his eyes does absolutely nothing, which is frustrating, but he’s not going to fix it by sitting around and cursing Destiny. It’s time to figure out how he’s going to make it to town and find someone competent.

He trips seven times, but finds Roach by her heartbeat. She’s a good horse, a smart horse, and with a bit of urging in the right direction, she follows the path towards the sound of people without issue. 

The healer he finds by smell alone, because he can’t be bothered to ask for directions in this state. It’s not a difficult trail- the potent herbs act like a beacon and Roach keeps them carefully on the road. 

The walk gives him time to acclimate somewhat, pushing through any remaining shock and pain to the calm clarity of a mission, same as any hunt. There’s a world of sound and smell around him, his senses just as strong as they’ve always been- possibly stronger when his attention is not drawn away by sight. It forms a map of sensations, coloring a world gone dark. 

A healer’s hut is in front of him. He can hear the wind- strong today, it was annoying until now- hitting the wooden walls, prompting little creaks of protest. The shape of it becomes clear in the places he hears resistance, the motion of the wind halting, and there is an outline where the wind whistles through the gap between the door and its wall. 

He leaves Roach to her own devices, trusting that she’ll behave, and finds the door, knocking loudly. Louder than necessary, but he thinks he can be excused on account of the spectacular evening he’s had.

The woman who answers- he assumes it’s a woman, based on the length of her hair, which he can hear brushing her shoulders, and the smell of flowery soap- only comes up to his shoulder, the subtle displacement of air giving him her approximate height in a blurry silhouette of awareness. 

“How can I help you, witcher?” She must not have been looking at his face because there’s a second of audible movement and she gasps. “Oh, dear. Come in.”

She takes his arm to guide him, which he probably doesn’t need, but he can’t be bothered to correct her. He’s had a long fucking day, and he’d rather not trip over a dining table, failing his newfound navigating abilities. 

The wet cloth against is skin is shockingly terrible, he feels each individual scratchy fiber. There’s more water on his face, in his eyes, and a smell of herbs that stings his nose. It hits him full force, and when he inhales, trying to identify them, he can practically taste them.

The woman’s heartbeat is loud, saying what her expression might’ve. He’d known that he could hear heartbeats, but had little cause to listen to them before, no reason to do anything but block them out on a daily basis. It takes him a minute to remember the rhythm of a human heart, gauge what’s fast, and decide what that may mean. 

She swallows and Geralt hears that in horrifying detail now that he’s concentrating, now that his senses are scrambling to compensate. 

“I’m not sure there’s much I can do.” 

The careful step process in his mind reaches its end, leaving him without anything to hold onto for a moment, scrambling for calm in the realization that there’s nothing to be done. He pushes down panic with a sigh, willing his mind to clear.

There’s always another step, always something to do. He just needs somewhere to recover, like any other injury. Somewhere safer than the floor of a stable, ideally.

He’ll be making an early return to Kaer Morhen, then.

“Wait,” the healer puts a hand on Geralt’s shoulder as he stands, a low note of concern and fear making her voice shake, “take this. I’ll show you how to use it.”

A wooden cane is pressed into his hands and he has to fight everything in him that protests the idea. Taking a breath, he allows the woman to lead him through the motion- tap, tap. Left, right.

It’s not sustainable- too visible, too obvious. Nobody will hire a blind witcher, but he can keep it strapped to Roach for emergencies.

At least until he figures out how to hear cracks in the ground. 

...

It’s pure luck that he happened to be close, planning on starting his winter early for lack of work. The trip up the mountain is a challenge, but it gives him a good idea of what his remaining senses can and can’t do. 

Everything has a sound, and that sound echoes until it hits something. With practice- and he has plenty, tripping over rocks and nearly falling off cliffs- he learns how to map out his surroundings in an array of newly audible shapes. Rain and wind make it easier, constant sound that cuts off when it comes in contact with something. More obvious than echoes. 

He uses the cane occasionally up here, where there are no witnesses. It eases the mental burden of processing every single sound, but it’s not something he could rely on in battle- or around people, for that matter. There’s not much kindness in this world for witchers or cripples, never mind a crippled witcher. 

The echoey halls of Kaer Morhen present a unique challenge in wide open spaces, sound that seems to stretch out endlessly. He stops at the threshold; head tilted to try and make sense of the room in front of him. He’s been here so many times, but now that he has to, he’s struggling to remember its precise layout. 

“Geralt? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Telling Vesemir what happened is the part he’s dreaded most. He forgets how damn quiet the man is, and it irritates him now, with no face to read. The pause after his story is extensive, leaving him straining to hear any clues. He catches the brush of hair against Vesemir’s collar- turning his head, maybe?

Finally, a sigh and Vesemir steps up to put a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “Surprised you didn’t kill yourself on the way up here. Could’ve just sent a message, you know.”

Geralt isn’t so sure he could’ve- his handwriting was bad when he could see, and he doubts he could’ve gotten hold of a bird in his state. 

“I happened to be in the area.”

