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illumilu · 3 years

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“there’s only one bed” - hisoka morow x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? i roll with cringe. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. i feel like i may have made this a bit too long, but who cares?? i have time, you have time and an incandescent loneliness to fill, so let’s get into it!

summary: you arrive at the hotel with hisoka, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. this is part one of a three-part series, with the adultrio. illumi and chrollo will be coming soon!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! i’m afraid there’s no nsfw here... keep in mind it’s hisoka - i kept it as pg as possible... may be ooc i’m sorry :)

hisoka morow:

- you arrived at your hotel room, tired from the trip there, not quite sure what to expect. you stared at the single bed placed in the middle of the room, aghast. there must have been some kind of mistake. except there wasn’t. the room had been booked out of simplicity, with no specification on the number of beds, or anything else for that matter.

- and, of course, the man you had booked this room with was none other than hisoka morow.

- otherwise known as the most flirtatious man on earth.

- a little bit of backstory; as your strictly professional colleague, hisoka was always taunting you with his charming little phrases, treating you like his little toy whom he could mess around with.

- “oh, y/n! whatever will we do~?”

- you sighed in frustration. out of all the people you could have been stuck with on this trip, it had to be hisoka.

- hisoka sighed and pouted - not from worry or anguish - but, rather, to mock you. you shot him a dirty look.

- “my my, y/n... why so serious? it’s not like i’ll do anything~”

- the playful lilt in his voice suggested otherwise.

- while hisoka went off to take a shower, you busied yourself with your latest objective; making sure he couldn’t pull anything. being inventive as you were, you gathered all the pillows from the bed (which, for some reason, there were many of), and built a wall separating the two sides of the mattress.

- you got changed promptly, and lay on the left side of the bed, waiting for hisoka to come back. however, his shower ran for longer than expected, and soon enough you felt yourself becoming drowsy.

- just as you were about to fall asleep, you heard hisoka’s voice come from the other side of the room.

- he chuckled. “y/n, what do we have here? your latest invention~?” he teased, ridiculing you.

- “i don’t trust you.” you stated plainly, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t see him from across the strangely high pillow wall you had made, but you could feel him smirking.

- “...and for good reason, y/n..”

- he extended his arm and lazily ejected his bungee gum to attach to the pillows, knocking them over in an instant. damn. you thought you had made a pretty good structure.

- you rolled over lethargically to see him standing there; what a sight.

- honestly, you didn’t mind hisoka. it was just... he often became... annoying. as much as he irritated you, you had to admit he was quite pretty. striking amber eyes, streaky plum hair that fell across his face, soft lips and an overall impressive facial structure. not to mention his unique fashion sense that somehow accentuated his toned body. porcelain skin, with his childish paint, which was so often called on by you - “hisoka, do you put that on every goddamn morning?” - he was a fine man.

- but, when that bastard opened his mouth.

- what a contrary tale.

- he waltzed closer to the bed and eventually sat down with his legs crossed, like a child in a classroom - except, he was staring down at you, who was scowling at him.

- “hisoka. don’t pull anything. i’m going to sleep.” you ordered, rolling to your other side so you were now facing away from him.

- “oh y/n... but how could i resist you~?” he joked, lying down on his back, unnecessarily close to you. you tensed up.

- “hisoka.” you warned. except you didn’t really sound like you were warning anyone. some undertones in your voice urged you to let things happen - for an uncertain millisecond, thoughts of letting hisoka do what he wanted plagued your mind.

- the millisecond passed soon enough.

- the jester turned to his side, so you were both facing the same direction and began whispering in your ear with a smile. why was his voice so... smooth? so succinct and mellow? that was not the type of person he was. so why did you want to melt into him? he giggled childishly.

- “so... y/n... you wouldn’t mind if i did-”

- “-this!”

- all of a sudden, hisoka was embracing you, cuddling you and shoving his idiotic face into the crook of your neck.

- “HISOKA, YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO GET OFF ME.”

- “oh, but if you wanted me off, couldn’t you simply give me a little kick~?”

- bright idea, madman. bright idea.

- you kicked him in the stomach, which invoked no painful reaction, but prompted him to roll to the other side of the bed, letting you escape from his clutches.

- “ah. y/n, that hurt~” he exhaled tiredly, feigning offence; it was more of a hum, which escaped his mouth like golden honey pouring from a dipper.

- “good. don’t come near me again.”

- “if that’s what you want, darling~”

- “don’t call me that, morow.” you glowered.

- “how scary... good night, y/n.”

- despite trying to hide it underneath his complacent ego, hisoka was beginning to worry. the man was attracted to essentially everyone, but something pulled him closer to you especially. you had a certain magnetism about you that he found increasingly attractive. why did he find teasing you so... enjoyable? why did he long for you to reciprocate? thoughts such as these had been swarming his subconscious since the beginning of the trip. he had pushed away such speculation, for it didn’t suit him.

- a man like him, a man who killed so depravedly, a man whom nothing was known about, an enigma of sorts; surely a man like that didn’t deserve to truly love.

- meanwhile, your brain was a motor engine; what had just happened, and why did you let it go on for so long? you had the reflexes of an expert nen user; so why did you let him stay there, nuzzling into you, before socking him in the gut?

- what a conundrum, for the both of you. looks like this cliche is reaching its peak, hm?

- you fell asleep soon enough; after all, the trip had been long and you were tired. not only physically, but also emotionally. hisoka wasn’t helping your case.

- hisoka himself often had trouble sleeping, which many people didn’t know. most nights, he just lay there solemnly, thinking of new card tricks or enticements for new victims.

- lately, however, he had been thinking of you.

- which he didn’t like at all.

- time passed as his mind whirred while he contemplated who you were, and why you made him so impressionable. suddenly, he heard something.

- he had his back turned to you but heard a shuffling of bedsheets. what time was it? 1am? 2am? he couldn’t tell, but he came to the conclusion that you moved around when you slept and left it at that.

- that was, until, he felt someone cling around his back and reach across his chest firmly, wrapping around his waist with their leg.

- that someone was you.

- if only you knew what you were doing, you would be appalled... maybe a little grateful... but for the most part, appalled.

- your soft breath brushed hisoka’s back delicately, making his nerves transform into an quivery yet arrogant smirk. your arm was wrapped around his chest and your leg was draped across his side. you were obviously deeply sleeping. he couldn’t see you from the way you were embracing his back, but he could have easily woken you up at any given moment.

- so, why didn’t he wake you up?

- maybe it was because he could tease you about it in the morning. yeah. that seemed reasonable. that seemed alike to what hisoka would usually do.

- or maybe it was something else, something he didn’t want to come to terms with, something panging within his heart, something festering inside of him, something that was a victim to his ignorance of emotion.

- much like he had done to you earlier, you burrowed into his shoulder, sighing contentedly, blissfully unaware of what was going on.

- blissfully unaware of the way you were ruling over hisoka, the way you were confusing him and making his emotions a tumultuous mess.

- surprisingly, you clinging to him helped him sleep, and within 15 minutes, hisoka was out like a light. though neither of you were conscious enough to experience it, those few hours you spent embracing each other felt tranquil. it almost felt normal, or like something that should have happened long ago, but never did.

- as peaceful as those hours were, the moment you woke up, everything crumbled into chaos. complete and utter mayhem - at least, on your part.

- you woke up calmly enough, as one usually does, without realising where you were or what you were doing. but, as soon as you registered that you weren’t hugging a pillow, but in fact a person, your reflexes triggered and you abruptly let go, jolting backwards and upright.

- oh my god.

- not just a person.

- hisoka morow.

- you stared at him dozing away, like the little jerk he was.

- what had he done to you? had he put you under some spell? no, that wouldn’t make sense. he was a transmuter, not a manipulator. the bastard probably didn’t even know how to manipulate. then, what was it? was it his dumb bungee gum? your mind was racing 100 miles per hour, so you sat on the left side of the bed, sullen and confused.

- your side of the bed. the left side. the side you had so protectively proclaimed as “your side”. yet there you had been, on his side of the bed, cuddling him? what type of sorcery had he used to make you embrace him so passionately?

- facing the wall, you rationalised yourself. hisoka wouldn’t have done anything, right? but neither would you. right? right?

- “awake, are we?”

- hisoka interrupted your disarray of thoughts. you stood up and turned to look at him. he was propped up on the header of the bed, staring at you composedly. with those amber eyes. what was he on? why was he doing this to you?

- “you...” you began accusing him but couldn’t finish. looking at hisoka, he seemed... well-rested for once. did he even know what had happened? was he waiting for you to admit something?

- “i...? i what, y/n? use your words~” he cooed mischievously.

- oh, the jackass. he definitely knew.

- you glared at him, unable to compile your thoughts into words. you watched as he stood up and walked toward you, until he was standing opposite you, gazing into your eyes. he smiled knowingly at you, causing an surge of emotions to rush up your throat, inciting you to say something, to do something, anything.

- “did you...”

- “no, y/n. it was you.” he simpered.

- oh.

- he raised his hand and pat you on the head, a sly and righteous smirk ceasing to wipe off his lips. he left to the bathroom, leaving you standing there, mouth agape, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. or perhaps, better said, in confusion. when did you start clinging to people like that?

- why... did you feel so at home? when you first woke up, something had been different. some sort of warmth had enveloped you, in your heart. it had felt nice to have someone to lie close to.

- in the meantime, hisoka was also seriously mulling over his emotions for you. so many questions invaded his mind, each popping up quicker than the last had been answered.

- sometimes, he felt as if it would be better to keep everything about you tucked away. underneath his charming, intelligent mask was years of emotion and love and hatred and all things deemed merely human, but too human for him to ever “deserve”.

- as the jester stared at his dazed reflection in the cheap hotel mirror, he came to this conclusion; it wasn’t a matter of what he deserved, or his entitlement. he had to confront the obvious truth that had been bugging him for so long.

- he would tell you he loved you, but not for himself. he would do it for you.

- let’s just say this was the start of something new.

hey so i thought it’d also be good to mention that this is my first time writing a fic on here... to be honest, it’s more the format of a drabble, but i hope you enjoyed! the word count was 2084 words, so i’m super sorry for rambling on too much - i feel like i got a little too deep into hisoka’s character at the end there. illumi’s and chrollo’s version will be coming when i have the time!

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :)

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hamsternamedmarinette · 2 years

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Hi, I really like sketching with ballpoint pens, and since you said that's what you usually draw with, do you have any tips or advice or anything? For colouring maybe? I always colour in the skin with pencils instead because it looks way to textured and streaky when I do it with pens

Hello, sorry I took so long to respond to this! I'm glad you came to me and I hope I can give you some good advice!

The first thing I have to tell you is that streakiness in drawing with ballpoint pens is just something you have to live with LOL. Over time you get better and better at being light-handed enough to make things reeeeally look blended, but it's ultimately never going to look as blended as colored pencil.

There are ways of preventing a lot of streakiness, though. Personally, I never make a mark of ballpoint pen on paper without scribbling a little on a scrap piece of paper first, or more importantly, rolling the top of the pen on its side on the paper to get rid of some of the little globs of ink that tend to build up there. If you don't do this, you'll get a lot more unintentional hard lines in your shading because a.) the ink will build up and come out full force no matter how light-handed you are, or b.) the ink won't come out because the ball at the tip is stuck, so you'll press harder, thereby making a much bolder stroke than you intended. I do this before every single different hand movement. I'll spend a couple seconds shading one area, lift my hand when I'm done with that, scribble and roll the pen a bit, then go to the next area. I probably use more ink scribbling than actually drawing.I do this before every single different hand movement. I'll spend a couple seconds shading one area, lift my hand when I'm done with that, scribble and roll the pen a bit, then go to the next area. I probably use more ink scribbling than actually drawing.

Next, since you wanted some tips on coloring skin:

My usual technique is to start shading with red as if I was just drawing monochromatically, then, once I have a thoroughly red-shaded skin, add another layer of the exact same thing, but with light green. Yeah you're gonna have to buy some light green ballpoint pens lol, they're nowhere near as commonplace as red pens. But yeah, the first layer of red and second layer of light green is the biggest part of drawing skin (for me at least).

There's more to do if you want a really dynamic and realistic drawing, though. The best advice I have ever heard for drawing skin was from someone who was very good at colorizing old black and white historical photos. They said that there's never just one color in a skin tone. You can't just colorize a black and white photo by overlaying a shade of brown over it and nothing else. There are reds, oranges, yellows, pinks, even purples, blues, and greens. The same goes for drawing. The red and green layers are just a good foundation for adding more colors.

I think that's it in terms of specific advice I have. The biggest advice I have is the one you've heard a million times: it just takes practice LOL. I recently found one of my very first ballpoint pen drawings, from high school, and it was good but it was soooo streaky and not nearly as blended as my more recent drawings. I didn't realize how much I'd improved until I saw that. So just practice drawing very lightly and evenly! You will get better with every drawing you do.

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stella-lunden · 2 years

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🕸

Cobwebs: Dust off an old Halloween memory and share it with us.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

She doesn’t know whose house this is. All Stella knows is that it’s very underwhelming to walk into a party knowing she’s designated driver tonight. The three of them- Stella, Sunny, and Ryan- are dressed as greasers. The matching jackets look good. Being the only one of the three to have any experience behind a steering wheel, Stella didn’t have a choice. And it had been her idea to come to this specific party anyway. A town away, hopefully to avoid any undesirable interactions with classmates from their own high school. So Stella’s the sober greaser; Sunny’s the sexy blonde greaser; and Ryan is the dumb greaser who was definitely gonna get himself into a mess by the end of the night.

The door’s wide open, people filtering in and out- some looking like they’ve been at the party for hours, makeup streaky and smudged, face paint and fake blood chipping off their skin, but others were just arriving. It was messy and loud and the only reason why the party hadn’t been shut down yet is the fact that most the street’s residents were at the party.

“It’s a college party,” Ryan says to her right, as if the realization had just dawned on him. Clearly he hadn’t listened to Stella’s explanation of how she’d found the party. Miguel told me that Alex told him that he has a classmate at ASU who’s buddies with the guys throwing the party, get it? Apparently he didn’t until just now when he saw how scrawny he looks compared to all the other guys. Ryan was sporting a fake drawn on sideburns, poor kid.

