#space oddity just seems like the sort of thing all three would be able to handle with their wildly different tastes in music

[raraogaga]

For People With Siblings: do you and your sibling(s) have like a group of Songs that you always play? Even if you have similar music tastes/like the same music, you always just play those few songs?

If this is common, what songs Belong to the Fowl siblings? I vote Space Oddity.

#raraogaga’s fowl ravings #artemis fowl #music #been thinking about it a lot #how every time my twin and I listen to music we play: Doja Cat. 70s disco. early y2k hits #space oddity just seems like the sort of thing all three would be able to handle with their wildly different tastes in music #the same thing applies to movies too. my sister and I always watch The Emperor’s New Groove or Scott Pilgrim vs the World

[doctenwho]

Gestures and Evasion

Hello! Welcome to a new DT fic! My deepest apologies that it’s been so long, and thank you so much for waiting so patiently! Life’s been a bit of a rollercoaster recently, and I’ve needed a bit to recuperate, but I’m back again!

This prompt didn’t have a specific character mentioned, but luckily, since it wasn’t anonymous, I was able to shoot pistachoz a DM and they’ve confirmed it’s a Tenth Doctor request! :D

Warning: None, I don’t think?

Word Count: 3,514

Summary: Check out the prompt above! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the creator! :D)

The Doctor doesn’t really remember the first small act he’d committed to try and get his companion to notice him. To notice him on a... well, on a more personal level?

It’s a general memory, nothing pinpointed, but he knows it happened long ago.

It was something small—mundane. (Y/N) had more or less brushed the gesture off with a light laugh and a smile that made his hearts hammer away in his chest, but (Y/N) had really seen if for what it had been.

It wasn’t very often that the Doctor had these sort of feeling about anything, but there was just something special about (Y/N). Something he couldn’t put his finger on.  

He’d been trying for just about as long as the companion had been travelling with him to send little messages, or gestures in hopes that maybe (Y/N) would see what he was doing for what it was instead of brushing it off like she tended to do.

If he’s honest, he’s never really had this kind of problem before. He’s had many companions, and more often than not, those companions tend to want more from him than he’s willing to allow himself to give. Rose, and Martha—Jack, even—they were all looking for more from him, and being what he is, and what he does, it’s not that simple to reciprocate feelings.  

They’ll all age and eventually die, whereas he’ll just move on to his next bout of regeneration with a broken heart he’ll have to try his hardest to keep under wraps.  

The Doctor knows that maybe (Y/N) showing such little interest in him is almost a good thing. Less heartbreak down the road when (Y/N) decides not to accompany him any longer, or, worse, when old age takes (Y/N) away like every other human before her. It’s inevitable, and he really should have a stronger hold on human life compared to TimeLord life, but the loss always knocks him down for a while.

It should be a good thing, but he just can’t seem to bring himself around to believing that it’s a good thing. Not when every time (Y/N) brushes off a gesture he’s thought over, and put time and effort into, it fills his hearts with an unfamiliar pain he hasn’t felt since losing his family and Gallifrey alike.  

It had taken him a while to notice he was even trying to win (Y/N) in a sort of courtship way. And it had taken even longer to realize he’d been doing it for about as long as he’d known (Y/N). It hadn’t seemed like it at the time, but looking back now, he can see how all the little comments and gestures were more than just friendly.  

But she’d been brushing his attempts off since early in their travels. Shooting him a smile, but turning away when anything too even the slightest romantic turn. Avoiding his eyes when he stared fondly, or laughing it off when a compliment slipped past his lips.

He really didn’t understand it.  

He could see the Gallifreyan romantic gestures confusing (Y/N), but the few earth gestures he’d picked up barely stirred anymore of a reaction than the Gallifreyan ones. He didn’t know where he was going wrong—how it was all being perceived the way it was. The wrong way. He wasn’t getting the reactions he wanted and... well, it hurt.  

Both his pride, and his hearts.  