Another pause, he thinks Vesemir is giving him a look, then Vesemir is moving. “Come on, let’s sit down. Do you need help finding anything?”

“I’ll manage.” He moves steadily after him, hands forward when he senses an obstacle. Muscle memory helps, a little, in the most familiar parts of the keep. 

Vesemir doesn’t seem impressed, watching him feel for a chair in his room. 

“Do you need a cane, or something?”

“Already got a stick. Left it on Roach.”

A new sound- is that Vesemir rolling his eyes? He did not need to know there was a sound for that, but there it is, the unmistakable movement of eyeballs. “Of course you did.”

They sit. Geralt gets a sense of the size of the room first, then uses smells to fill in a few blanks- the paper and ink denoting books on the shelf, soap residue from a bath, Vesemir’s general musk clinging to the bed. He grounds himself on Vesemir’s heartbeat, a steady rhythm. 

“You could stay here.” Vesemir leans against his desk, making the wood groan. “Help out around the keep.”

Geralt snorts at the idea of cleaning or doing chores in this empty, lonely place. There’s barely enough for one man to do, let alone two irritable witchers. He doesn’t know how Vesemir does it without going mad- and he has books to read. 

There’s not much for him here, just an exasperated, and secretly worried, Vesemir. He could stay, and- not quite retire, but... make use of what life and skill he has left. 

It’s an offer that falls on deaf ears. Geralt can’t sit here and wallow, can’t sit here when he knows he could still be out there. 

“I just need the winter to adjust. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

From the sound of his head shaking, Vesemir already knew he was going to say that. He thinks, if he spends enough time around the old witcher, he might find a smell for exasperation. 

“I’ll have to see you hunt, before I send you out there again.”

“Worried about me, old man?”

Vesemir doesn’t respond but his mouth moves- a frown? Definitely a frown. 

Beasts, it turns out, are the absolute least of his concern. 

The heartbeat, the smell, they may as well be announcing their position at all times. He has a feeling hunting at night is going to get significantly easier- no more Cat for him. 

The Kikimore’s legs creak with every movement, its jaws click before every bite, and Geralt learns, in the span of a battle, to recognize the near-silent gurgling sound as a precursor to the beast spitting venom. He feels a strike coming before it lands, the air moving subtly in warning, and finds himself ducking hits that might’ve been out of his line of sight. It’s like having eyes at the back of his head, except- well, he doesn’t actually see.

Vesemir nods his approval when he successfully takes down the Kikimore that’s acted as a pest too close to the grounds of the fortress, and brings them home dinner on the same hunting trip in record time, tracking heartbeats to bypass natural camouflage altogether. Geralt hears the movement, but Vesemir grumbles a verbal affirmation a minute later. Adjusting to more audio-heavy communication- for politeness sake. 

“Next test is gutting it. Think you can find a liver blind?”

...

“Any monster trouble?”

The bartender scoffs and turns to Geralt- presumably glaring. “We’ve got a notice board for a reason. Why don’t you check there?”

“I can’t read.” It’s a simple enough lie- not even a lie, really. He can’t, not anymore. 

The man mutters something to the effect of witchers being no better than beasts, but directs him to the alderman, who’s desperate enough to explain. Someone is sent to show him the main site of attacks, guiding him unwittingly- though, he could have found it faster by smell.

From there, it’s the same as it’s always been. The only challenge in the hunting process is harvesting the useful alchemical bits afterward. He can thank Vesemir for forcing him to spend the last several winters drilling on butchering blind, so he knows, intimately, the difference in smell between a heart and a liver. Dodging toxic parts to reach the valuable ones is still a little tricky- he’s been burned by acidic insides more times than he can count- but practice makes perfect, and he’s getting there. 

Hefting proof of kill on one shoulder, he puts his other hand on Roach. To anyone else, it looks like he’s leading her, but he relies on her to take his general direction and follow the road. He can hear where the town is, but finding the distinction between grass and dirt path is another issue altogether. On his own, without constant concentration, he’d wander off in a more direct diagonal, cutting through rougher terrain and calling unneeded attention to himself.

Reaching town requires bracing himself for the barrage of sensory information that crowds bring. With so many people around, navigating is far harder, but he lets the assumption that witchers are rude cover any vision-related blunders- bumping into people, cutting people off, ignoring people shouting at him.

Getting humans to believe he can see is shockingly easy, more likely due to the stupidity of humanity than any skill of his own. Nobody wants to get any closer to a witcher than they have to, so it’s a simple thing to keep his head turned away, avert his eyes, and mind his own business. 

The scars have faded to faint burns around his eyes- or so Eskel told him- leaving nothing for chatty whores or curious townspeople to ask him about. Most physical indicators of his condition have been wiped away; the only remaining obstacles being his inability to make eye contact and occasional struggle to not trip over barstools. 

He’s been discovered a few times, all of them equally unpleasant, but ultimately unremarkable. He can handle mocking and rocks- especially now that he hears them whizzing through the air, before they nail him in the back of the head- but he counts his blessings that he’s never had an incident notable enough to add Blind to his Butcher epithet. 