“No shit.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. Next to her, Sunny is looking a lot less apprehensive about this party than any other they’ve been in the last year. Probably because she doesn’t have to be the caregiver tonight. Stella owes it to her to take over for once.

Inside, Stella’s immediately dragging the two over to where all the drinks are. If she can’t drink then she’ll damn make sure they will- someone has to have fun around here. Of course she wouldn’t force them to drink more than they want, but Stella wants them to know that both of them can loosen up tonight. She’s got their backs.

It’s a little while later and Sunny and Ryan are talking up a storm with some of the college kids. They’re just on their second drink and Stella’s a few feet away sipping on a coke zero feeling worse by the second. Turns out its not underwhelming to be at a party completely sober- actually the exact opposite. She doesn’t have a drop of alcohol in her and she doesn’t have an ounce of relaxation in her either. It’s not about the drink though. It’s about it being so loud. So crowded. There’s too much going on and she feels like she’s on edge. Thinking too much, getting to the point where she might just shutdown. She feels claustrophobic- or is it agoraphobic? One of those. None of those?

Fresh air would be nice but it’s just as crowded in the backyard. She can’t make Sunny and Ryan leave with her now, it’s not fair. And Stella can’t just leave on her own. Glancing around the room, she’s trying to spot maybe a quieter spot to sit. No luck.

There’s a flimsy doggy gate on the stairs to the second floor. An attempt to keep people from going up and Stella bets that’s where she can find a bit of calm. Just to reset and join the party again. She taps Sunny’s shoulder, telling her she’s off to find a bathroom and heads towards the stairs.

The first door she tries upstairs is logically the one that would be the bathroom in these types of houses. But it’s locked and over the music Stella can just barely hear the sound of people fucking inside. She tries one of the bedrooms instead. Going for the one furthest down the hall. Furthest away from the noise and the mediocre music selection. It’s unlocked but it’s not vacant.

“Sorry,” the apology comes out in a mumble. “Didn’t think anyone would be here.”

“Oh, I was just using the bathroom.” The girl points over her shoulder at a slightly ajar door. Her hair is pink. That’s the only thing Stella can focus on right now. Her green eyes are looking Stella up and down but she hardly notices it. She almost misses it when the girl speaks, “Are you okay?”

Stella’s eyes snap to hers, mumbling out an instinctive “What?” while her brain catches up.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

[[ ooc: this thing is far from finished but here y’all go. this is her meeting a girl named Savannah and they end up kissing lol. the beginning of a very messy situationship for high school Stella who always refused to acknowledge feelings. ]]

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt #《 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 ┋☆┋ asks 》

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whump-it · 3 years

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Sunday Roast A-La Whump-it!!!

Here we go! My little tutorial for how to make a rockin' Sunday roast chicken with all the trimmings, and gravy so good you could drink it!

Here's what you'll end up with!

How to make it below the cut!

Please note that I never measure! Everything is eyeballed and just learnt from years of making.

What you'll need:-

1 whole chicken

Salt and pepper

Gravy browning

Eggs (2 eggs makes about 6 little Yorkshire puddings)

Chicken stock cube

Plain flour

Milk

Carrots

Broccoli

Parsnips

Potatoes

White cabbage

White onion

Dried mixed herbs

Smoked streaky bacon

Little sausages

Vegetable oil

Slice of bread for breadcrumbs

Roasting tray

Roasting tin with lid

Deep muffin tray

What you'll do:-

First off, preheat your oven to 180°c and make sure there's enough room in between your oven racks to fit your roasting tin in!

Make your Yorkshire pudding mix and gravy mix first then set it to one side. Gravy is easy. Get a nice big dessert spoon and put a couple of heaped spoons of flour in a dish. Crumble in a stock cube and season with pepper. Then add water until you get a nice lump-free thin sauce. Set aside.

For your Yourkshires, crack your eggs in a bowl or jug, season with salt and pepper and whisk well with a fork. Then add flour until it becomes very very stiff. Really beat the lumps out of it! Then add milk little bit by little bit until its a smooth but thick batter. The thicker it is, the more squidgy the puds will be. And I like mine VERY squidgy! Set this aside too.

Cover the base of the roasting tin with water, just enough to cover it, and then put the chicken in, seasoning with salt and pepper. Lid on and it’s in the oven for about 2 hours.

Now you’re on to veggies and accessories!!!

Fry up some bacon until nice and crispy, then cut it into little bits. Slice your cabbage then fry the cabbage in the same pan as the bacon was in with a knob of butter and more seasoning. I like mine to stay on the crispy side. Put the bacon in too and again, set aside. This is can be reheated right before serving up.

For the stuffing, fry off half an onion finely diced, then add couple more slices of bacon chopped up, a sprinkle of dried mixed herbs, salt and pepper and the breadcrumbs. A dash of water to bind it, then put it in an oven proof dish. This will go in when there’s about half an hour left on the chicken.

Keep an eye on the time and once an hour is up, put about five big spoonfuls of oil in a roasting tray and get it in the oven to heat up. Then brown off the bacon wrapped sausages and arrange them around the chicken, lid back on and in the oven it goes again.

One hour to go! Set a nice big saucepan of water to boil.

Here’s how I cut my veggies. Try to avoid straggly parsnips because they will burn when roasting. And aside from the heads of the broccoli? I roast everything! Don’t throw out the broccoli steams because they get roasted too and they’re gorgeous. When there’s 45 minutes to go, par boil the carrots, parsnips, potatoes, and broccoli stems for five minutes then out comes the roasting tray and in they go to the tray and into the oven. Take them out the water with a slotted spoon or tongs because you’ll need this water again!

Give the veggies 15 minutes then turn them over. If they’re resisting and sticking a little, give them a minute and they’ll come off. I don’t know why this works but it works!

Here’s how much oil to put in each of the muffin tray dips. Put this in the oven to heat up as your veggies go back in then wait five minutes.

With 20 minutes to go, get the stuffing in, then in 5 minutes, get the muffin tray out and pour in your Yorkshire batter. When the Yorkshire’s go in, the chicken should be done and can come out. Here’s what it should look like.

Put it on a plate and come back to it in a bit. To check if it’s cooked, poke a knife into the thickest part and check that the juices are clear. There shouldn’t be any blood. Don’t want to take your chances with badly cooked chicken!

The pan of water you kept? Get those broccoli heads in and set on a medium boil.

Now the gravy! See the very thin layer of fat on top of the meat juices? Skim it off with a spoon because you don’t want oily gravy.

Put the roasting tin on the hob on a very low heat and add your gravy mix that you made at the very start. I am old fashioned and like to add a wee drop of gravy browning.

Now what you’re doing is cooking the flour out. It goes from being pale and floury looking to a thicker consistency and colour. As it gets to this stage in the picture below, start adding water from your broccoli saucepan little bit by little bit until you get the consistency you want. I like mine fairly thick. And that water? It’s got the flavours of all your veggies.

By the time your gravy is done and you’ve started carving, your Yorkshire’s should be done and looking something like this!

If you have a go, then please show me because I’d love to see what you all come out with!!! Thanks to tumblr and their picture limit, there's not even half so many as I'd like to put in, sorry! But hopefully there's enough to go on!

So out it all comes and it’s time to plate up! As you're plating up, gently reheat the cabbage and bacon so that will be good to go by the time you've got your veggies on the plate.

@tears-and-lilies

#not whump #whump-it is creating #Whump-it is cooking #sunday roast #winner winner chicken dinner #homemade food #cooking #cookery #cookery instructions #cookery tuition #how to make a Sunday roast #home cooking #tumblr-mum food

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writersmacchiato · 4 years

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Gentleman | Horace Somnusson

Summary: Horace can’t sleep, nothing unusual, but this time he isn’t alone.

Request: Could you please do a Horace x reader? You can write whatever you want for him, the boy just needs more love 🥺

Warnings: older horace (like 17/18), i love him. best boy.

. . .

Horace always liked thunderstorms.

Even as a child, when he was stuck in his bedroom, when the beginning rumbles would begin in the distance, Horace was by the window pulling the curtains back.

The almost deafening pounding of the raindrops hitting the roof tiles, rattling the shutters, windowpanes streaky with the pouring of water down its surface. Nothing was better than opening the window after the storm had reached its peak and everything quietened down, smelling the damp air and feeling the cool breeze on his face.

He supposed it still had its grandeur, though the pull to fall asleep was almost unbearable.

Recently sleep had alluded him, more and more, until there were prominent purple circles under his eyes. The color in his cheeks faded, leaving him to look sickly. Try as he might, or how much he craved it, Horace could not sleep peacefully.

It was not nightmares from his peculiarity that plagued him.

And, really, there was no reason for him not to sleep. Horace was tired; it seeped into his bones and settled into his core until all he could feel was pure exhaustion.

When the distant rumbling had begun, the temperature dropping, Horace had hoped that the familiar symphony would lull him under a wave of sleep but it was no use. He was sitting underneath the large windows in the living room, watching the lightning crackle through the stormy clouds. Dimly aware that it was no longer night, but now early morning.

He felt your presence before he heard you, the quiet steps of your socked feet muffled by the storm.

“Horace...” You sleepily rise to sit next to him on the window ledge, head drooping to rest on his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

Horace should have felt grateful that you cared about him, enough so that you woke up every night to see if he was sleeping. Instead, he felt guilt that burned in his stomach. An uncomfortable heat that spread until his entire body felt flushed with dismay that yet again he took away from you the very thing he so craved.

“No, I’m sorry for disrupting your sleep.”

You smile at that, because of course Horace would apologize for something silly that he has no control over. Your fingers wrap around his, thumb softly rubbing circles on his wrist.

“What’s wrong, Horace? Did you have a dream?”

Glancing down and seeing your sleepy eyes, looking ever so vibrant with the storm reflecting off them, Horace almost cracked and told you the truth.

It was not like he wanted to keep it from you, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Things were still blossoming between you, fairly new - Horace would admit that he admired you for decades in the loop, though never expected for you to reciprocate feelings for him.

How could he tell you that fourteen days ago he had a dream about you; an older you, wearing a beautiful wedding dress, walking down the aisle - to him. He did look dashing, he remembered, looking dapper in his three-piece tuxedo and bow-tie. The peculiar family in attendance. Horace still remembers how he woke up with the biggest smile on his face, heart racing.

Seeing the concern on your face, the blatant worry, accelerated the feeling that he was betraying you by keeping this a secret.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I’m just worried about you.” You lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Walk me to my room?”

The door creaked slightly, but no one in the house stirred, blissfully asleep. Horace tucked the blanket around your shoulders, brushing your hair out of your face. You reached for him sleepily, feeling the loss of his warmth. His heart beat faster at the sight, but Horace stood up with a gentle sigh.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he whispered softly, “sleep well, my darling.”

As much as he would love to stay the night, Horace was a gentleman and he cared too much for you to do something improper like sharing a bed with you before marriage. Though, he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to something that was a bit scandalous...like sharing a kiss.

If his dream was any indication, it was going to be sooner rather than later.

#miss peregrines home for peculiar children #mphfpc #miss peregrines home for peculiar children x reader #miss peregrines home for peculiar children imagine #mphfpc x reader #mphfpc imagine #horace somnusson #horace somnusson x reader #horace somnusson imagine #whew.....i should get paid for writng those tags #also i meant for this to be a drabble only but here i am an hour later with a whole ass fic.......my mind really went for it #i highkey love this #thank u thunderstorm that woke me up today and inspired this

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missluthorwillseeyounow · 5 years

Photo

Felidae

Supercorp AU based on this post.

Kara is a refugee from Krypton, still trying to get used to her powers. She’s too strong, and she ends up hurting everything she touches.

Lena is the last of the House of Luthor, and she’s determined to keep her House alive and standing, but the vultures who want her fortune and the power of the Luthors are circling.

So, much like Atalanta and Penelope and other women of old beleaguered by the unwanted advances of men, Lena devises a ruse to keep them at bay, by declaring she will marry the one who can open the veritable fortress that is Luthor Manor using the key around her cat’s neck.

Yeah, so this developed a life of its own. Apparently it’s set it in a modern-Greek-mythology-based-steampunk-ish world, which has absolutely no bearing on the story (don’t worry), but I’m a little hungover and weird, so…

One night, Kara hears a commotion - metal clanging, things falling, men yelling, voices loud and harsh to her sensitive ears - she goes out to find out what’s going on, and she finds a group of man chasing after a small black cat. Kara is horrified by the horde that seems so hellbent on capturing and hurting such an innocent, defenseless creature. She stops them, and in the process, manages to hurt one of them badly with her strength.

The mob disperses in fear of her, and Kara is immediately regretful, scared of her own strength. The cat hisses at her angrily, defensive, and Kara quickly backs away, scared of hurting it. She holds her hands up and talks kindly to it

“It’s okay. They can’t hurt you anymore. Run along now.”

The cat does, but as it leaps on top of a wall, it pauses for a moment - such odd behavior for a cat - and gives Kara a fleeting look, and she catches sight of the key around its neck glinting in the firelight. Then it disappears over the wall of Luthor Manor.

At first, Kara thinks that’s it, but the cat returns the next day, sitting almost imperiously on top of the wall, regarding Kara with sharp, thoughtful green eyes. She tries to coax it closer, but the cat doesn’t follow, just looks at her, and it’s probably just as well, because she could very well hurt it with her strength.

So instead Kara starts talking quietly to it. It’s mostly like talking to herself because the cat doesn’t respond with more than a curious tilt of its head or a lick of its own paw. The cat seems content to listen to her, and lets her talk. Halfway through her description of the ballista Alex had shown her today, one of the men from last night’s horde passes them and sees the cat, sees the key around its neck, and tries to give chase.

Kara holds him off but when she turns, the cat is gone in a streak of black fur and a glint of brass from the key around her neck.

The cat comes back again the day after that, and the day after that, and before long, she and Kara become friends. Kara would think she’s a stray, but the little key around her neck suggests otherwise.

No owner ever comes looking for her though, and the cat comes and goes as she pleases, sometimes disappearing for days on end.

Kara affectionately calls her Streaky. which the cat grumbles at, but this only earns her a laugh because Kara finds it adorable how an animal can look so annoyed.