It had started small with flowers—or, a flower. They were on a foreign planet, but he knew giving small gifts like a flower was one of the human gestures. So, he’d searched around while his companion was busy exploring, and located the loveliest flower he could find. It was mixtures of blues and purples; native to the planet but incredibly rare considering they only bloomed twice a year, for no longer that three days at a time.  

The flower had a sweet smell; one similar to those of sweets from earth. For a while, before he’d remembered Earth didn’t have this specific species of flower, nor were they advanced enough in space travel to find one, he’d assumed they’d used the attractive scent of the flower as a marketing technique to sell their sweets.  

The sugary smell Earth sweets had would always come second to the scent of this specific flower.  

The exchange had been short, and less than pleasurable if the Doctor’s honest. He’d found (Y/N) sitting on the ground, just taking the calming atmosphere of the planet. His heart stuttered in his chest before he finally took those last few steps towards her, where he settled at her side and cleared his throat to gain her attention.  

He’d held the flower out, rambling out facts as (Y/N) took the flower into her hands. She gave it a sniff, and fiddled with the stem and petals for a second before smiling down at it. She stared down at it, before looking back at him with an appreciative smile. He’d thought he’d won her over, but instead, she settled the flower on the ground beside her.  

His hearts had cracked as his companion’s hand fell away from the flower, leaving it on the ground as she returned her attention to the world around her. He’d swallowed thickly before sitting himself beside her, not bothering to mention the fact his gesture had gone unnoticed.

It was the same ordeal when he’d ordered (Y/N) a space delicacy from one of his favorite planets, where his companion had taken the treat into her hands and tasted it without a second thought. Smiling down at the treat, before shooting him light smile as she licked her lips.

He didn’t know why he’d been expecting—hoping for—anything more than the usual ‘Thank you’ he always received when he did something out of the ordinary for his companion, but the mumbled words had filled his with a sense of sadness.  

It was silly.  

But he kept trying.

The gestures just kept coming. It was barely a forethought anymore. An unconscious effort to try and win over his companion—seeking this relationship (Y/N) quite obviously didn’t want. It was a sad downward spiral, but he really couldn’t imagine not trying to woo her. He’d been at it for so long, not trying sounded foreign.

He tried just about anything he could to get any sort of reaction. Any hint that his companion knew what he was trying to do. Any acknowledgment that she understood that he was trying. He’d prefer blatant rejection to this... whatever this evasive attitude (Y/N) was expressing.  

Dinner in the stars.

Unique gifts from distant planets.

Various treats and snacks from wherever they happened to be.

He even tried to learn more about human things on earth. How humans went about stuff like this, and how it all differed from his Gallifreyan roots. Human courting was quite the oddity.  

He didn’t talk to many humans who weren’t his companions, or people he’d saved in some way or another, but the man who ran one of the shops had taken some time to educate him, but the Doctor had come out of that conversation more confused than he’d gone in.  

But on the bright side, (Y/N) had enjoyed the bag of sweets he’d awkwardly bought to stand at the register and chat with the friendly shopkeeper.  

He was still at a loss. Nothing seemed to be working. Nothing wooed his companion. He didn’t understand—couldn't see how not one single thing he’d tried had gotten (Y/N)’s attention.

But he still had one more thing up his sleeve.  

“Where are we going?” (Y/N) asked cautiously from the seat in the console room. The Doctor was doing his usual laps around the TARDIS console to what should be six TimeLord’s jobs simultaneously. He’d gotten good at it over the years, but there was still, occasionally, some rough kickbacks when he couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“It’s a surprise,” the man shot his companion a grin, pulling a lever. At this point, (Y/N) should be used to the surprises. He never got the kinds of reactions he was looking for, but he was still hoping that... maybe sometime he would. That something he planned would be the special one that could win his companion over.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, but continued to watch the Doctor how around the TARDIS like a madman.  

They weren’t far from the next greatest surprise the man had planned. They’d been travelling a little under an hour, and (Y/N) had only joined him in the console room ten-ish minutes prior, but he’d still refused to tell her where they were heading.  