His routine doesn’t change much, sticking to his usual strategy of staying out of sight, as far from people as he can manage. He gravitates towards the dark corners, feeling the slight absence of heat in the sunless parts of the tavern. Blindness never becomes a weakness- there’s nothing to exploit, if they never even realize something is different. Being a witcher makes him uniquely invisible.

Nobody bothers him and he makes sure they never will.

Unfortunately, he underestimates the pushiness of a certain bard. 

He doesn’t even realize the bard lingering nearby is looking at him, or talking to him, until he’s sliding into the bench in front of him. He sensed his presence, sure, but he thought he’d be looking at someone else, talking to any number of other people in the tavern.

The bread in his pants is stale, and smells like it. It squishes and crumbles as he moves, probably getting bits stuck in the folds of silk so numerous he hears every slight shift, every wrinkle forming. He thinks the sharper, almost clicking sounds, are sequins against each other- another ridiculous, new sound to add to his catalogue.

“You must have some review for me.” His smile is wide enough that Geralt hears it without trying particularly hard. “Three words or less.”

For all he listens closely to his surroundings, he’s pretty sure he didn’t catch a single word of that song- much less enough for a review, were he inclined to give one. Once upon a time, he may have glared him away, but he fears his aim wouldn’t be good enough now, so he settles for tense silence.

Jaskier does not take no, or an implied no, for an answer.

...

Having Jaskier around is not nearly as annoying as he thought it’d be. At first, he was sure he’d have to dump him somewhere- the noise would be too distracting- but now, the sound has become something of a blessing. 

Like the wind or rain, it creates consistent feedback, bouncing off obstacles and forming a mental image of the area around him. It wraps around their campsite, chatter and music traveling into the forest behind them and dancing around tree trunks until the sound is out of even Geralt’s range. 

It makes nights like this, of Jaskier talking constantly and playing his lute intermittently, pleasant. As close to seeing as he ever gets, giving him a complete picture the world. 

Jaskier breaks his litany of nonsense with an abrupt, “Geralt?”

He actually waits for a response, which is a new and alarming development. Geralt hums and hopes that’s enough. 

“I was wondering- and I hope this isn’t too personal- what’s wrong with your eyes? They never really focus.”

Geralt hears Jaskier’s heart beat a little faster- nervous- and the more subtle sound of him biting his lip. As a rule, Geralt doesn’t disclose his condition to anyone who hasn’t figured it out, but Jaskier-

Jaskier could be sticking around. There’s no point keeping it. 

“I’m blind.”

A silence that he’s come to equate with facial expression- something too subtle to guess, he’s never cared to be precise enough for specifics- follows.

“Is that one of your weird jokes?”

“No, Jaskier. I’m really blind.”

More silence, a steadily fast heartbeat. It’s accompanied by the familiar, frustrating feeling of missing something, an irritation he’s trained to ignore, but has never quite mastered. Geralt sighs and turns fully to face Jaskier, meeting his eyes as well as he can.

“What are you doing?”

A creak of wood, Jaskier startling on the log and shifting too fast. “What do you mean?”

“You got quiet. Usually that means I’m missing something.” He tilts his head, considering. “You’re making a face, probably.”

Another moment of silence. He never thought he’d grow tired of these- let alone become annoyed by them. 

“Huh. I guess I just looked surprised, if my face matches my thoughts as well as I think it does.” Jaskier leans in, for a better look, maybe. If he squints enough, he might be able to see the scar.  “How long have you been, uh...”

“A long time.” He’s not being difficult- despite what Jaskier, and the inhale of breath preceding a scoff, might think. He doesn’t exactly track the date. “A decade, maybe more.”

“How-“ Jaskier clears his throat and Geralt hears the movement of his sleeve as he waves. “How do you do all this?”

“Witcher senses are much better than an average man’s. I use my hearing, mostly.”

The sound of fabric rustling and stretching as Jaskier scoots forward on the log, sliding as close to Geralt as he can without getting up. “How good? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“You’d ask anyway.” Geralt swings back the last of his drink and turns back to the fire. “Really good. I can hear heartbeats, movements. The way air and sound move around things makes... an outline, almost.”

Jaskier’s heart beats a little faster. Geralt isn’t sure what that means; he strains to hear, but he doesn’t think Jaskier is smiling or frowning. 

“That’s amazing.” A grin- lips sliding over teeth. “No wonder you’re such a good hunter.”

There’s a jab comparing him to a wolf in there somewhere, but Jaskier doesn’t make the connection so Geralt just hums and picks up his swords, content to spend the rest of the night sharpening and oiling. He’ll keep the fire going, enjoying its heat, if not its light. 

They lapse into a silence that feels more comfortable, less tense than it was the first time. Then again, it’s not really silence- Jaskier is humming almost silently under his breath. Quieter than usual. 

“You don’t have to be quiet, Jaskier.”

Surprise, in the quickened heartbeat and sudden inhale. Shifting, as he sits up straighter. 