Kara doesn’t touch the cat, not yet. She’s still trying to learn how to be gentle, and her friend is infinitely too precious to hurt in the way the men chasing her tried to hurt her, or in the way Kara grabbed Winn’s arm a little too excitedly the other day and her grasp was hard enough to make him yelp.

Most of the time, they lie in the grass of Eliza’s garden together, soaking up the sun. When she’s not helping Alex train or trailing after Kal at the Daily Planet, Kara has taken up painting at Eliza’s suggestion, and she practices holding the brush gently, practices delicate strokes, painting her new friend sleeping in a patch of sunlight.

One day, the cat herself wanders over to a spot next to her, and eventually she crawls into Kara’s lap, settling there with a soft meow, making Kara smile.

Kara talks to the cat about Krypton and how much she misses it. She tells her about the House of El, and her family and the people she lost. She tells her about her loneliness and how distant she feels from everyone here, even from Kal, who is the last of her kin, but is as removed from Krypton and the Old World as Alex is.

And when she talks about how alone she feels, it’s almost as if the cat understands what she’s talking about – which is strange, because it’s a cat. But Kara can see comprehension in those wide green eyes looking back at her, can almost feel the empathy in the way the cat settles on her chest and burrows its soft face into her neck.

She gathers courage to touch the cat when she finds out who her owner is.

She’s heard about Lena Luthor of course, who hasn’t? But Kara’s never actually seen her beyond the occasional glimpse of the dark-haired woman through the window of her Vestal transport chaise or shrouded in her long, diaphanous chiton at the temple, surrounded by her attendants.

It’s Alex who finally tells her about the Luthor lady’s many suitors and the ruse with her cat. Which, to Kara, finally explains many things.

“It’s horrible.” Kara tells her feline friend, who is lying curled on Kara’s pillow. “They’re all fighting to catch you just because they want that thing around your neck. As if hurting you and treating you horribly somehow makes them worthy of a lady’s affections? I’m sorry, Streaky, you don’t deserve any of that.”

The cat slants her a dirty look at the nickname, but the effect is ruined when those luminous eyes close and she purrs softly as Kara very very gently places a hand on her back, stroking the rich black fur, her touch as light as she can manage. The low purring makes the small body under Kara’s hand vibrate slightly and she smiles in delight.

She did it! And she didn’t hurt her friend!

“Come to think of it,” Kara continues, still talking while stroking the cat’s fur, moving to the back of her neck and to her whiskered cheek. “You don’t deserve what your owner did to you either. She must have known that setting her challenge with you as bait would put you at risk! Doesn’t she care about you? I mean, I know it must be lonely being the last of her House. Believe me, I know how lonely it is. And I can’t imagine how awful it must be to have all those men circling like vultures, hounding her day and night just for her money – but she should have known better than to put you in danger! You know what? I don’t care if she’s Lena Luthor and she can buy and sell me a million times over, or even have me killed for feeding you cheap-ass salmon-flavored kibble, I’m going over there and giving her a piece of my mind!”

Armed with righteous indignation on her friend’s behalf, Kara picks up the cat and marches to Luthor Manor.

Once there, she realizes she doesn’t really have a plan to get in, until Streaky gives her an annoyed meow and plays with the key around her neck until Kara gets the message.

(In my steampunk-ish version, it’s not really a key, only shaped like one, but contains codes to enter the compound)

Kara marches in, much to the surprise and awe of everyone inside (and those on the outside who saw her go in with the cat). A pretty young woman dressed impeccably in a lovely chiton hurries forward to meet her, glancing a bit apprehensively at the purring cat in her arms.

“You must be Kara.”

“How do you know my name?” Kara asks, just as the cat jumps out of her arms and streaks off to the end of the long marble hall.

“Oh, we’ve heard a lot about you. Thank you for returning her to us.” Another look in the cat’s direction, this one almost exasperated. “I’m Jess, Miss Luthor’s lead attendant. Please come in, she’ll be with you soon. You two have much to discuss.”

Kara is escorted to a lavish room, and she runs out of steam because everything here looks beautiful and expensive and breakable.

She’s just about to give up and go home when she sees her cat – well, Lena Luthor’s cat – disappear behind a dressing screen, knocking a lamp along the way. The light behind the screen allows a glimpse of her little friend’s silhouette through the screen.

To Kara’s shock, the cat’s shadow transforms from its feline shape into the lithe silhouette of a woman. She can see her moving, donning clothes that had clearly been prepared for her behind the screen.

By the time Lena Luthor appears from behind the screen, Kara’s jaw is on the floor and she’s vaguely aware of the choked sounds coming from her own throat.

“I believe you came here to give me a piece of your mind?”

If that strange transformation weren’t enough to convince Kara of the utterly insane fact that her cat – the one she’s been talking to all these weeks – is Lena Luthor, her voice would. Rao, the throaty murmur is strangely reminiscent of her cat’s soft purr – and she really should have herself checked because the low sound is doing strange things to her insides.

The amused green gaze that Kara is very familiar with is also a dead giveaway.

Lena moves closer, her face softening at the sight of Kara’s shock.

“I apologize for the theatrics. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you, but you were quite determined, and it wasn’t fair for me to keep it from you for so long.”

Lena holds a hand out to Kara, who’s still frozen in shock. “You told me everything about you. You were always honest with me. If you’re willing to listen, I’d like to do the same.”

And so, Kara takes Lena’s proffered hand, still careful to be gentle even through her shock, because this is still her friend, even if she isn’t small and feline, and Kara would never want to hurt her friend. She sits beside her, and Lena tells her the truth.

And at the end of it, Lena waits for her to speak, waits for her anger or her condemnation. Instead, Kara takes the hand that has remained in hers and twines their fingers together, while her other arm winds around Lena’s shoulders. Kara’s nervous too, at first, because this is the first time she’s embraced another person since Krypton, but she can feel the other woman begin to relax in her arms, her fingers digging slightly into Kara’s shoulder blades.

“Does this mean I have to marry you?” Kara murmurs into Lena’s ear, and smiles when she laughs softly, the breathy sound making vibrations under Kara’s palm. “I mean, I’m not entirely averse to the idea, but I didn’t even bring a ring. Or should I have brought a collar?”

“Kinky.” Lena laughs again, and Kara delights in the sound, wants to hear it again and again. Kara pulls away to see luminous green eyes sparkling at her in fond amusement. “How about I buy you dinner first?”

“Well, considering the fact that I’ve been feeding you for weeks, I think it’s your turn.” Kara teases, just as Lena pushes forward with a smile and kisses her. The kiss is sweet and a little overwhelming and confusing, considering that when this all started she couldn’t even touch another person without hurting them, and now she’s kissing a beautiful woman who used to be her cat.

But Lena is soft, and unafraid of her, just as she always has been, and she makes Kara unafraid too. By the time Lena pulls away the slightest bit, Kara is lightheaded but she laughs at Lena’s next words, murmured low and sultry against her mouth.

“By the way, I hate salmon. I was just being polite when I ate it.”

__________

By SorrowsFlower

I dunno what happened, lol. I swear I just saw that post, and next thing I know, it’s evening and I didn’t do anything I was supposed to do. Instead, I have… whatever this is.

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #karlena #supercorp au #fanfic #a little bit steampunk #a little bit of ancient Greece/Rome #a lot of cat that doesn't act like a cat #streaky #streaky the supercat

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wolfstarbaby · 4 years

Text

a gentle hand, a secret touch on the heart

This fic was written with love for @flaggermousseart for @wolfstar-secret-santa! Enjoy! :D

Title: a gentle hand, a secret touch on the heart

Author: wolfstarbaby (fuutenfantasy on AO3)

Pairing: Wolfstar

Rating: T

Length: 6202 words

Summary:

“James, Peter and Sirius manage to land themselves in detention the night of the full moon. Remus will be fine! He's done moons by himself before. Everything will be fine. Totally.

Sirius is full of emotions and James can tell something is amiss. Remus is also full of emotions but better at hiding things. Will things work out for these star-crossed idiots? Read on to find out!”

Link to AO3 HERE

Fic under readmore!

a gentle hand, a secret touch on the heart

Remus was waiting for his friends for three hours, half-reading an old History of Magic textbook and staring into the fire, before the Portrait Hole finally slammed open. Sirius came storming in first, followed by James, and Peter came scrabbling in last, still complaining at top volume.

“-and you know Tulip’s had it out for us from the start! Totally unfair, is what it is.”

“We know, Peter,” moaned James wearily. “You’ve been on about it for the past ten minutes. Just shut it.”

Sirius threw himself onto the couch next to Remus, his eyes narrowed and and his arms folded. Remus closed his book and eyed his friend.

“I take it things did not go according to plan?” he quipped. Sirius just grunted. James flopped onto a nearby armchair and Peter stretched out in front of the blazing fire, both arms over his head. The other Gryffindors on the floor in front of the fire had to scoot out of his way, pulling books and wands closer to them with half-hearted grumbles.

“Things went great!” said Peter, voice muffled. “For the first ten minutes, anyway. We had the ravens stowed and the birdseed scattered.”

“It was going to be magnificent!” James interrupted, waving his arms about. “A perfectly timed series of events that would lead to old Tulip being absolutely covered in birdshit! I had everything planned. But then...” he sighed, running a hand through his already wild hair. “It all fell apart.”

“How so?” Remus asked, trying and failing to conceal his smile.

After a dramatic pause, Peter took his arms off his face. “Tulip came in early.”

“We still could have gotten away with it,” James complained, sinking down into the overstuffed lap of the armchair, “if Padfoot hadn’t been busy using birdseed to spell WANKER on Tulip’s desk!”

Remus let out a snort and put down his book. “Did you really? That’s a bit much, even for you, Sirius.” He patted Sirius on the arm. Sirius glowered and made cranky noises, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“And from there he looked up and saw the ravens and it was all downhill.” Peter sighed and rolled over onto his stomach. “Yelled at us for two hours. I thought his heart was going to burst, the way his veins were pulsing.”

“Glad I gave this one a pass, then.” Remus rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. “Not by choice, mind you, but I suppose it worked out. Did you get away with just a bollocking or do you hooligans have detention now, too?”

“We all have four hours of detention,” muttered Sirius. He turned to look at Remus. “Saturday night, starting at 8.”

Remus felt his stomach drop. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Moony!” James leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We argued with Tulip for ages but he wouldn’t budge, and it’s not like we could tell him why.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Remus automatically. “I’ve done plenty of moons without you lot before, I’ll survive this one too.” He stood up abruptly, stretching with some difficulty. “Let’s go to supper, I’m famished.”

The evening passed as many do at Hogwarts. Sirius came out of his funk by dessert and soon all the boys were laughing and bantering like normal, but Remus noticed that every time he winced at a pre-lunar ache Sirius glanced over, worried. They took their usual spots around the huge scarred wooden table in the common room and muttered over some homework, making more jokes than progress on their Transfiguration essays.

“I just don’t understand how we’re meant to explain a process we’ve never seen before!” Peter complained, scratching his forehead with his quill and leaving a streaky black line in its wake. “ ‘Explain in fine detail the technical process of turning a chicken into a cow, paying special attention to where the additional mass comes from.’ What does she want us to do with this?”

Remus, already halfway through with his outline, just chuckled. “It’s in the book, Peter. You have to read.”

“Sounds like too much work,” said James, closing his book with a decisive thump. “Right, lads. How’s my hair?”

Sirius ruffled it playfully, messing it up even more. “Now it’s perfect. Go get her, Prongsie.”

James eyed his target, squared his shoulders, and stood. “Wish me luck.”

He sauntered across the common room so he could attempt to flirt with Lily - by which he meant leaning on the back of her chair and joining whatever conversation she was a part of with loud commentary and inappropriate humor. This was met with eye rolling, ignoring, and the occasional artfully dodged hex. Eventually Peter went for a shower before bed and it was just Sirius and Remus at the table, sitting in a comfortable silence, the pretense of working long since given up.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself this Saturday?” Sirius asked softly. “I could skip detention and Padfoot could be there at least.”

Remus’s heart clenched. “Don’t skip out, Tulip will lose his mind and you’ll be in even worse trouble. I’ll be fine, I promise.” He smiled, fairly convincingly. “Come on, let’s rescue Lily from Prongs and head upstairs.”

Together they hauled James away from Lily and her friends, dragging him up the stairs by his elbows, and Remus tried his best not to notice every time he bumped into Sirius on the narrow staircase. He climbed into bed after a round of “good nights” and only when the curtains whisper shut around him did he allow himself the luxury of basking in the idea that Sirius’s concern meant anything more than platonic worry. He fell asleep imagining a world that could not be - a world with Sirius stroking his hair and whispering sweet words meant for him and him alone, chasing away the lingering curse of the moon with his quiet warmth.

~~~

Remus had been quietly pining for his best friend for what seemed like forever, but for what was realistically about two years. Before Hogwarts he’d kept to himself out of both necessity and choice - growing up on an isolated farm and being bitten by a werewolf are both life challenges that keep you from making many friends. It wasn’t until about halfway through his second year that Remus began to realize that he wasn’t interested in his female classmates the way the other boys were, and not until his third year that his heart was captured by Sirius.

It wasn’t anything dramatic or complicated - in fact, it was the simplest thing of all. It was, as most things were in Remus’s life, centered around the full moon. A rough transformation in December of their third year had left Remus in the Hospital Wing for longer than usual - nearly a week. He spent the first two days of that awful week unconscious, and didn’t wake up until nearly midnight on that Wednesday. The first thing he saw when he opened his puffy eyes was long black hair strewn across the end of his bed. There, softly illuminated in the candlelight, was Sirius, head pillowed on his arms, fast asleep at the end of Remus’s bed. As if on cue, Sirius turned his head and smiled sleepily at Remus, and that was that for Remus’s heart.

But this realization was followed almost immediately by the knowledge, the deep, certain, bones-deep truth of the fact that he could never act upon his feelings. Not once, not ever. Sirius was assuredly heterosexual, and also one of the most important people in Remus’s life. He wasn’t going to put years of friendship in jeopardy over the simple vagaries of his heart. No, best to push these feelings way down deep and pretend they weren’t there.

This decision came in a split second, and Remus was able to return Sirius’s smile with one of his own - even if it was a little forced at the corners. He could live with that.