(Y/N) was still quiet when the Doctor stabilized his space and time machine, checking everything twice before finally tugging his companion up by the hand and leading her towards the doors.  

He threw the doors open, grinning widely as he gazed around. Just as promised.  

It was a phenomenon really. A collection of heart shaped carbon monoxide ice chunks. No one was quite sure how they’d been formed, or whether someone had carved the hearts and left them to float in this tiny orbital pull in the middle of nowhere.  

It was a sight few saw—the Doctor had only heard of this place from chatter on a nearby planet, but he had to admit it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined. The ice glistened as the light casted from the TARDIS hit it, making them twinkle just as brightly as the stars in the background.

It was about as romantic as you could get.  

“Woah,” (Y/N) gaped at his side, and the Doctor turned to look, smile slowly lighting up his face as he watched his companion’s eyes travel from heart to heart. “What... what is this?”

“It’s carbon monoxide ice,” the Doctor informed softly, the smile on his face widening as his hearts thrummed in his chest. His companion had an astonished look on her face, eyes wide with childlike curiosity. “Like that of Mars in your solar system. No one’s really sure how they take shape but... well, they’re quite the sight.”

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) breathed out, almost like her breath was taken away by the sight.  

The Doctor had been told by many, had seen for himself as beauty takes away people’s breath. He’d been there too, once or twice with his current companion.  

He barely even caught his words as they left his mouth—his heart speaking before his brain had a chance to filter his words, “Like you.”

That was his moment of error, the Doctor noticed.

He frowned to himself as his companion slowly pulled themself away, shying away from his side and retreating back into the TARDIS with one last lingering glance at the ice. The Doctor’s hearts froze within his chest, as he watched uncertainly—unsure just how he’d managed to mess this one up as well.  

“It’s late,” (Y/N) muttered softly before leaving the Doctor alone in the TARDIS doorway, the man’s gaze locked on one lone heart with a barely noticeable crack down the center. It wouldn’t be long before the orbit around them pulled the frail pieces apart, severing the heart into two.  

The TimeLord forced a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment as he resided completely with the cracked heart.

He didn’t understand.  

The clumps of frozen carbon monoxide made his hearts hurt the longer he stared, so he was quick to follow on his companion’s footsteps, spinning on his heels and shuffling back inside, making sure to shut the doors behind him.

He wanted to flee this place, this failed attempt, but he couldn’t bring himself around to flying the TARDIS at the moment. He didn’t have the energy too. Like expected, (Y/N) had disappeared into the TARDIS, so the Doctor plopped heavily down on the seat.  

Maybe it was time to accept the fact that his companion did not reciprocate his feelings. That he was barking up the wrong tree. He’d thought that they were... but maybe he was wrong.  

The Doctor stared up at the TARDIS ceiling, his space and time machine giving a little hum as if she could feel his worries and mood. His hand patted the back of his seat halfheartedly as a promise that he was okay.  

It had never been this hard with any other companion. There was just something so special about (Y/N). Something he wanted to get closer too, even though he knew he’d end up hurt in the end. Something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get now.  

Maybe it was time to settle this once and for all. His gestures were overlooked, or, maybe even ignored. As much as it hurt to admit, (Y/N) didn’t seem very enthused with anything he’d done. Maybe it was the human not understanding what he was trying to do—but humans tended to like words.

--

The Doctor from (Y/N) in her room, perched on the edge of her bed. (Y/N)’s attention raised when the Doctor announced his arrival with a sturdy knock on the slivered-open door. The knock pushed the door in enough for the Doctor to poke his head in.  

“Do you, uh, have a moment?” He asked cautiously, almost ready for the rejection he’d been living with for the better part of travelling with (Y/N). He’d grown used to it, but it still tugged at his heart strings. She’d never deny him conversation, but he could still see and feel her pulling away from him.  

“Of course,” (Y/N) sat up a little more, giving the Doctor her full attention. “What’s the matter?”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead, the Doctor realizes as he shifts from foot to foot in (Y/N)’s doorway, mind vacant of any thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head at the Doctor’s odd silence, studying him from her spot, “Doctor...? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the man cleared his throat. Then did so a second time before continuing, “I wanted to, uhm, know what you thought about the, uh,” he gestured broadly behind him, hoping his companion could piece his question together.