“Sorry! I thought it might bother you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Sensing- not through any particular sound or smell, but through his increasing familiarity with Jaskier- Jaskier’s disbelief, he tacks on, “I would’ve stopped you before now, if it was.”

Jaskier nods, then narrates, “Sorry, I nodded.”

“I can tell. I can hear your collar scrunch.”

His mouth falls open and he adjusts his collar. Geralt dutifully does not smile, and keeps his smugness to himself.

“Right, of course.” Jaskier pauses, then looks up again. “Could I ask you a question you probably won’t like?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never asked permission before.”

“I was wondering, is there anything you can’t do? Anything I could help you with?”

He’s tempted to say no. He should say no. Jaskier probably wouldn’t even argue- too unbalanced around this subject- but he doesn’t want to. 

He wants to say, Keep humming. He wants to ask, Guide me. He wants to demand, Stay by my side. 

He doesn’t do any of those. Instead, he says, “Reading. I can’t read print on contracts. If you could-“

“Of course.” The buttons of his doublet clink together as Jaskier adjusts it, straightening it and puffing out his chest. “I’ll be your agent, of sorts. A very intelligent, shrewd negotiator, taking only the best monster hunting jobs. I’m brilliant at public relations, too.”

Geralt nods, and leaves it at that. 

...

“Make way! The mighty White Wolf is gracing your town with his presence, clear a path!”

The townspeople mutter amongst themselves, confused, but move right away at Jaskier’s tone, lingering curiously at the edge of the street through town. 

Geralt hates the attention, but he can’t deny that Jaskier’s little show is helpful. Particularly since this town is more crowded than most and Roach is struggling to guide him through without trampling anyone. 

Helpful. Unnecessary but- nice. Against his better judgement, he’s started to let Jaskier help more and more often. It’s dangerous, carrying the threat of developing dependency, but Jaskier never oversteps any boundaries and, sometimes, he’s just too tired to refuse. 

There’s been a distinct difference in the time he’s spent with the bard, bisecting his life into the uneven parts of before and after Jaskier. For one, his headaches have decreased, not having to strain to guide himself as often. People are nicer with a human- and a charismatic one, at that- around. They get to stay at better inns if Jaskier performs, and enjoy quality meals outside of rations or burned rabbit. 

He’s happier. There was a time when he thought happiness had been burned out of him, but he’s reminded of its fleeting presence in those special, few and far between moments that prove him wrong.

Well. Previously few and far between. 

“The man at the bar,” Jaskier starts in a dramatic whisper, still loud to Geralt, “is wearing an absolutely ghastly outfit. Geralt, we’re talking multiple primary colors, ruffles, and feathers.”

It’s easy to identify the man based just on his smell, wearing enough perfume to kill. “I imagine it matches his taste in perfume.”

“Gods, yes. I can smell it from here- I don’t know how you can stand it.”

It’s a test of his willpower, certainly, but then, on a few desperate occasions, he’s shoveled shit for coin. This, however, ranks right below those incidents, and right above the stench of a necrophage. 

Jaskier’s color commentary on the world fits right in with his usual chatter and fills in a few, albeit unnecessary, blanks on the decor, the attractiveness of barmaids, and other visual odds and ends. It transitions, at some point, into a story that’s so exaggerated he may as well have made it up and ends in musings about his newest song, which, inevitably, leads to him needling Geralt for details. 

Geralt just hums and tunes him out, focusing on the noise of the street outside. It’s a challenge to pick apart the individual moving pieces of a crowd but it’s enough of a distraction until Jaskier throws his hands up.

“You know, all of this,” Jaskier waves generally at Geralt’s eyes, “explains why you’re such a shit storyteller.”

He senses there’s more to this, can feel Jaskier winding up to something. It’s a quiet evening and a nice tavern, so he indulges. “Does it?”

“Well, I suppose much of the blame falls on me.” Rustling, and the clinking of several unidentifiable objects in Jaskier’s bag, as he fishes out his notebook. “I wasn’t asking the right questions.”

Geralt can’t tell what he’s writing, but he hears a few long drags of the pen and figures he might be drawing something. A box, maybe? A chart, a probably. A series of shorter scratches, for letters. 

Jaskier grins, wide enough that Geralt hears it without concentrating. “Right. Are you ready?”

“For?”

“Your role in the creative process. Now, what did the rotfiend smell like?”

Geralt scrunches his nose and braces for a complicated answer. “I’ll need a few more drinks before I get into that.”

Wordlessly, Jaskier waves for another round and the questions begin. It seems like Jaskier is determined to pick apart every aspect of his sensory experience and, as they get deeper in drinks, Geralt is willing to play along. He’s never talked about it, at length, like this and it’s fascinating to hear the things Jaskier can’t detect, the parameters of human senses that were lost to him long before his vision was. 

He talks until the candles stop giving off heat and his words start to slow, having detailed every smell, sound, feel, and taste that he can articulate. Sleep comes easy, after he lets Jaskier describe the pattern of the quilt and climb in beside him, warm and tired. 

Jaskier’s heartbeat, though faster than his own, forms an easy rhythm to follow into unconsciousness, sinking into a darkness he no longer registers. 