~~~

It was the day before the full moon, which means Remus woke up with full body aches and a head that felt like it was underwater. He buried his head under the pillow and tried to ignore the slow-roasting coals in his knees and shoulders. His stomach curled and twisted, though, and it wasn’t long before he was up and in the bathroom, viciously ejecting the remnants of his dinner the night before. His ears were ringing and his headache was splitting - all in all, normal pre-lunar symptoms. He thought about making is way down to the Hospital Wing, but the idea of submitting himself to the fluttering and worrying of Madame Pomfrey was almost more than he could bear - besides, it’s not like she could cure what was really wrong. He resolved to spend the day in bed and pretend like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

He heard the rest of the boys surface to consciousness and rise to face the day, but the velvet curtains around his bed and the mountain of pillows he’d sunk his head into muffled everything. He thought he heard his name once or twice.

“-Remus doing okay?”

“-probably not going to lessons today, poor chap.”

“-him alone. Moon’s tomorrow, you know how it is.”

There was a rustle and a change in the light against his eyelids, so Remus cracked one eye open to see Sirius, his dark hair swinging around his face as he peered through the curtains. He was so close to Remus that the ends of his hair brushed ever so slightly against the boy’s cheek. The sun, well and truly up by now, poured in behind Sirius, the golden streams illuminating him and giving him an unearthly sort of glow. The light got tangled in his hair and brought depth to the blackness, little pockets of richness and color that weren’t usually visible. His eyes were brown and so soft as he looked at Remus. Remus choked a little as his heart clenched almost painfully from the unexpected loveliness of this sight. It took him a minute to realize Sirius was talking to him.

“-anything, mate?”

“I - what?”

“I said, would you like us to bring you any breakfast? We’re heading down now.”

His stomach clenched again at the thought of food. “No thank you - I wouldn’t be able to keep it down, anyway.”

“Fair enough.” Sirius hesitated, then pushed a hand through the curtains and rested it on Remus’s hair, stroking it gently. Remus felt his whole body stiffen in reaction as his brain short-circuited. Quickly, as if embarrassed, Sirius pulled his head and arm back through the curtains, and the sunshine disappeared. “Get some rest, we’ll bring you what you miss in class.”

It wasn’t until the dormitory door closed with a soft clatter that Remus had the presence of mind to call out, “Thank you!”

Soon enough the dormitory was empty, and the air sat silent and still. Remus wanted to lie there and dwell on the unexpected moment of tenderness from Sirius that morning, but his body had other ideas and soon he was asleep again, his brain running from the pain as best it knew how. He spent the day in and out of consciousness, drifting along like a soap bubble. He was vaguely aware of the other boys coming and going, leaving books and parchment on his bedside table, and he managed to rouse himself enough to drink the mug of soup one of them brought for his lunch around noon.

The afternoon brought less drowsiness but more pain. His shoulder and hip joints, as if in preparation for the next day’s miseries, felt tense and twisted. A gentle heating charm cast on a pillow helped a little bit, but not a lot. Again the thought of the Hospital Wing crossed his mind, but at this point it would have hurt more to drag himself down there than to stay in bed.

Besides, he was used to pain.

He felt a weight settle at the end of his bed, and looked up to see the messy black hair and dorky glasses of James. His friend smiled easily and patted his leg.

“Hanging in there, Moony?”

Remus shrugged. “Day before the moon. You know how it is.”

James winced sympathetically. “Need anything?”

“A cure for lycanthropy?” Remus quipped.

James laughed. “I’ll get right on it. You take care.” He deposited an armload of parchment scrolls onto the teetering pile next to Remus’s bed and waved as he headed out the door again.

Remus knew they were all in their afternoon classes for the next few hours, so he was duly surprised when a half hour or so later Sirius showed up again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Potions?” Remus remarked, pushing himself to a sitting position.

Sirius shrugged and sat down. “Told Slughorn I needed to bring you your assignments.” He waved a hand at a notebook slung onto the floor. “Didn’t want you to fall behind, and all that.”

“And he just… let you go?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “Decent of him. Odd, but decent.”

“Not that odd.” Sirius smiled. “Everyone knows you’re his second favorite, after Lily. You’re a genius with a cauldron, as he says.”

They fell silent after that, Sirius fiddling with a wrinkle in the duvet and Remus watching his hand while trying to seem like he wasn’t. Finally, Sirius looked up.

“Look, mate, are you sure you don’t want me to skive off this detention tomorrow?

I hate the thought of you being up in the Shack alone.”

Remus sighed. “As much as I want to say yes, I’m going to say no. I don’t want you getting in more trouble because of me. It’s fine, Pads - I’ve been alone before.”

“I know,” said Sirius, “but you shouldn’t have to be.”

“I’ll be okay, Sirius, I promise.” And before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “but I love that you asked.” Immediately he felt his cheeks and ears turned crimson and hastily looked down, pretending to smooth out wrinkles in the duvet. He didn’t notice Sirius looking at him. Eventually Sirius stood to go back to class.

“We’ll bring you something from dinner if you don’t make it down,” he called over his shoulder as he left the dormitory. “Get some more sleep!”

As soon as the door closed Remus threw himself painfully backwards and covered his face with a pillow.

It wasn’t even that revealing of a comment! He told himself. God, what a state I’m in, mention the word ‘love’ once and I act like an idiot.

Somewhere in between the self-admonishment and the lingering moon-pain, he did fall asleep again. He woke up once more to the sound of James and Peter bring him a plate from the Great Hall - beef, yorkshire pudding, carrots, and a slice of Black Forest Gateau, if his wolf-sensitive nose was correct. They were talking softly as they approached, so as to not wake him up.

“-acting weird all day.”

“I know, Pete, but you know he’s always weird where Remus is concerned.”

“I wish he’d sort his feelings out, this pining is exhausting to watch.”

Still lying down and in a sleep-fever haze, Remus kept very still and hastily closed his eyes when James pulled aside the curtain to peek in. The curtain twitched closed again and the soft conversation resumed.

“I swear, James, he doesn’t even know what’s going on inside his own head. He won’t admit it to himself.”

“Did you see his face when Remus tripped into his lap last weekend by the lake? I thought he was going to produce steam, his face was so red.”

“He’s an idiot, Prongs. He needs our help.”

“You’re right, Pete - they’ll never sort it out for themselves.”

Remus waited until they had both left the room before getting the dinner plate. The wolf was getting stronger, and he was ravenous. He puzzled over what he’d just heard and the implications therein. He knew what he wanted it to mean, but he couldn’t risk the danger of hope, no matter how much he wanted to believe. He devoured the dinner plate and, lacking anything else to do, pulled over some of the work from Charms and began to read. O.W.L.s were this year, and Remus would be damned if he let something as stupid as lycanthropy keep him from scoring well.

~~~

Saturday morning. Moonrise due at 2 pm.

The achiness had left Remus’s joints, but he was left with a horrid combination of exhaustion and nervous energy. He wanted to be moving around, itching to do something, but the weariness enveloping his whole being kept him from doing very much at all. He settled for sitting on the edge of his bed, twisting the blanket in his fingers and swinging his feet, just…….. Waiting.

He eyed the others. James was flat on his back, curtains wide open, snoring with his mouth askew. Peter was an indistinguishable lump underneath his blanket. But Sirius - Sirius was propped up on one elbow and watching him, face expressionless. When he noticed Remus staring at him, he quirked up one corner of his mouth.

“The waiting is hard, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

Remus shrugged. “Not as hard as some things, but… yes. The anticipation. I feel like I’m going to crack in half from the tension of it all.”

His hands kept working at the fabric of the blanket, bunching it up, smoothing it out, fidgeting with the wrinkles, pulling at loose threads. He stared down at them, as if they belonged to someone else. He felt disconnected from his own body, like he existed slightly above and to the left of everything around him. Those hands, in a few short hours, would twist and crack and bend and stretch, forming paws coated in coarse brown fur and tipped with wicked black claws. Those hands would tear at the walls of the Shrieking Shack, batter and beat at the remaining furniture until it was splinters. These nails would rend his own flesh, bringing blood and bruises and pain. These hands were capable of such damage. It was astonishing they ever produced anything of worth at all.

“Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

It wasn’t until Sirius’s smooth hands closed around his own that he realized how tightly he’d been gripping the blanket. He blinked, and relaxed his fingers. The muscles were sore, having been clenched up so tightly. He looked up - Sirius was on his knees, both hands wrapped around his own, lips slightly parted, his eyes filled with something… indescribable. Remus could feel the dry warmth of Sirius’s palms radiating into his knuckles, soothing them. He leaned forward a little almost without thinking, and now he realized he could smell Sirius - the scent of sleep, of laundry soap and clove and the faintest tinge of cigarettes. It was drowning his senses, the smell of him, the feel of him, everything. He was falling into Sirius’s eyes, surrounded by their gentle brown. Falling. Drowning. Rising up.

Somehow he came back to himself before he did anything stupid, like finish leaning forward and kissing the boy in front of him. Remus gently pulled his hands out of Sirius’s grasp and sat back. When he did, he saw the slightest hint of pain flash across Sirius’s face before the other boy stood up, hands jammed into his pockets. Remus grimaced inwardly and stood, trying not to look Sirius in the eye.

“I’d better head down to Pomfrey, it’s nearly time.” It wasn’t, and they both knew it, but Remus had to get out of that room before the tension knocked him sideways. Sirius nodded silently and moved aside to let him pass. As Remus went out the door, Sirius opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but changed his mind and shook his head. The door closed between them with a soft ‘click’.

~~~

Remus sat on the splintered bed in the Shrieking Shack and waited for the change to come over him. Sunlight streamed in the high-up window, sluicing through the dust in the air.

It always snuck up on him, like a train through the fog. By the time you noticed the rumbling and the noise, it was almost upon you.

He shuddered. He jerked. He twisted. He Changed. His nose sampled the air, searching for the smells that meant Friends, Safety, Fun, Comfort. He couldn’t find them! Where were they?

Out came teeth and claws.

~~~

A huge mountain of assorted birdseed was piled in the middle of the table. James, Sirius and Peter sat around it, armed with tweezers and an assortment of bowls. They surveyed their task.

“So let me get this straight. We have to sort this,” Peter pointed at the mountain with his tweezers, “into these bowls.” Another point.

James shook his head. “Tulip’s a clever bastard, I’ll give him that. This will take us all night.”

Sirius said nothing, just eyed the task before them with displeasure. After a moment’s silence, he sat with a heavy sigh and picked up a piece of seed at random with his tongs. The other boys flopped down and followed suit.

The moon hung high in the sky, visible from the narrow window. It was brilliantly white against the black of the night sky. Sirius kept glancing up at it.

An hour passed, then two, in relative silence.

~~~

The splintered bed finally crashed to the floor after a determined paw swipe took out the last leg. The wolf howled, calling for its friends. When no response came, its fangs clamped around a foreleg in frustration, sending blood splattering across the wall.

~~~

A howl echoed up from the forest, causing all three boys to pause. Sirius abandoned his tweezers and got up, crossing to the window. He gazed out at the forest, fingers drumming a rhythm on the windowsill. Peter and James exchanged significant glances, and then James put down his tweezers.

“Padfoot?”

“What?” said Sirius, still looking out the window.

James rolled his eyes. “When are you going to pull your head out of your arse and tell Remus how you really feel?”

That got a reaction. Sirius stiffened and spun, hands clenched and eyes wide.

“I - I don’t - you mean -” he paused, forced himself to be still, and finished. “I don’t know what you’re on about, Prongs.”

“We’re not stupid, mate,” chimed in Peter. “You’ve been pining over him for at least a year. Him being alone tonight has you wound tighter than a paranoid doxy.”

“You goggle at him when he’s not looking,” added James. “You find every excuse to touch him. And the way your eyes look when he’s smiling at you…” he shook his head. “Sirius, did you think we would hate you if you told us?”

A pause, then Sirius sank into a chair and rested his face in his hands. “Am I that obvious?” His voice was muffled by his palms.

“Yes,” said Peter and James in unison. Sirius groaned.

“Does Remus know?” Sirius asked, still covering his face.

“No idea. “James shrugged, picking up his tweezers again. “But you should go find out.”

Sirius turned to look at James. “What, now? But we’re-”

“Go on.” James reached into his robes and threw the Invisibility Cloak at Sirius, nearly knocking him out of his chair when it hit him in the face. “We’ll finish up here.”

“We will?” Peter asked, then jumped and rubbed his shin where James had kicked it. “I mean, yeah, we will. Go get him, Pads.”

Sirius thought about it, and finally stood to cover himself in the Cloak. “I… thank you for not hating me,” came from the air where he’d been standing. James just chuckled.

“You’ll have to do a lot worse than fall in love to get us to hate you. Now go!” The door opened by an invisible hand. “And don’t come back to the Tower until you’ve told him how you feel!” James called after his escaping friend. He turned back to the tower of birdseed and sighed.

“Shall we?” Peter grumbled.

~~~

The wolf curled up in the center of the room, panting. Wood splinters and strips of wallpaper littered the floor, along with slapdash specks of blood and tufts of fur. It was Sad. Confused. Angry.

Its ears twitched as a distant patter came ever closer up the tunnel, and a familiar scent wafted its way into the room as the trapdoor flapped open. The wolf lifted its head.

Friend? Here? Friend! It bounced to its feet, disregarding the myriad cuts and bruises all over its body, and ran over to the large black dog makings its way into the room. The black dog sniffed it all over, whimpering at the blood.