“The ice hearts?”

It was a good thing his companion was so clever.

“Yes, the hearts.” The Doctor nods, fingers tapping awkwardly against his side. “Did you... did you like them?”

“They were beautiful,” (Y/N) repeated once again, fidgeting with her own fingers, “it was a bit unexpected, but... yeah, I did. Thanks for showing me them.”

The man gave a nod, but didn’t voice anything. If he thought his voice would’ve come out naturally instead of the anxious waver he was sure would be there, he definitely would’ve replied with a soft ‘My pleasure,’ because it really was his pleasure to introduce (Y/N) to the beauty of the galaxy.  

There was an unsettling moment of silence where neither really knew what to say.  

It was the Doctor who broke it, staring at his shoes as he finally allowed the words he’d been stewing over out, “do you... not like me, (Y/N)?”

“What?” the surprise was prominent. The word rang out for a second before the Doctor lifted his gaze to settled on (Y/N)’s shocked, tense frame. Her muscles were stiff, body sitting up straighter and more alert than she had been when he’d first asked to talk. “I like you plenty,” (Y/N) assured quickly, “what gave you the idea I didn’t?”

There was a list, really. He could count things off on his fingers, but he wasn't here to be petty. The man bit his lip, leaning against the doorframe to support his weight. He honestly just wanted to know why (Y/N) was so evasive every time he so much as tried to woo her.  

“You... well, uh, you never seem to care,” he made sure to word it carefully, “I... I’m not sure if you even notice, or ignore it, or what. I just, I need you to be honest with me. Why haven’t you... reciprocated any feelings?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Doctor,” (Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and one ankle crossed over the other as she leaned forwards in interest.

“Since I met you,” the Doctor swallowed, “I’ve been... I don’t know how to say it but, trying to court you, I suppose? That’s not really something humans do, but it is something TimeLords do. It’s just that... every attempt I’ve made... every try I’ve made to do something cute, or romantic, you brush it off. You’re evasive, and... I’d just like to know if that’s because you don’t reciprocate my feelings. If you don’t feel the same, we can just put this all behind us.”

“It’s not like that,” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet, a near whisper, “please don’t think it’s because I don’t like you. I do, Doctor. I just... I wasn’t sure.”

“Weren’t sure?” The man furrowed his eyebrows, “sure about what?”

“I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I noticed everything, the flower you gave me, the sweets. All the dinners, and the... the dates. Today with the ice hearts even. I didn’t know how to admit I liked you when there was a chance you didn’t like me back the same way. I don’t know what I’d do if I ruined this.”

“But the gestures and dates?” the Doctor frowned, finally stepping into (Y/N)’s room and sitting on the edge of her bed beside her. He’d thought he was being obvious.

“Very obvious,” his companion let out a little laugh, “and I should’ve known, but I was scared. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. This adventure is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I didn’t want to compromise that by admitting my feelings.”

He could understand that, a bit. “So... you do like me too?”

“Of course,” (Y/N)’s smile was soft, “a lot, Doctor. I just... didn’t know how to reciprocate it without there being a possibility that everything could fall through, and we’d ruin our relationship in the process. I know you were offering it, but I was nervous. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the Doctor chastised quietly. He paused for a second before speaking again, “I’m having a hard time believing this is real,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “you really acknowledged it all? I... never noticed.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) smiled softly, “and I have proof it wasn’t all in vain, Doctor.” (Y/N) stood up from her spot on the bed, and moved towards her book shelf. It housed a few books, and some trinkets she’d found on their travels and liked. She continued speaking as she searched through the books, “I really enjoyed everything you put together for me since I met you. I wasn’t sure you were really doing it all to be romantic at first but... the hearts today really summed that up for me.”