The next time they’re in a tavern, he listens carefully to Jaskier’s new song, lyrics filled with more sounds and smells than he’s used to hearing described. Where there was once brilliant colors and hideous monsters, there is now rich smells and vicious growls. 

He can’t help but smile, hiding it behind his tankard. 

How Jaskier worked rotting flesh into a chorus is beyond him, but it earns a clap. 

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #vesemir #blind!Geralt #my ao3 account is the same username btw #im not dead! #i know i nearly never post here anymore lmao

[ticklikeabomb]

The Medusas - Part 6

Pairing : Mayans MC x Plus Size Reader 

Warnings : Language

Word Count : 1.9k

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor the universe where they were created and interact in. This series/fiction is only for entertainment purposes.

2014

“Motherfucker”, mumbled Tig under his breath. The Mayan in front of him, licked his lips, a smug smile on his face, reaching out for his prize. “Another one”, Tragger shook his head and looked at his poker opponent. “I already have all your cash, what else do you want to trade?”, stated Tranq with humor. The Son looked around and his eyes landed on Chucky. “Let’s put Chucky on the table”, he pointed at the man in question. The other Sons manifested their disagreement but Tig cut short to their chatting, “Shut up, I won’t lose this time. I can feel it”, he blew on his fingertips, his eyes trained on Tranq. “If you insist”, smirked the Mayan. The Son lost in the following minutes, getting pushed by his brothers because of his defeat. The crew patted Tranq’s shoulder in victory. “Chuckyy”, yelled the SOA’s President. “Yes Chibs”, replied the other. “I’m sorry but I’m afraid your time here with us is done. You’re with the Mayans now.” Chucky looked at the concerned before exclaiming “I accept that”. The Sons said their goodbyes to the man and saw him leave with the Mayans.

A few months later

Chucky heard the roaring of the motorcycles diminish the second they penetrated the yard. Walking out from his small office, he received at the clubhouse’s steps. He greeted Tranq and Taza before turning to Bishop and explaining him the tasks he did so far. “I also prepared my specialty for tonight’s dinner”, he happily stated. Bishop graced him with a smile and thanked him. He was making his way inside the clubhouse when Chucky interpellated him, “Oh and you received a postcard. I didn’t know you had a daughter.” Bishop quickly shared a look with Tranq and Taza, the three men approaching Chucky.

“What did you just say?”, asked Bishop not sure if he heard him correctly the first time. “There is a card from a Y/N Losa. Isn’t it your daughter, since it’s the same last name?” “Where?”, Bishop asked him, his hands grabbing Chucky’s arms. “I put it on the table next to the Templo’s entry”, his anxiety kicking in. As soon as he replied, Bishop sprinted the stairs up, making his way as soon as possible to the table. “Did I do something bad?”, mumbled Chucky under his breath, overwhelmed. Taza calmed him down, informing he did nothing and explained Chucky the importance of the card in question. “Keep an eye if there are more postcards and if so, call us immediately.” “I will”, replied Chucky, relieved.

Hey Dad

I hope I still can refer to you as such. I would understand if it wasn’t the case. I hope you and the others are alright. I just wanted to let you know that I’m ok. I’m finally figuring myself out.

I miss you deeply.

Love Y/N

Taza and Tranq stood by the entry, looking down at their freshly elected President, the postcard in his hands. Feeling their eyes on him, he stood up and made his way inside the Templo making sure to close the door behind them. A million different emotions crossed him like a typhon: sadness, anger, hope, relieve. You were alive and apparently alright. He cleaned his tears and took a deep breath before placing the card on his heart, “Of course, you will always be my little girl, querida.” Taking another look, he focused on the address where it was shipped from and exited the Templo. He got his brothers attention by pointing at the address. “Call the others. We’re going on a road trip.”

Memphis

Three days later, the Mayans were seen walking on the animated Beale Street. Bishop turned towards Taza, “Is everything arranged?” “Yeah the sorority knows we’re here. They invited us to stay at their clubhouse for a couple of nights”, he responded. “Good. Alvarez wasn’t joking when he said that the Medusa MC was everywhere”, declared the President. “Hey, I found it”, exclaimed Gilly and pointed at the Tattoo shop. They make their way inside and are greeted a minute later by the owner. “Hello, how can I help you?”, they asked. Bishop took the postcard out of his kutte and showed it to them. “Do you have any information regarding this card? The woman who send it?” They chuckled before nodding at their kutte. “The father I suppose. I figured, your jackets and all. Yeah, she was here a few days ago. She told me you would come.”

“Did she say where she would go next?”, inquired Taza. The owner shook his head and told them they had no idea. “She left something for you, though”, they said and gave him a note. Bishop immediately recognized your handwriting, giving him the confirmation, you were there. ‘Chose a design and get yourself a threat. It’s on me.’ “What’s this?”, he turned to the owner and tattoo artist. “Seems to me that she paid for your next tattoo”, they shrugged. “I’ll leave you a few minutes to choose what you’ll be having.” He sighed, his hands going on his head, unable to contain his frustration. “What are you gonna do?”, asked Coco. A minute later, Bishop stood up and declared, “I’m getting a fucking tattoo”, and joined the tattoo artist preparing the colors and machine behind the curtains.