The wolf didn’t care about its pain - now its friend was here, and all was well.

~~~

The weak morning sunlight slanted past the curtains, and Remus cracked an unwilling eye to the world. Just like every morning-after, he took a general inventory of his body - ankle definitely twisted and maybe sprained, deep cuts across the left thigh, bruised ribs, scratches everywhere… he touched a hand to his nose and winced. Definitely broken. He pushed himself to a sitting position, moving slowly so as to not jostle his injuries more than necessary. The thin blanket kept in the Shack fell away from his chest as he sat up, and fell onto Padfoot’s sleeping body. He’d apparently curled up next to Remus to keep him warm during the night.

Just thinking about warmth made Remus realize how cold it was in the room, especially since he was decidedly unclothed. He looked around for where he usually left his clothes, and saw only a pile of shredded cloth. He grimaced - last night had been pretty terrible, it seemed. He shivered, and it was this movement that woke Padfoot up. The dog opened it eyes, cocked its head, and then in a complex and brain-twisting series of movements turned into Sirius sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Morning, Moons,” he whispered. Remus tried to smile, but the dried blood on his face had stiffened the skin too much. He reached one hand up to wipe it away, but gave up after a few halfhearted swipes. Sirius got to his knees.

“Here, let me.” He took the edge of his jumper and gently wiped Remus’s face, working off the worst of the blood. Once finished, he took the blanket and wrapped it around Remus, then stood up. He went to the trapdoor, rummaged around for a second, and returned with a bag.

“Don’t worry, I came prepared.” Out of the bag he drew a sweater and a pair of soft pants, as well a thermos and his wand. “I was a bit in a hurry, but managed to grab a few things.” He tossed the clothes at Remus and turned his back in a semblance of privacy.

“I’m surprised you came at all,” croaked Remus as he pulled on the sweater and pants. “Weren’t you supposed to be in detention?”

“Prongs and Wormtail covered for me.” Sirius turned back around, the thermos in his hands now full of steaming liquid. He poured some into a cup and gave it to Remus. “Hot chocolate. Drink up.”

Remus took a tentative sip - it was delicious, and not too hot. It was smooth and rich and filled his aching mouth with warmth and sweetness. He drank the hot chocolate slowly as Sirius gathered his shredded clothes into a pile. When that was done, he dropped onto the floor next to Remus and looked him over, eyes moving slowly up and down Remus’s body. Remus flushed, hoping the bruises on his face would cover any redness. Sirius reached out a gentle hand and held it over Remus’s injured ankle, not quite touching it.

“This must smart, yeah?”

Remus nodded, avoiding eye contact. He felt the tap of a wand on his ankle, and with a warm squishing sensation the swollen tissue receded somewhat and the pain died down. It still hurt, but nowhere near as bad. Sirius pushed up Remus’s pants leg, tapping the deep cuts on his thigh with his wand to close them up. The warm hand on his bare thigh was doing strange things to Remus’s brain, and he gripped the now-empty cup of hot chocolate so tightly it almost broke. Another gentle tap to his broken nose twitched it somewhat back into place. Remus finally looked up, and saw Sirius less than six inches away from his face. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open. Remus stared - he couldn’t help it. There was a fine spray of freckles, so light you usually couldn’t see them, across the bridge of Sirius’s nose. He found himself focusing on those freckles, wondering what it would be like to kiss each one. He leaned forward unconsciously, closing the distance to four inches. Then three.

“Remus, I…” Sirius closed his eyes briefly. “I need to…”

But what he needed was interrupted by the sounds of footsteps in the tunnel. The boys sprang apart, Sirius throwing the Invisibility Cloak on just in time for Madame Pomfrey to throw open the trapdoor. Remus managed to send the thermos and cup over to the concealed Sirius in a panicked slide before Madame Pomfrey had climbed all the way into the room. She did her usual clucking and fussing over Remus, practically pouring two bottles of potion down his neck to speed up the healing process. If she thought the clothes were unusual, she was kind enough not to say anything.

They made their way back to the Hospital Wing, where Remus spent the day sleeping in a curtained-off bed. When he woke up for the third time some time around 3 pm, his ribs felt better and the other Marauders were clustered around his bed. James was the first one to notice he was awake, and grinned broadly.

“Cheers, Moo- er, Remus,” he said with a sideways glance at Pomfrey three beds away. “Welcome back to reality.”

Remus grinned weakly. “How was detention?”

Peter pulled a disgusted face. “It was awful!” And he launched into the story of Tulip’s detention. Remus half-listened, laughing or exclaiming in the right places, as his mind wandered. He kept thinking about this morning, about what he’d almost done.

He’d almost kissed Sirius, right there in the Shrieking Shack. And he was pretty certain that Sirius had wanted him to.

He chanced a glance at Sirius, who was sitting on the edge of the bed half-smiling at some pivotal moment in Peter’s story. He glanced over and made accidental eye contact with Remus, blushed, and looked away.

The blush was interesting and worth looking into, Remus thought. All at once he threw caution to the winds and made a decision.

“Madame Pomfrey?” he called. The matron made her way over to them, giving the Marauders a dirty look and a wide berth.

“Yes, dear?” she asked, patting him on the shoulder.

“Can I finish resting up in my dormitory?”

“Of course, dear. But come back down if you need anything.” He nodded, and she walked away. The other boys seemed a little surprised. Remus sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Pads, will you help me back to Gryffindor Tower?” Sirius’s head shot up and he looked at Remus warily, but nodded. Remus stood and only wobbled a little bit, which he counted as a victory.

“I’ll see you lads later, then.” This to James and Peter. James immediately grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Right, we’re off to the library. See you at dinner!” He hauled a protesting Peter away in the direction of the library. Remus smiled inwardly. James always was quick on the uptake.

Remus and Sirius made their way slowly back to Gryffindor Tower. It hadn’t been a ruse - Remus genuinely needed help, especially on the stairs. He found himself leaning on Sirius more often than was strictly necessary, though - and each time he saw the blush and felt the nervousness. But by the time they were climbing through the Portrait Hole, Remus was almost spent. The Common Room was nearly empty, thankfully - most people were spending this cold but sunny Sunday afternoon outside or somewhere on the grounds, with only one or two zealous fifth years seated and studying at the tables. No one bothered them as they climbed the stairs to the fifth-year dormitory.

Sirius helped Remus climb into bed, and stood there awkwardly as Remus arranged the blankets and pillows around himself. When he was finished, Remus looked up at Sirius.

“Sit with me?” he asked, softly. “Please?”

Sirius sat on the bed, legs tucked up underneath him. He stared down at his hands, fiddling with the fabric of his pants.

Remus took a deep breath. “Sirius…”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Sirius burst out. “I shouldn’t have… I almost… I didn’t mean to…” he sighed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Remus just blinked a few times. “...what?” he finally managed to ask.

Sirius balled up handfuls of the blanket beneath him, his knuckles white with the tension. He still wouldn’t look a Remus. “I… I almost kissed you earlier, in the Shack. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” He blinked several times. “All of my feelings just came rising up and spilling out and I couldn’t control myself, Remus, you were right there, right beneath my hands and so close to my face, and I could see your eyes, and the way the light was hitting you, and God, I just…” he scrubbed one hand over his face almost angrily and took several deep breaths. “I just don’t want this to ruin us. Ruin our friendship. Because so help me God keeping you in my life is more important than any stupid emotions I might be feeling.”

He fell silent, still breathing hard. Remus’s mind was reeling. He gathered himself together enough to reach out and touch Sirius’s wrist. The other boy jerked under his touch and turned to face Remus, brown eyes overbright with tears. Remus closed his hand around Sirius’s wrist.

“Pads, are you telling me you fancy me?” Sirius closed his eyes and nodded, just once. A wave of excitement and relief washed over Remus, and for the second time in an hour he threw caution - and himself - to the winds. He pulled Sirius by the wrist towards himself, caught the other boy’s face in his free hand, and kissed him.

The kiss, as kisses went, was too new and enthusiastic to be much good. It was all angles and teeth and repositioning, but it was honest and right and full of the feelings neither had been able to express. Sirius’s lips were warm and a little chapped, and they felt like perfection. They felt like comfort, safety, and home.

Sirius eventually leaned back, cheeks flushed. “I… wow, Moony, I just…” he ran a hand through his hair. “How long?”

Remus reached out a hand to run it through Sirius’s hair as well. “About a year and a half. I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He wound strands of black hair around his fingers, carefully working out any small tangles he encountered. Sirius leaned into the touch. “How about you?”

“About a year,” Sirius replied, with a soft smile. “We’re right idiots for waiting so long, I suppose.”

“Something like that.” Remus was overtaken by a yawn so large his jaw cracked. “I really should get some more rest if I’m going to be in any sort of shape to go to lessons tomorrow.” He leaned back on his pillow, letting his hand fall from Sirius’s hair. Sirius picked up the hand where it lay and held it in both of his.

“Would you like me to stay?” Remus intertwined his fingers with Sirius’s.

“No, you go down to dinner and bring me something back.” He pulled Sirius’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, delighting in the sheer overwhelming fact that he could. “We should talk more when you get back. About - well, all of this.”

Sirius stood up. “What should I tell the others? James and Pete, I mean.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “They already know… some of it. My side of it, anyway. Practically threw me out of detention by my collar to go to you.”

Remus made himself comfortable in the blankets and pillows. “Tell them I swept you off your feet. Make me sound romantic.” Exhaustion was coming back over him in waves. Sirius leaned over, tilted his chin up with one finger, and kissed him again. This kiss was less urgent and more languid, sweeter, gentler. When he stood up again Remus’s head was swimming.

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispered. Sirius kissed Remus once more and made his way out of the dormitory, closing the door very gently behind him.

Remus slid into sleep and into dreams that welcomed him with open arms. Dreams of a person who saw his heart and held it, warm in their hands. Dreams of Sirius. Dreams of love.

#wolfstar-secret-santa #flaggermousseart #my work

16 notes · View notes

there-goes-rain · 5 years

Text

“Sticky Notes and Papercuts”

I woke up to the sound of a knock on my door.

“Who is it?” I grunted.

“Its Trophy.” The voice at the other side irritably snapped. I groaned.

“What is it!?” I questioned, getting up and stretching.

“Mail’s here.” Trophy concluded. I sigh and quickly take off my sleeping cork and opened the door.

Trophy had apparently left, leaving the delivery envelope standing by the front counter awkwardly. I speed walk to the counter and waved.

“Hi Letter, sorry for the wait…”

“Oh, it’s all right! I did come early today… Sorry to wake you!” she squeaks. She opens her satchel and digs through it.

“It’s alright. I usually get up earlier anyway.” I shrugged. She nods and hands me a few letters.

I look at the names they were addressed to when Letter puts a decent sized box onto the counter.

“Alrighty! That’s all!” She declares, she bounced out the door to deliver the rest of the mail she had.

I stared at the box.

“Who’s this for?” I wondered. I put the few envelopes I had into the small mailboxes for each room, then pick up the box to check who it was addressed to. I was surprised to find that it was extremely light. I look over it and finally find the sticker that says the address and such.

Orange Juice

Hotel OJ, 1510 Road

II Island, 14113

But there was no return address…

I go back into my room and close the door behind me. I sit down on the couch and put the box on the coffee table in front of me. I grab my box cutter and slice the tape off the top of the box.

Inside of the box was a bunch of sticky notes, notecards, lined pieces of paper, and heart-shaped cutouts made of construction paper. Upon closer inspection, I notice that they all had some sort of writing on them. I pick one up and raise it to my face to read it.

Hi OJ! You’re probably not ever going to read this because my handwriting sucks and I’m a coward so I’ll probably never send it, but I thought I’d share what I love like about you!!

So, uh, to start, You’re super nice and funny and stuff. You smell like oranges and it’s really nice. Your voice is really soothing to me… You always try to help others! You could have bought anything with a million dollars but you bought a hotel so that we all could stay together!! It’s really cool how…………

It went on. I couldn't help but smile. This was so nice… As my eyes scanned the page it got harder and harder to read. The handwriting became more scribbly and smeared. I looked down to the bottom of the page.

From!

Someone who loves you!

I couldn't read the name of who it was from due to the streaky lines. Also, it seemed to be scribbled out too,,, I put down the sheet and pick up one of the sticky notes. On it was a small sketch of what seemed to be me. It had hearts around it and was done in pen. The lined were again, scribbly, but I could tell what it was supposed to be. I put it down and pick up one of the note cards.

Hey OJ! There's something I wanna tell you!

I think you’re really cute cool! I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date hang out?

Ugh nevermind i should just throw this away-

I pick up another,

Roses are red

I can't draw a Moose

I might have a crush on

Someone named Orange Juice?

And another,

Thinking of you keeps me awake. Dreaming of you keeps me asleep. Being with you keeps me alive!

And another,

I still get butterflies even though I've seen you a hundred times.

You came into my life when everything seemed so dark, but you gave me the light and I found my way.

Every single day, I am grateful for you. I will love and cherish you forever.

My smile is true only when I'm with you.

You are like the guy of my dreams but much better, because this is real life.

I love you more than words can ever say.

You bring so much color into my world that used to be so dull and gray.

I love you so much that I would do anything to see you smile.

Wherever you are is where I want to be.

Do you even know how special you are to me? There is no one else in this world like you, you are one of a kind. And you are the only guy out there for me.

Even after all of this time that we have spent together, I find myself loving you more and more as time goes on.

You are my happy place. I am crazy about you. I get butterflies when I think about you, which is all the time. I never thought that I could be this happy and I have you to thank for making it happen. You have a way of making me smile every day. You have a way of making me smile every day. When I look at you, I get a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what happens. <3

As I pick up the next piece of paper, I feel a sharp pain in my right index finger. I look at it and realize that I had gotten a paper cut and started bleeding. I put down the papers on the table, then peer into the box, looking to see how many notes were left. There were only a few. I picked one up and noticed that there was something written on the bottom of the box. I take the rest of the notes out and read it.