2015 - 2016

Each time Chucky would call one of the Mayans and inform them about a new postcard of yours, Bishop decided to travel to the location indicated in the card. The second time they rode their bikes guided by you was to El Paso’s Municipal Rose Garden in Texas. Once there, they infiltrated a tourist guide tour, looking around for any clues. At the end of the tour, the guide walked towards the Mayans. “Did you enjoy the tour?”, he asked. “Sure”, smiled Taza. “I’m glad. Now you may pay for the actual visit”, the guide stated and pointed at them to the counter at the end of the way. Angel started to lit a cigarette when the guide’s hand took it from his lips, “No smoking in here!”. Angel’s looked at him surprised at his audacity to publicly correct him in front of his brothers. Bishop gave the Mayan a deadly glare before apologizing on his behalf to the guide. Once arrived at the counter, the men paid for their visit, the cashier’s eyes lingering on their kuttes. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back”, the employee told them. She came back with two garnished rose bouquets and made sure Bishop got the clue. Depositing the bouquets to the men’s arms, she smiled and added an envelope to the bouquets.

“We did all this way just for a bunch of flowers?”, commented Angel with irritation while Bishop went over the note left by you on inside the envelope. He shook his head, a small smile gracing his features. “Shut up”, Bish told Angel before passing him one of the bouquets. He frowned at his President’s motion and fixed his attention to the little card attached to the bouquet, ‘Marisol’, written on it. He opened the card and read the words marked on it, his breath getting stuck on his pipeline for a second.

‘Thank you for everything. You were the mother everyone deserves to have. Always in my heart, Y/N Losa.’

After cleaning his tears off, Angel and the others made their way back to Santo Padre. Bishop stopped at Martha’s and offered him the bouquet you left for her. The two ex-lovers spend the rest of the night catching on their respective lives while Angel stopped at his father’s, setting the other bouquet in a vase next to his mother’s urn. From that day, the Mayans noticed Bishop spending more and more time with Martha, the old flame slowly awake again.

Your third card came a year later, in 2016. The adventure led the Mayans to Denver this time, where they found out you offered them a visit at the Museo De Las Americas. At first hesitant, the crew became fond of these little trips, a way to not only hit the roads but also come closer as a group. It was that moment in the year where they could just let go and not focus on the shit going on back home.

2017

The fourth card came from Utah. This time, El Padrino decided to tag along. They ended up at the Outlaw Distillery, where they discovered the processes on how whiskey and other alcohols are produced. “This is what I’m talking about. This my jam”, declared Neron ‘Creeper’ when seeing where they landed, making the others laugh. There was a collective holler once the owner of the distillery offered each Mayan a bottle, saying it was paid for in advance. Bishop distanced himself from his man and followed the owner. “Excuse me but how could she pay for all of this?”, he asked him. The owner lifted his hands up in defense, stating that he didn’t know and didn’t ask. “I just accepted the payment.” Bishop nodded, “Was it the first time she came by?” He saw the uneasiness on the man’s features. “No, she’s been here some times.”

“Can I ask you for a favor?”, Bishop turned to the other who nodded. “Next time she comes here, could you give her this and tell her to come home?”, he said and furnished him a small velvet box. “I have a daughter myself. I can’t imagine what it is like to lose her. … If Y/N stops by I’ll let her know. You have my word”, stated the owner.

A week later

Cooper’s head lifts up from the papers in front of him once hearing the door’s bell ring. “Hey Coop”, you greet him at the counter, making him smile. “Hey Y/N, hey Ruby, how are you ladies?” “Not bad, not bad. You got our order?”, nodded Ruby. “Sure thing”, replied Cooper, the Outlaw Distillery’s owner, calling out for his employee. Ruby followed the employee while you waited for them at the counter, feeling Cooper’s gaze burning a hole on you. Your eyes locked with his, “How was, you know?”, you asked him. He took a deep breath before telling you how it went with your father. “By the way he left this for you”, he added to which your eyes widened. He set the box in front of you, seeing your face decompose, a hurricane of emotions crossing your features. You reached out to the box and opened it, revealing a gold necklace ornamented with an engraved coin, your father’s initials on it. You quickly cleaned the tear sliding on your face, trying to conceal your emotions. “He also told me to tell you to come back home”, commented Cooper. You nodded processing his words before looking up at him again. “Thanks Coop”, you simply replied. Ruby came back with the order, her attitude switching once seeing your glossy eyes. Her hand landed on her gun but you stopped her, your fingers reaching hers, shaking your head. “We have road to do”, you tell her and assure her that everything was alright.