Hey OJ… I wanted to make sure you read most of the letters before I said this, so I decided to write it on the bottom of the box. Heh… I wanted to say all these things to you in person, but I didn't want to face it or say it out loud… So I sent you this box. When I saw the MailLetter come in to deliver the mail, I gave this to her to give you as if someone mailed it. Hopefully, you actually open it today… heh…. So yeah, If it’s still the day you got this box, then meet me in that garden behind the hotel. If you want, I mean, you don't have to….

-Physical Flat

I re-read the words again, then pushed the box back onto the table. I got up and stretched really quickly, then ran out of my room. I slammed the door behind me and ran behind the hotel. I opened the gate to the garden and went inside. There was no-one there?

“Hello?” I call out, “Anyone here?”

I hear some rustling from one of the hedges and someone came out of it.

It was Paper.

“Hey Oj! Uh- How was your day?” He asks. I shrug.

“Oh, you know. Normal hotel stuff. How about you though? Send any packages lately?”

“Y-yeah actually! Just sent one today. To someone, I really care about…” He responds, blushing a little bit.

“Oh cool… I got a package today… I can't really tell who it’s from, but I’ve got a hunch.”

Paper looks a little bit surprised.

“Really? Who do you think it’s from then?”

I shrug in response. He gives out a nervous chuckle.

“It doesn't happen to be from you does it?”

“Depends… Was it full of little notes?”

I nod. He blushes more.

“Then, uh- Yeah- It was from me-”

I give him a big hug.

“Thank you. You put so much time into that… For me… Thank you…”

He hugs back.

“Why wouldn't I? We made such a good duo back in season 1. I guess I wanted this duo to stay a duo…”

“I’d love that.”

#payjay #ii payjay #orangejuice #oj #oj ii #orange juice ii #ii #ii2 #inanimate insanity

79 notes · View notes

shepherdsoreydidnothingwrong · 5 years

Note

HI could I get 17 with sormik if you haven’t been asked for that one yet??

I have not, and you absolutely could

#17: “I take it you’ve never baked before?”

AO3 Link

The screen brightens to reveal a large kitchen island with all manner of things on it. Behind it is Sorey, grinning, wearing a frilly apron with an image of a cupcake on it.

"Hey, what's up guys?" He spreads his arms wide. "Welcome to my first collab with the wonderful Mikleo!"

He gestures to Mikleo, who stands beside him, casually leaning with one hip against the counter. He is wearing a matching apron with an image of a teddy bear. He smiles and waves.

"Hello," he says warmly. "Welcome."

"Now," Sorey gestures to the cluttered island before them. "Today's video is going to be a little off brand for both of us. It's one of the most requested things for us both, and so we agreed to do it together."

Quick as a whip, he steps closer and slips an arm around Mikleo's waist. Mikleo glances at him in amusement.

"Welcome," Sorey says ominously, "to the baking episode."

Mikleo's amusement grows into a wide smile, and he leans a little into Sorey.

"Now, let's get started," he says.

The video cuts. In the next moment, the camera is closer, showing the two of them with half of the kitchen island visible in front. The clutter has been swept to the edge of it in what looks like an orderly manner, leaving only a recipe card, a bowl, and a whisk.

"Right, so today we're going to be making two things." Sorey counts on his fingers, keeping careful eye contact with the camera. "The first is going to be a carrot cake."

"Hopefully," Mikleo adds.

"Hopefully," Sorey laughs. "So without further ado, why don't we look at the first ingredient?"

The two of them lean over the table, reading the recipe card together. It is not lost on people in the comment section just how close their hands end up on the marble surface of the island.

"Looks like we're starting with carrots," Sorey says, chuckling a bit. "Who'd have thought?"

Mikleo is already retreating out of the shot. "I mean, fair enough," he says. The next shot is the boys sizing up a bag full of carrots, eyeing it warily.

"We're going to need to peel two of them," Mikleo says, reading the recipe card again. "Then we're going to need eggs and sugar."

There are several cuts as the two of them go about collecting the ingredients and mixing them together in the bowl. They move smoothly, to the point where it almost looks rehearsed. However, upon reaching a certain step in the recipe, it becomes very clear that the rehearsal only reached the point of gathering things.

"We're supposed to combine the dry ingredients now," Mikleo says.

Sorey is rifling through a cabinet in the background.

"Combine them with the batter or what?"

Mikleo shakes his head. "It seems we're supposed to just mix them together before we put them in."

"Wait," Sorey says. "Isn't the cinnamon a dry ingredient?"

"I thought so too," Mikleo says uncertainly. "Maybe it doesn't count as one?"

Sorey returns. "Are you sure of that. Can I see it?"

Another voice comes in from off screen. A quite recognisable one for viewers of Mikleo's videos.

"Jesus Christ, have either of you baked before?"

They look up as one, Sorey in confusion and Mikleo in annoyance.

"I don't usually, really." Sorey smiles sheepishly.

Edna comes into the shot, arms crossed and a smirk on her face. She and Sorey both look at Mikleo. For one long moment, Mikleo bears their scrutiny before relenting and sighing.

"I mostly do cold things," he says. "I'm not good with actual baking that includes an oven."

Sorey lights up. "Really? What do you usually make?"

Mikleo's eyes flit between Sorey and Edna, then briefly to the camera and back. They have gotten a little off track here.

"Usually ice cream," he says. "I like to make soft serve."

If possible, Sorey's eyes grow rounder. "Really?"

"At any rate," Edna says with great disinterest, "Eizen asked me to come in and steer you two off the path of disaster. Is that a thing you gentlemen are interested in?"

As one, they look at her with a new sense of potential. Mikleo still looks a little bit annoyed.

"And now we welcome our guest for the episode," Sorey says to the camera, flashing a smooth grin. "Everyone say hi to Edna."

The cake turns out half decent. They try it with minimal discomfort and Sorey loves the icing. Edna leans on the counter, looking for all the world as though she has just carried a ton across a street.

"You two are walking disasters, you know that?"

Sorey has it in him to look a little sheepish. Mikleo just smiles serenely.

"So," Sorey claps his hands together above the remains of a messy cake. "Now that we've got that done, it's time for the second of the video." There is a peculiar glint in his eye. "First step, we need to clean up."

One jumpcut later, they have a clean kitchen island behind them and the camera has a sideways view of a stove. There are bottles of different colours with narrow nozzles all around them, neatly lines up in rows.

"It's time," Sorey gestures grandly to the bottles, "for some pancake art."

"Lords help us," Edna adds helpfully. They ignore her.

At first, Sorey attempts a shape on his own, using only one colour. His heart comes out streaky and a little burnt on one side.

"It's not bad, not bad at all," Mikleo concedes. "Let me try it."

Predictably, he has similar results. He makes a star with some black and blue, and it turns out okay enough that they chance trying it. Judging from their faces, it is not as big a success as it looks.

They work as a team after those first two attempts, pouring gently and succeeding well enough with some simpler shapes. Then the viewers are treated to a moment which is time-stamped in many comments below the video as Sorey takes on a project of his own.

"What?" he asks as Mikleo laughs helplessly behind him. Even Edna has cracked a smile.

"Is that supposed to be my face?" Mikleo is covering his mouth to contain his mirth. Sorey grins brightly as he holds it up to the camera.

It is not half bad, actually. He has the curls down, at least. There are several compliments in the comments on how well he managed to capture Mikleo's nose.

They laugh together as Mikleo attempts an equivalent for Sorey. Then Edna makes a perfect image of Pikachu. The video comes to a close at the kitchen island again, this time with several plates of cake and pancakes. They boys smile, messy and flour-dusted. There are stains on Sorey's apron.

"Well, guys, there you have it." He leans a little closer and bumps shoulders with Mikleo, who does the same in return. "I think we've got some real potential for this."

Mikleo shakes his head subtly with a smirk. Sorey pretends not to notice.

"Either way, we're delighted you joined us for this. Comment below if you'd like us to try something else like this. Until then..."

He looks at Mikleo, and Mikleo shakes his head fondly, carefully not looking at Sorey.

"Like and subscribe if you like," Mikleo says, voice upbeat and bright, "And we'll see you next time."

They wave together, and Sorey holds up the Mikleo pancake so the camera.

"Uncanny, isn't it?" he says, and Mikleo bursts out laughing just as it cuts out.

Cleaning the kitchen takes half an hour, but it is a pain to get all the pancake batter bottles neatly stored away in the fridge.

"Do you think we got too much?" Sorey asks, and Mikleo chuckles.

"A tad, yeah," he says.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Sorey says. "What do you say we have dinner at my place?"

"No need," Mikleo says. "I think we've done enough adventures in the kitchen. Let's just do some takeout."

"Are you sure?" Suddenly Sorey is beside him, reaching carefully over him to stash the flour back in its cabinet. "I make a mean one-pot beef and broccoli."

Mikleo turns to him, and his face is indeed very close. He raises an eyebrow.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks, subtly inclining his head to the pancakes on the counter. They have tried enough of them to know that they will not make an adequate dinner.

"Hey now." Sorey pinches him lightly on the arm. "I said I couldn't bake. I never said I couldn't cook. Come over and I'll show you."

He then walks away as though that is a perfectly normal thing to say and begins to pack up the rest of his things to go. Mikleo stands stunned by an open kitchen cabinet.

"You're screwed, aren't you?" It is Edna, come to haunt him again. Mikleo purses his lips.

"I really am," he says, shaking his head lightly. "He does not get less hot with time."

#prompts #Sage practices writing #Sormik #Sorey #Mikleo #toz #my sun my stars #the world's first goblin shepherd #makkura-taichou

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its-warm-in-here · 6 years

Text

To Err is Human ch3 (Connor RK800 x Reader)

Alllllright i think my tags are actually working now so here ch3!! Thank you everyone who supported this!

Summary: You are one of the head designers of the RK800 and when you here it’s going to be decommissioned, you make a move to keep at least on of the models in tact. Word Count ~1,600

You hadn’t been asleep more than four hours when you awoken by banging on your apartment door. Groggily, you struggled into a sitting position and fumbled a glance at the clock on your phone. It wasn't even midnight. You squeezed a pillow over your ears praying whatever was pounding out there would just go away.

It didn’t. Of course it didn't. And now it was calling your name. “It’s me Connor! Are you there?”

How the hell had it found you? You stumbled to your feet, throwing the blanket onto the floor, “Shit...” your stomach growled, reminding you that you had simply collapsed onto the couch and forgotten to eat anything when you got home.

“Please, open the door, I have nowhere else to go!” its voice sounded more and more desperate.

You rubbed your eyes, swaying a bit. “Coming... Coming!” You swung the door open and the RK800 nearly ran you over shoving it’s way into your apartment. “Connor what the fuck!” You turned on him only to realize why he was so desperate for you to open the door. “... What the fuck?”

The normally prim and proper suit was covered in streaky red and blue, mixing to become an ugly purple. A steady drip splashed from it’s fingers to the carpet. It’s face was mostly wiped clean from the rain, other than a wound across it's forehead that was oozing thirium. Across its face was a look of conflict and remorse, LED flashing red.

You probably should have called the cops, or even better CyberLife and saved yourself from the trouble you had gotten yourself into. “Are you alright?” You guided him into the kitchen, stripping his soaked jacket off and dropping it to the tile. You snatched up a dish towel and began to dab at its forehead.

The LED slowly faded to a rapidly spinning yellow. “I’m fine.”

“Did anyone follow you?” it shook its head. You frowned. “Is anywhere other than your forehead damaged?” Connor glanced away again before slowly lifting the hem of its shirt, showing off three fresh bullet holes. It then lowered its waistband three inches revealing a rather nasty looking gash over its hip. Blue blood steadily leaked from the wounds down its body. “Shit.” Connor was loosing blue blood to quick for your liking and the CyberLife stores didn't open until ten tomorrow. You knew how to treat basic wounds in humans, but in androids, you often had to replace parts and seal holes with plastic, none of which you had on hand.

Telling Connor to wait a moment, you darted into the bathroom and retrieved gauze and other first aid supplies before returning to the kitchen Connor, who was now sitting upright on the couch. It had removed its shirt completely and had wadded up and pressed it to the bullet holes. “I, uh, I don’t have any android supplies, but I’ll go to to the store tomorrow so we can get you fixed up,” you tried to smile as you set down the supplies on the glass coffee table. “Did the bullets go straight through?”

“I do not detect any foreign objects in my lower abdominal area,” it replied running a quick diagnostic. You eased the blue soaked shirt away from his side and placed a thick pad of gauze over the wounds. Using medical tape that you had swiped once from a hospital, you put four tight lines of tape over the dressing. “I can do that, I’ve been programed with-”

“I’ve got it Connor,” you gave him a small smile, “Lean forward?” you then repeated the same procedure on its back. “I’m gonna need you to take your pants down a bit.”

It nodded, “Of course.” the RK800 pulled the waistband down again with one hand and you went to work. This is not how you expected to be spending your friday with a half naked, illegal android, but here you were. You patted his abdomen and stood up, snipping a piece of gauze down to half its size and using one finger, you tilted Connors head back a bit.

It stared up at you with those all too lifelike eyes, lips slightly apart at it watched you work. You brushed its hair back into place as you taped down the last bandage. You found your gaze lingering a bit longer than it should have, staring into that eternally youthful face.

“T-thank you, for helping me,” Connor finally spoke up, and you ripped your eyes away nodding.

“Sadly we’re not done,” you wiped your thirium stained hands on your pajamas. “You still have your tracker.” Connor’s hand shot back the back of his head, approximately where the bit of technology lay. “Can you remove your skin for me- at least back there?” you asked walking around to the back of the couch.

He frowned, but did as you asked, and the skin receded to all too bright white plastic beneath the false exterior. You flicked on a few lights and fetched a flashlight and tools from under the sink. You didn't have android specific ones but you could probably makes these work. Connor had removed the back half of his head, making for a jarring transition from plastic to to skin. You pulled up a chair behind the couch and pressed up on a panel that rested at the nape of his neck. “You’re very quiet.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve never had anyone adjusting my biocomponents while I’ve been conscious,” he replied, ringing his hands.

“Tell me if anything hurts okay?” you couldn't imagine what is must feel like to have a strangers fingers in the back of your skull.

“Androids don’t feel pain,” it said in reply.

You meticulously shifted through the wires and biocomponents, gripping the flashlight in your mouth. “Mmmm hmm,” you grunted around the flashlight.

Connor let out a sudden gasp and you dropped the flashlight into your hand, “Are you okay?”