You and Ruby stop at the gas station after a couple hours to stretch your body and get some coffee. That’s the moment where you tell and show her the necklace. “Are you going to see him?”, she inquired hesitantly. “Yeah…someday.” She hummed, reaching to her helmet. “Life is short. You could lose the ones you love any second. Don’t wait up too long. It’s hurting you as much as it must hurt him”, she affirmed. Your smile gracing your face turned into a chuckle before exclaiming, “So wise.” “Oh fuck you”, she joked. “That’s the plan”, you winked at her and saw her shake her head, laughing. You made your way to your next stop, Charming.

*gifs, credit to the owners*

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[aquadrazi]

Find Someone to Carry You

Chapter 4

*****Thirteen years after the death of the Yiling Patriarch*****

“I heard the Jin Sect Leader died” “Died inside one of his whores is what I heard” “I heard the new young sect leader has been training with the Ghost of Gusu” “I heard that those young cultivators are the best in generations” “Is it true that the Second Jade of Lan turned down Chief Cultivator?” “I’m not surprised. He’s only seen around his group of Juniors when they are on night hunts” “Jin Guangyao seems to being a good job running the Jin Sect in the boy’s absence” “It seems the Jin and Lan sects are becoming closer and closer” “Maybe, but it doesn’t seem that the Ghost of Gusu cares about sect politics”

........Mo Manor…….

Lan Wangji arrived quickly after he saw Sizhui’s signal flare light up the night sky. He liked to keep his distance these days to see how his Juniors handled hunts on their own, and then would come when summoned if there were problems. They had been asked to rid the Mo Estate of some resentful energy, so apparently things were more complicated than they were led to believe.

As the Juniors recounted the events that led up to them signaling for help, Lan Wangji surveyed the area. One particular area drew his eyes.

He walked towards a run-down shack and signaled for the Juniors to follow him. The demonic hand would be dealt with, but he had a feeling there was more to this story than first appeared.

The Juniors had swarmed past him before he had finished taking in the scene, with their weapons drawn.

“Wait” He stopped them. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“Senior Lan, there is a demonic cultivator laying in the center of an array. We must kill him”

“Oh? Why must we?” Lan Wangji realized that it was high time for this lesson.

“Because demonic cultivation is evil”

“Who told you that?”

“Master Lan”

“Why is it evil?”

There was shuffling and silence.

“Is it the cultivation itself that is evil, or is it the cultivator?”

“Master Lan says that demonic cultivation erodes the mind and turns the cultivator into a monster”

“The Yiling Patriarch used demonic cultivation and he killed thousands before he was finally defeated”

“He killed my parents” Jin Ling added quietly, loud enough to only be heard by the few standing around him.

“Do you see a monster?” Lan Wangji asked calmly, despite the reference. He did not miss that most of the Juniors tensed up at the mention of Wei Ying. They had learned at a very young age that talk of the Yiling Patriarch was not tolerated around him.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe”

“What is the array even FOR?”

“I see a boy in need of medical attention.” Sizhui said stubbornly while putting his sword away. The other Juniors followed suit. Sizhui had assumed a leadership role amongst them, they all seemed to follow his lead regardless if it was a night hunt or what game they were going to play after lecture.

“Alright. Sizhui, you take charge of seeing that Young Master Mo here doesn’t bleed to death. The rest of you, see what clues can be found in the room as to what happened here.” Lan Wangji was proud of his son. He had hoped that being raised in Cloud Recesses wouldn’t cause him to see the world as black and white, as it had for him when he was growing up.

Lan Wangji could see little bits of Wei Ying in the boy, even though he didn’t remember his time in the Burial Mounds. A-Yuan was so young when everything had happened, and when Lan Wangji had found him, the boy was suffering from a terrible fever. He still has nightmares from time to time, but Sizhui would brush them off as crazy dreams, and not memories of his past.

“Senior Lan” Jin Ling whispered next to him. “I think the spell was designed by the Yiling Patriarch.” He had found a bunch of papers and was presenting them to Lan Wangji.

How could he possibly know that?

“I- I recognize the handwriting.” Jin Ling’s hand trembled a little as Lan Wangji took the papers from him. As the Juniors grew older, Lan Wangji had spoken out loud to them less and less. However, since they had spent so much time together as they grew up, the Juniors all had an uncanny ability to read Lan Wangji’s miniscule changes in facial expressions and body language. Lan Wangji didn’t have to say anything to prompt the boy to continue his explanation.

“When I went back for my grandfather’s funeral I went looking for…” He looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, then spoke again even quieter “…the screaming man. I went back to the room I had seen him in with grandfather and Uncle Jin when I didn’t see him in the receiving hall. He wasn’t there, but there were a bunch of items that had belonged to the Yiling Patriarch there. I’m guessing that my grandfather had them collected so he could research demonic cultivation. I… read some of the journals. His writing was…distinct.” The boy almost looked ashamed as he finished his explanation.

It only took a glance for Lan Wangji to confirm that the spell was designed by Wei Ying. “You are correct”.

“It seems that the spell was designed by Senior Wei, probably during his time in the Burial Mounds with the Wen remnants.” Lan Wangji announced to the room. “So we now know that we are dealing with something that we probably haven’t seen before.”

“The Yiling Patriarch?”