“F-fine, just --ah! Just hurry,” it snapped out, something straining in its voice. You popped the flashlight back in your mouth and put your fingers back to work. You moved a few more wires before you found the cylindrical tube that was embedded into its skull.

You snatched up the smallest pair of pliers you had and gripped onto the tracker, “I got it. ‘on’t ‘oove.” you placed your other hand against the white plastic and Connors shoulders tensed up. “One, ooo... tree!” you yanked quick and hard. There was a pop and the tracker pulled free.

Connor leapet away like you had just blasted it with a shot of electricity. It stood frozen for a moment, limbs sticking out in all different directions, shoulders and chest visibly rising rapidly. You opened your mouth to speak when he turned around to face you, suddenly composed once again. “Thank you.” it said curtly, “Let’s never do that again.”

You plucked the tracker off the floor with the pliers. The small tube was mostly blue with a white light on one end that was flashing. You waved it at him, “Fine with me, as long as we get rid of this.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Connor offered, extending its palm. “You must be tired and we haven’t even been able to continue our conversation from earlier.” It have you a crooked smile.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I was going to put it in a taxi, that way CyberLife won’t be able to track it back to us,” it explained. “It seemed like the safest course of action.”

“I’d rather you didn't go outside right now, but good idea,” still gripping it with the pliers, you dropped it into a ziploc bag. You quickly placed a page for a taxi. “I think there's some clothes in the hall closet that might work for you.” Connor nodded and disappeared around the corner.

You took the elevator down to the first floor, pulling sixty dollars cash out of your bag. You could feel your exhaustion starting to catch up to you as you stood in the elevator. Ever since Connor had arrived, you had been running on adrenaline. You silently thanked that you had tomorrow off. Hopefully you would be able to decide what to do with this mess of your before you had to go back to work.

After shoving the tracker between the seats and sending the taxi as far as it would go, you returned inside, freshly soaked with rain. You almost stripped off your shirt and tossed it with your clothes from earlier until you remembered the android sitting on your couch. You knew it probably didn't care, but having another body in you apartment regardless if it was synthetic or organic still made you uncomfortable. Connor was sitting bolt up right on the couch, now dressed in a ‘Knights of the Black Death’ band shirt and grey sweatpants both of which were too large for it.

It glanced up, “I can find you a towel.”

You brushed it off, “No, don’t worry about it. I’m going to bed anyway. You can.... Enter sleep mode or whatever. Just don’t leave the apartment right now, okay?”

Connor nodded, “Sleep well. We shall continue our conversation from earlier tomorrow then?”

You smiled wearily, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

#detroid become human #connor RK800 #dbh connor #connor x reader #ch3 here we go!#pls dont hate my writing

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sachertortes · 6 years

Note

Eeeee! For your prompts would you be up for a Logan(Wolverine)/Darcy Awkward meetings #5?

Yes!! For the incredibly lovely and patient @ragwitch, for whom this prompt fill is reallly late. I changed some things from the prompt but I hope you enjoy it anyways :)

Prompt: Awkward Meeting Themed, #5, ““I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning and when i asked you what the hell you were doing you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why you’re here right now also what the fuck is your name and why were you patting a dog in a stranger’s backyard in the middle of the night.”

Pairing: Logan x Darcy

Rating: T, for language.

He wakes to the tinkling sounds of the dog’s collar, to his happy snuffles. This wouldn’t be unusual, but the sound is coming from outside and he knows the old mutt doesn’t leave his warm pillow by the couch for anything but food and walks. The doggie door was installed as a precaution really, and he’d never even seen him use it. Until now.

Logan is up like a shot from the bed, shoving his feet into boots, and he extends his claws for good measure. He creeps, as slowly as he can, into the kitchen and looks out the sliding glass door.

There’s a girl in the backyard.

She’s…playing with the dog?

She’s a dark bundle of puffy parka and darker hair as she reaches into the mutt’s fur and pets him.

“Aren’t you a handsome, handsome pupper! You’re so great and cute and sweet!” she croons, and the damned dog just takes it ecstatically, his snout pointed towards the sky exposing his neck for more scratchings.

“What the fuck,” he says to himself, blinking a few times to make sure he’s not still dreaming.

The digital clock above the stove reads 3:14am and he has no idea what the hell’s going on.

He sheathes his claws – judging by her complete lack of self-preservation (a parka and jeans for a night in the mountains, playing with some random dog), she is definitely a civilian.

The mutt knocks her over in his exuberance and she laughs uproariously, pulling the dog down with her.

He slides open the door and glares at the intruder.

“Who the hell are you?”

She weakly pushes his dog away and shoves herself upward with what looks like great effort.

“Darcy Lewis,” she answers, slightly unsteady on her feet. “Whoa…Heyyy, muscles…” she reaches over with her index finger, poised to poke his bicep.

He steps away, giving her a speculative look.

“You on somethin’, lady?”

“Rummmm!” the girl declares, lips stretched wide into a smile. “Mon Capitan Mooorgann!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“We’re camping for Janey’s pre-wedding shenanigans,” she explains, tripping and slurring over the last word. “Can you b’lieve?! Camping?! I tol’ her we should get Avengers themed strippers but she said no.” Darcy pouts, plump bottom lip jutting out. “Wanna see Fury in a thong!” she giggles, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue.

“We’d better get inside, it’s cold as fuck out here.”

“M’fine! I’ll just go back to camp, sorry ‘bout wakin’ you, Sir Beardly Man.”

“It’s Logan. And you’re not going anywhere like this. You’ll get lost and die of hypothermia before anythin’ else.”

“Hey! I can make it back! I’m a stong, independent, woman who don’t need no – uh-oh.”

And then she vomits. Right on his shoes.

Then there’s a horrible lurching sound he realizes is coming from her, and she’s on her hands and knees on the pine needle covered ground and she’s puking again, just a millisecond after he manages to step away.

Not that the damage isn’t already done.

He looks down at his ruined boots. “Fuck.” He grimaces.

“Fuck,” Darcy repeats, voice croaky. “I’m so sorry, I – “

“Just - just get in the house alright?”

She takes his proffered hand and with some effort, ends up upright again.

“Sure you don’t have a lady or gentleman friend in there who’d be mad at me?”

“What? No.”

“You sure? A big, brawny manly man like you?”

He leads the way, toeing off his boots outside the kitchen doors.

“Not for a long time,” he mumbles under his breath. To his horror, she hears it.

“Oh no!” she giggles, huge blue eyes slightly unfocused as she peers at him. “A dry spell, huh?” She stage-whispers, “Or…don’t tell me you’re a vir - a virge – “ Her brows furrow. “A Virginian?!”

He’s unable to help his burst of laughter. “I’m not a Virginian.”

She nods. “Okay. Oh, hey, is your buddy coming in?”

Logan lets out a short, high whistle and a ball of shaggy brown-black fur trots in after them.

Darcy smiles. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Dog.”

She peers at him disgustedly. “You named your dog, Dog. Not even Spot, but Dog?” she asks.

He shrugs and begins leading her to the bedroom.

She uses his bathroom (“There’s ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet!” he calls through the door) and he gets an extra blanket, then lays it at the foot of the bed.

“Gets cold up here at night. Or early morning,” he tells her gruffly, when she ambles into the bedroom.

Dog pads in after him and sits by the door, tongue lolling out while he watches them.

Darcy sits on the bed and begins to toe off her boots and take off her parka. Underneath, she’s all soft mossy-green sweater and even softer curves. He looks away and begins to fuss at Dog.

“Alright, Lumberjack McScruff, tuck me in.” She wiggles expectantly under the cover.

He swallows.

“Ain’t tuckin’ you in,” he rumbles, and adjusts the plaid blanket at the foot of the bed so it’s covering her feet.

“Thanks, guy,” she says, already halfway to sleep.

He grunts and runs a hand through his hair.

Darcy pats the spot next to her in bed. “C’mere, buddy,” she says in a lilting, sweet voice and something in him clenches.

“He’s not allowed on the furn – “

But it’s too late, because Dog sees his chance and happily bounds up on the bed and stretches himself alongside the girl. If he’s not mistaken, when the mutt cranes his head to stare back at him it’s with two big, brown, smug eyes.

He scowls. “Fine. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.” He turns to leave and thinks of one other thing. “Remember. Bathroom’s across the hall, please don’t puke on my bed.”

Darcy’s groan is muffled by blankets and dog fur from where they’re burrowing in next to each other. “I said I was sorry!”

He wakes up with the sun.

He pads to the kitchen sets up the old Mr. Coffee (“Yesss,” Darcy says when she wakes and sees what he’s made. “You’re a god among men.” And he raises a brow because no one can really think that, can they?). He sticks some frozen waffles that he forgot he had into the toaster.

They’re halfway through their meal when he looks at her, suddenly alarmed.

“When you were… “

“White girl wasted?” she finishes for him, stuffing an obscene portion of waffle and syrup and butter into her mouth.

He coughs. “Drunk. Did you happen to tell people where you were headed? ‘Cause…”

“Oh shit!” Darcy exclaims, and Dog, who’s back on his trusty pillow twitches his ears. She pulls out her phone. In a minute, she’s on the line with a woman who immediately screeches out a series of indecipherable exclamations.

“Nooo, Helen, no pterodactyl noises,” Darcy whimpers, and brings her free hand to rub at her temple. “My brain is trying to chisel its way out of my skull.”

They talk for a bit and then -

“I’m here with…Luke? I think?”

“Logan,” he corrects, taking orange juice out of the fridge and pouring himself a glass.

She pauses and turns to give him a very…thorough once-over, then her eyes round.

“Uhh. I’m pretty sure I’m here in a cabin with freaking Wolverine,” she intones into the phone and he nearly drops his glass onto the floor.

The woman on the phone chatters back excitedly and Darcy taps her foot. When she can get a word in, he gives Darcy directions (he’s not even a blip on a GPS) then she relays it to Helen.

“They haven’t left camp yet, so they’ll be here in ten,” Darcy says, tapping her phone off and taking a hearty gulp of the coffee.

“No problem.” He drinks his orange juice and licks the corner of his lip. “…Kinda nice talkin’ to another human, actually.”

“Yeah? You ever come back to join civilization every once in a while?”

“Nah.”

“You sure? Because I know where all the fun bars are and I’m pretty sure there a hot dude under that dead thing clinging to your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and glowers.

She smirks at him, not at all affected.

“Absolutely nothing,” she replies, words dripping sweetness and he has to remind himself that he should bring the glass to his lips.

Eventually, the crunch of tires on dirt and gravel interrupt them.

Two sharp honks sound outside, and Darcy winces. “Helen, I’mma kill you,” she gripes, and zips up her parka.

Darcy then turns to him with two big luminous eyes and a wickedly sharp smile.

She takes a random piece of paper from her pocket and hurriedly scribbles something onto it.

“My number,” she tells him, pinning him with a look from under her long lashes that makes the skin on his arms tingle. “In case you need ideas for new dog names.”

He nods once, brusquely, and takes the slip of paper from her. He shoves it into his back pocket without even looking at it.

“Darcy! Come on!” the lady in the car calls out. “We’re gonna be late for Spa Day!”

Darcy leaves.

He goes back to his life for a while; takes Dog out for walks, makes dinner for one. Studiously ignores any communications from Xavier.

It’s two weeks later, and Logan is staring at himself in the slightly streaky mirror above his pedestal sink. The bare bulb flickers.

He angles his head to the side, takes a pair of small scissors and begins trimming.

She picks up after two rings.

Logan doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “Spot,” he begins, “is clichéd as hell.”

Darcy Lewis doesn’t miss a beat and he can hear the smile in her voice when she responds.

“How about Rex, then?”

“That’s okay.” He pauses, runs a hand over his newly shorn beard. “Was thinkin’ Captain Morgan, though.”

Her answering warm laughter alights sparks all the way up his spine.

#logan x darcy #clawshock #darcy lewis #darcyland #clawshock fic #prompt fill #sachertortes fic

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jiemba · 6 years

Text

Title Fight Chapter 2 - Feathered Beast (Teen Sanvers AU)

So sorry for the wait on this! Life’s been a bit rough lately but I’ll try to post more regularly.

On AO3 here.

In the worst dreams, she can’t remember what he sounds like. But when she wakes, the memories of him are everywhere, familiar and grating, the way she can never quite get sand out of her bed.

In the early weeks, she’d collapsed at her sister’s feet under the lightning crack of her own wail, finally asking her in hitched wet chokes if people believed in ghosts on Krypton. Kara told her no, that spirits went to live in the stars after, to be closer to Rao - and Alex was left with no explanation for why she felt him everywhere, why she could smell his coffee in the mornings when she first woke up, why she could literally hear him sometimes. No explanation except that she was losing her mind.

The idea of him being among his favourite constellations is a hollow comfort. He’s not there, but this ghost that lives in her house isn’t anything like him. It’s far too dark, brutally gutting, dulling every star in every night. It smothers her and cradles her in one embrace. It is a quiet tyrant. A feathered beast.

She throws herself into the water, the early morning cold sucking all the breath from her body. A crack of broken light spills blood between clouds and over her skin as she paddles her board faster, further, until it’s hard to breathe. She used to think he was here, in this ocean. She had researched how long it would take for a body to decompose in saltwater of this temperature. How far the smaller bones would carry with deep sea currents, how far the larger. She had approximated how much there was left to find, each day another part of him dissolving. His shoes would take the longest. She’d hated him - for tainting the one place she came to think, for staining the water with his own blood so she could never swim in it again. But quickly the morning pilgrimages became obsessive. She could hear his voice, sometimes. A “Nice one, champ” between the collapse of two waves. An “Easy, kiddo” when she lost her footing. A muscle memory fading too fast from her mind, the way a record gets scratches the more it is played. She knows better now. He’s not here. Today, the water tumbles, and the birds roll together in spirals diving for prey, and other surfers call to each other in the lulls, but beneath that, nothing. Her body folds at the waist, her face falling into her hands, a shuddering sob scraping out of her lungs as she keeps herself from crying out for him. Dad. Daddy. The ocean seems to know. It cradles her with an intimate familiarity that she’s known almost as long as she knew him, rocking her as if to soothe a child. When she was small, she would pretend to fall asleep on long car rides, just to feel her father hold her like this. He always carried her to her room, even when he knew she was faking. She doesn’t remember when she got too big for it – only the feeling of loss when he started waking her up. How she longs for that now – for him to wake her up.

She comes home just as Kara’s body slams into a wall. “Alex!” “I’m coming,” she calls, bounding up the stairs and almost slipping over. “ALEX!” “Jesus, Kara, what’s wrong?” In their room, the younger girl is reeling from being wrenched back into her body, her limbs curling inward as she visibly shakes, face red with sweat and tears. “Alex…” “Hey…” she murmurs, rushing to kneel before her little sister, checking her over. There’s a dent in the wall, a not uncommon side effect of Kara’s nightmares while sleep-floating, but she’s unmarked. Just startled. “Hey, it’s OK. You’re alright.” “You w-weren’t here.” “I’m sorry -” “I woke up and you were gone.” “Hey-” “You left me alone.” The girl looks impossibly smaller than her frame, curling tighter into a shaking ball as she hides her face from her sister. “I was just surfing. Just over there, see? You’re not alone. You’re not up in space. You’re here. You’re OK. Just keep breathing.” “A-Alex,” she sobs, over and over, breath coming out in thick chokes as Alex tries to hold her. “Kara, you need to calm down.” She can’t help the edge in her voice – the nerves and frustration. “Please. Mom’s probably sleeping. You have to be quiet, OK?” Kara immediately stiffens at the words, biting her lip to quiet herself into softer whimpers. She wipes her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” “I know.” “The wall… I’ll get you in trouble.” “It was an accident,” Alex seethes, forcing herself to keep her touch soft, when all she wants is to hit something. She takes a blanket, dabbing the sweat from her sister’s forehead. “Look, let’s get you cleaned up, OK? Come on. Quietly.” The younger girl nods, eyes downcast, letting Alex lead her to the bathroom. While she’s in the shower, Alex braces herself as she treads through the house, still wet herself, salt crisping in her hair, but the rage doesn’t come. The only trace of her mother is in the kitchen. An empty bottle of wine and an unfinished plate of dinner in the fridge. Fifty dollars on the table and a note. Gone to lab. Kara needs some school things. Will be back late. Alex scrunches the note tight in her fist before she can cry over it. This is the sum of their communications, now. This is the best she can hope for, now.

It’s while she’s cooking pancakes - Kara soothed and clean and cautiously petting Streaky at the kitchen table - that the doorbell rings. Alex groans. “Who the hell -” “It’s J’onn!” Kara exclaims, and in a flash she’s already opening the door, scooped up in a hug by a man twice her size, and Alex has to look away. “How are you, girls?” “OK. We’re going school shopping today.” “How about you, Alex?” he presses, a little softer. She barely looks up from the stove. “Fine. I thought we weren’t training til 4.” “I heard distress this morning. I came.” “Kara’s fine. I took care of it.” “She’s not the only one I heard, Alex.” She shoots him a quick glare. “I told you to stay out of my head.” “Sometimes it can’t be helped.” She rubs her bleary eyes with the back of her hand, swallowing a yawn. “Well sit down, since you’re here.” “I can cook, Alex,” he murmurs as he approaches her. “You haven’t slept much, you should rest.” “Yeah well, I have to buy Kara’s things and patch a hole in the wall before my mom notices, so we don’t always get what we want.” “Alex, I’m sorry -” “It’s not your fault, Kara.” J’onn nods slowly, leaving Alex to pace over to Kara, who’s still petting the cat. He reaches a hand out to the creature, smiling slightly at its texture. “Hello, friend.” “Don’t tell my mom I let him in, she’ll freak,” Alex mutters, scooping some more batter into the pan. J’onn nods. “We don’t have to train this afternoon, if you’re too tired.” “I’m fine.” “Eliza says it’s a good outlet for her anger.” “God, shut up, Kara.” “Alex, don’t talk to your sister like that.” “Don’t talk to me like you’re my dad,” she spits back, tears burning in her eyes, and for a moment it all stops. J’onn waits for the thoughts in her mind to quiet before he approaches her, sighing as he leans against the fridge. “Alex, I know I can never replace him in any way. And I don’t want to. But I made your father a promise -” “I know,” she interrupts. A tear slips down her cheek, but her hand comes to smear it with a speed that almost rivals Kara’s. “I’m still trying to find out what I can at the DEO. As soon as I know where his body lies, I will bring him home to you. I promise.” “You’ve been saying that for months. There’s nothing more to know.” Her whole body shivers. She grasps the edge of the countertop with both hands, closing her eyes. “There’s nothing.” A strong hand comes to grasp her shoulder, and she lets him pull her close, desperately pushing from her mind the memory of the last man who held her with this kind of care. “I also lost my father, at Mars’ end,” he murmurs into her hair. “I know.” She sniffles into his shirt. “Does it go away?” “It eases.”

It occurs to Alex then, that all three of them are fatherless - how grief had spared none of them, swiping at family trees and breaking branches. She uncurls herself from J’onn’s body, wiping her face as she turns to Kara. “I’ll call Mr and Mrs Li to see if you can hang out with Kenny while we’re training.” “I want J’onn to teach me to box too,” Kara grumbles in exasperation. Alex scoffs. “You’d kill someone.” J’onn shoots her a look. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she relents, swallowing guilt at the sight of her sister timidly withdrawing her hands from the cat. “Just…you know what Dad said. Showing yourself just puts you at risk. Us too.” And you already lost me my Dad. “Alex,” J’onn warns her, clearly having heard. “Go lie down for a moment. I’ll finish breakfast and drive you both to get what you need before training.” She doesn’t bother replying – just pushes past him to curl into a ball on the couch, digging into her pocket for her mp3 player and blasting Offspring’s ‘Gone Away’ as loud as she can bear it. Loud enough for J’onn to hear it in his own mind, to sense how he makes her feel pain and need all at once.

Of all the things on Maggie’s to-do list before school starts, finding a job ranks towards the top. It’s crucial that she makes as little a dent in her Tia’s life as possible – that she shrinks herself to the point of being barely there, lest she be too outspoken, too daring, too young ever again. Back home, she’d babysit for the neighbours’ kids and feed their chickens before school - until it happened. Later, the best she could do was stack boxes on weekends at her Tia’s work, just cash in hand - until the other thing happened. At least here, no one knows. There are more than a handful of stores. And a lot of people look like her, more than she’s ever seen. The mall near the apartment has a movie theatre, and a food court, and two whole floors of stores, and it takes hours to go door to door. She tells the bookstore about how she helped at her Aunt’s job. Tells the pet store about Hugo and Dante. Tells the taqueria that her Abuelitas had her helping in the family Cinco de Mayo feasts since she was five. She tells them all she’ll do any job. That she’s a good girl, who speaks good Spanish (not the best Spanish), and doesn’t mind how early she has to wake up or how dirty her hands get, and just wants the chance to make a few dollars to help her family. She tells none of them about her injury. By mid-afternoon, the new phone number scrawled on the inside of her arm has blurred into a vague smudge, but her hand remembers how to write it on forms without thinking. There’s only one place to go after that, a note from her Tia guiding her down a track of back alleys and over a bridge to a warehouse devoid of any colour, save for a weather-worn sign across the front wall declaring it a fighters’ gym, sun flaring on the road under her feet. It’s ten degrees hotter inside – so many men swinging and jumping rope and grunting that the gym itself feels like a breathing thing, a Public Enemy soundtrack seated under a constant pattering of thuds and clangs and sounds that would be groans of pain if they weren’t quite so breathless. It’s a dodge between bodies to get to the back office, but she immediately understands why he’s tucked away in there, cocooned from the disciplined chaos outside. “Can I help you?” he asks her as he picks videos from a bookcase, voice raspy like it’s spent years shouting over noise like this. “I…” she starts, before she knows what to say. “My aunt called, she said you had a youth program? She told me to stop by.” He peers at her over his glasses. “Margarita, right?” It’s the first time a stranger’s ever pronounced her name correctly, but she still shakes her head. “Just Maggie.” “Hector. Would’ve noticed you in here before. We don’t get a lot of girls.” He squints at a tape, rubbing his eyes before he hands it to her. “What year does that say?” “1985.” “Damn it,” he grumbles, setting it aside. “You box, Maggie?” “I can fight.” “Not what I asked.” Maggie digs her hands into the pockets of her shorts, eyes finding the floor. “We have strict rules here,” Hector tells her. “Fighting stays in the gym. I don’t want to hear about you smacking some poor kid in math class.” “It’s not like that,” Maggie insists. “I don’t do that stuff, it’s just…” “Just what?” he mutters, voice clipped. She tries to steady herself as she looks him over, something about the shape of his eyes reminding him of a Tio back home. “I just moved here from Nebraska,” she admits. “The kids there…they didn’t like me. And… I dunno, Tia thinks this’ll be good for me, I guess. ” The unsaid things hang suspended, but he nods like he doesn’t need to hear them. “We have classes through the week, and youth-only open training is on Tuesdays and Thursdays 4-7. Any other time you need to drop in to lose your cool, do your homework, whatever, you just drop in. Nobody’ll bother you.” “I…” she starts, trying to let the too warm air settle in her chest, the heat filtering into her cheeks anyway. “Lo siento, no tengo mucho dinero.” “That’s fine, mija.” “I can work for you if you need. I can clean the gym for you, or help you sort through your office, or -” “No hay necesidad. You just focus on school. And our youth classes are sliding scale.” “What’s that mean?” “Just pay what you can. If it’s a dollar, it’s a dollar. Just show up. I’d rather you kids be here than off doing drugs someplace. I just need your parents to sign these before you start,” he explains, handing her a waiver. She baulks a little. “Vivo con mi Tia. Eso esta bien?” He gives her a sad smile, his eyes wrinkling around the edges. “No problem.” Maggie exhales slowly, unable to lift her eyes to his as she accepts the paper, her father’s pride still etched in her bones. He takes off his glasses, looks her over. “How old are you?” “Fifteen.” “You look younger.” She squirms a little. “Just small, I guess.” He looks past her shoulder, letting out a whistle too loud for the room. “Hey, Hank!” Behind her, Maggie sees a man tilt his head but not his body, eyes fixed on a fight between two boys of about 17. She’s never seen someone command so much space by doing nothing at all, arms crossed tight over his chest, standing tall like a tree that doesn’t bend. “Yeah?” “Your girl’s 15, right?” That has his attention, and as soon as his eyes find Maggie, he’s coming her way. “You here to train?” “Yeah,” she replies. “You have other girls here?” “Your age? Just the one.” He extends a hand, and it engulfs hers. “Hank Henshaw.” “Maggie Rodas.” It’s hard to tell what to make of his smile – tight, but warm, strictly polite but reserved like he’s trying to figure her out. “I’ve been training Alex for a couple months, but all the boys here are too big or young for her to spar with. She could use a partner, if you’re up for it.” “Yeah, sure,” Maggie lets out, and it’s all moving faster than she expected, but in the corner of her eye, there’s a flash of reddish-brown hair coming from the water station. A girl in running shorts and a tank top, a little tall for her age, is setting her bottle on a windowsill, shaking herself out in front of a mirror before lifting her fists to fight herself, shadowboxing with the flow of someone who breathes like water, and instantly, Maggie knows she’s seen her before. She looks different on land. Harder. Tired, but pushing, like she’s running from her own shadow, scrambling to exorcise something from under her own skin, and again Maggie feels the sensation that she’s not supposed to be watching her, yet the grace of her movement is hard to pull away from. “Danvers,” Hank calls out, and the girl’s tugged from her battle, her pale skin gently flushed as she jogs over. “This is Maggie Rodas. She’s joining the gym.” “I’m down to train with you, if you want,” Maggie tells her. “Hank said you need a partner.” The girl nods, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Yeah. I’m hoping to start sparring in local club comps by in the next couple months. How long have you been boxing?” “Well, technically I’ve never boxed…” “Great,” the girl mutters, not trying to hide that she’s unimpressed, and Maggie feels a competitive edge twist in her gut. “But I can fight.” “Oh can you?” she scoffs, raising her eyebrows. Maggie tilts her head, smirking a little. “Life experience.” It seems like Alex doesn’t know how to take that. Maggie watches her glance at Hank, who nods almost imperceptibly. The girl’s shoulders lose some of their tension. “Look, I grew up watching matches on TV with my dad,” Maggie continues. “I know what makes a good fighter. It’s just that my parents wouldn’t let me learn, so I never got taught.” “What, and they just changed their minds?” They changed their minds about a lot of things, she thinks to herself, swallowing hard, and beside her Hank shifts slightly on his feet. “Something like that,” she says. Hank tilts his head to face Alex. “I know she’s a little small for you -” “A little,” the girl teases lightly, making Maggie scoff and shake her head. “But if you plan to keep up your training diet it may not matter so much.” “Hey, I don’t mind putting on a little weight,” Maggie teases back, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m new in town, Danvers – know any good burger places?” The glare the girl shoots her is hard as a punch, and Maggie almost laughs out loud. “The point is,” Hank interrupts, “Alex, this would be good for your training. It’s about time you fought someone closer to who you’ll be up against.” Almost mirroring Hank’s posture, the girl stands and breathes for a moment before lifting her eyes to Maggie’s. “I prefer to train alone. And hard. Think you can keep up?” “Played soccer for six years. Bet I could beat you in shuttle runs.” The corner of Alex’s mouth cocks up a little. “That a challenge?” “Scared you’ll lose, Danvers?” Maggie quips, already walking past her to the doors.

They pound the alley pavement like they want to see it bleed. Alex’s legs are longer, but she’s pushing harder than she’s had to in a while, running back and forth between dumpsters until her heart pumps acid, stomach clenched tight as a fist. She’ll give it to her – this girl is fast – and when Alex sees her flick her head back, dimples flashing as she smiles, she knows the game is up. “Fine,” she pants, slowing to a jog. “What was that?” the girl coaxes, a breathless laugh escaping her as she steadies. “We can train together.” “Knew you’d come around, Danvers.” Alex watches her tie up her hair in one swift movement, wiping the light sheen of sweat shining over her throat. The sun suddenly seems excessively hot. The girl seems to notice the gaze, her flick of a glance sending a gentle flush over Alex’s skin with an expression that is half question, half answer. “Thursday?” Alex swallows, nods. “Thursday.” The girl smiles at the ground and shakes her head a little, and Alex instantly gets the sense that she never had a chance. “I should get back to Hank.” “Sure.” “I’ll see you,” she mutters, lifting a hand to shield her face from the sun as she heads back in. “Oh Danvers?” “Yeah?” “That running got me all sweaty. Think I might go get some ice cream.” “Yeah you do that, Rodas.” “Or maybe a milkshake…” “Asshole.” The girl lets out a full laugh, still watching Alex as she begins to walk backwards down the alley before she turns away. “See you round, Danvers.” Alex watches her jog all the way to the corner and disappear, but she doesn’t know why.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think so far : )

Spanish translations (apologies for any mistakes):

Lo siento, no tengo mucho dinero - I'm sorry, I don't have much money No hay necesidad - There's no need Vivo con mi Tia. Eso esta bien? - I live with my aunt. Is that OK?

#sanvers #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #sanvers fanfic #high school AU

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