“So it IS demonic cultivation.”

“I wonder if it worked…whatever it was”

Don’t be emotional.

Let them find the clues themselves.

Let them put it together.

Let them come to their own conclusions.

They are good kids with open minds, they don’t see the world as black and white.

They’ve been taught to think and gather evidence before they judge.

“Senior Lan. I’ve compared the array to the one in Senior Wei’s drawing, it was correctly drawn. I see no reason for the spell to not have worked. Also, it appears this spell is a Sacrifice Summon, so Young Master Mo would have given up his soul and offered his body as a vessel to…something… be it a demon or another spirit, to…get revenge for him.” Lan Jingyi reported.

“Has anyone found a note?” Sizhui asked from where he was tending to the boy. “If it was a Sacrifice Summon, then there would be a note with instructions for what the spirit needed to carry out.” He channeled spiritual energy into the slashes on the boy’s wrist. The ones that would only go away once whatever it was that the boy wanted done was accomplished. His eyes widened when they closed up. “Wait! The spell didn’t work. The wounds closed.”

“So that IS young Master Mo then”

“Oh good”

“What? He’s still a demonic cultivator”

“I heard he was crazy”

“At least he isn’t an ACTUAL demon”

“He must have been in a lot of pain to want to give up his life, and all future lives for revenge”

“What do you mean?”

“The caster gives up their body to another, and their soul is destroyed in the process”

“So he was expecting to die”

“Why would anyone do that?”

Uncle would be very irritated at the Juniors chattering while looking for clues. However Lan Wangji didn’t discourage it. He liked to hear what they were thinking, and where their thought processes were going. He found it was easier to teach them if he KNEW what they were thinking, rather than guessing. The irony was not lost on him. If he had been more verbal with Wei Ying maybe things would have turned out differently. He would not make that mistake again.

No, he encouraged his Juniors to voice everything they thought and felt. He wanted them all to know that they could rely on each other no matter the situation. He never wanted to see another cultivator on their own, battling the world, misunderstood. His Juniors would have each other, even after he was long gone.

“I found a note!”

“What does it say?”

“Who was he trying to summon?”

“Who did he want revenge on?”

Their questions were broken by a sudden screaming coming from young Master Mo. “No, no please. Please stop. Please let me go, I’m scared. I don’t want to. Please, it hurts. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll be good. Please!”

Sizhui pulled the boy into his lap and held him tightly so he couldn’t thrash about. “It’s okay, Just breathe. No one here will hurt you. Can you breathe for me?” He said soothingly to the boy while rocking him.

The boy continued to sob and beg pathetically into Sizhui’s shoulder as Sizhui whispered into the boy’s ear and rocked him gently.

“He was trying to summon the Yiling Patriarch. He wanted revenge on those who…had abused him.”

“But the spell didn’t work.”

“Does that mean that the Yiling Patriarch is alive?”

“That can’t be. The Jin clan saw him burst into a million pieces”

“Well, if he is definitely dead, then that must mean there wasn’t a soul to summon”

No soul.

Wei Ying’s soul was destroyed.

Wei Ying hasn’t just been avoiding Inquiry for the past 13 years.

He wasn’t just hiding, feeling hurt and betrayed.

His soul was destroyed, so there was nothing left to talk to.

Wei Ying would never reincarnate.

Wei Ying no longer existed.

Lan Wangji felt like someone had reached into his chest, ripped out his heart, and was squeezing it in front of his eyes.

“Se-Senior Lan? Are you okay?”

The Juniors were staring at him with looks of concern. “Mn” was all he could manage for them.

“Let’s regroup back at Cloud Recesses.” Sizhui suggested, realizing that his father was having some sort of emotional crisis. The Juniors murmured and nodded in agreement as they took samples of the talismans hanging from the walls, and all the papers that had been found, and exited the shack.

The boy in his arms whimpered as Sizhui lifted him up, even though he was careful not to press against any of the injuries he could see.

“It’s going to be okay now. No one is going to hurt you again.” Sizhui tried to soothe the boy as he carried him out of the shack. “We will help you”.

“Senior Lan, can you fly on your own?” Lan Wangji felt an arm on his shoulder, steadying him.

“I will be fine” Lan Wangji responded. It wasn’t a lie, he was sure that he would be fine to fly. The Junior stayed by his side as he left the shack, which he was glad for because his legs were fighting him to stay standing up. “I will just need a minute.”

The cool night air helped him to focus on the present. There was a young boy who needed their help, and a demonic hand to get to a secure place. There was also the information that the Jin sect had Wei Ying’s work from when he was in the Burial Mounds, and had been using it in experiments for years. Young Master Mo was one of Jin Guangshan’s bastards, and had been kicked out for being crazy. Perhaps he had been part of the experiments. That would explain the demonic cultivation.

Lan Wangji breathed deeply and steadily until his mind calmed down. They would travel back to Cloud Recesses, the boy would be tended to, and they would look through the clues and try to get a better picture of what was going on.

Once those things were taken care of, then he would allow himself to fall apart.

#mdzs fic #the untamed