The man watched as she tugged on one of the book’s spines, pulling it from the shelve and holding it in her hands for a second before she waving to retake her seat. She started flipping through the pages, so the Doctor leaned over her shoulder to watch.  

“Here,” she stopped on a page towards the middle of the book. The Doctor refrained from gaping as his companion carefully pulled that singular flower he’d given her all that time ago from the book. The room was instantly filled with that sweet, alluring scent and his hand shook as he took the pressed flower into his fingers by the delicate stem.

“I thought you left this,” he admitted softly, studying the vibrant colours that had stayed even after being pressed into the book. He hadn’t noticed her bringing the flower back. Had really thought she’d left it on that planet and ignored the gesture entirely.  

“I couldn’t,” his companion sighed, “it was selfish, even if I didn’t want to ruin what we had, I wanted to keep it to remember the moment. To remember you, even if we did at some point part ways.”

“You’re brilliant,” the Doctor breathed out, finally passing the flower back like it was as precious as a crown jewel or something. “So incredibly brilliant, (Y/N).”

(Y/N)’s cheeks flushed and she ducked her head away from his gaze, but it was different than the usual brushing away of his gestures. Something was different now.  

They hadn’t cleared it all up, that was for sure. He still had questions, and she still had doubts. They didn’t quite understand each other yet, but it hadn’t all been in vain like he’d thought. She’d seen it all. Acknowledged it, even if not to him. His hearts swelled as he smiled lightly.

There was still a lot they needed to discuss, but for right now, the Doctor just wanted to spend a bit of time with his companion—without all the hassle of their rightful doubts and insecurities.

“Do you think we could... spend a little while longer looking out at the frozen carbon monoxide outside before we leave? It really is quite pretty, and... maybe we can talk about this more later?”

“I’d... love that, Doctor.”

“Good. Uh, great,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His companion giggled at him, but he didn’t mind in the slightest, “allons-y, (Y/N).”

<><><><>

Once again, sorry this took so long! I’m hoping to keep this momentum going and keep getting out the requests in waiting! I hope you all liked this fic, it was a bunch of fun to write! I thoroughly enjoyed creating the frozen carbon monoxide hearts, so I hope you all liked that as well!

As always, feel free to prompt me again if this wasn’t what you were looking for (though it might take a while to get around to it if you do!) and thanks once more for requesting. Hoping everyone had a good morning/day/night!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #ten #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #10 #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #TARDIS #writing prompt #writing requests #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 57 (Final)

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You find your relic.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You’d only been to the ancient Sanctum a few times, with strict access to the library for your studies and nowhere else, and normally you would be excited to visit the unofficial headquarters of the Mystic Arts.

But now, as you followed Wong to the room of portals that would lead to the Nepal sanctum, your stomach twisted and your heart raced. You couldn’t even enjoy the fact this was where Strange had gone on his near-disastrous pilgrimage. The idea of the Ancient One kicking him out on his ass was an entertaining one, though you were still glad she eventually trained him. As irritated as you were about a lot of things regarding the former surgeon, he and Wong both had taught you nearly everything you knew.

Plus, you’d seen the scars on his hands. As arrogant and egotistical as he appeared, Strange had suffered to get where he was. Not unlike yourself. Not unlike Bucky.

The Orb of Agamotto hung within the circular room where other sorcerers consulted with it, verifying that the magical Earthly shields were still intact. Past them were three doors leading to the other sanctums, including the one in Kathmandu.

You and Bucky followed Wong through, the familiar feeling of displacement shifting your stomach and throwing you off balance for a moment. Neither Wong nor Bucky were as unsteady as you were. It had been something you were embarrassed about, but according to Strange during one of your lessons, it simply meant you were more sensitive to spatial displacement.

As Wong led you both through the ancient stone hallways, past the commons where other sorcerers were in training, doubt crept along your nerves. Someday, possibly sooner than you were prepared, all of these people were going to follow you. Look to you for guidance, for teaching. For protection.

How were you supposed to become the next Ancient One if you couldn’t even walk through a portal without getting dizzy?

This wasn’t going to work. The idea was crazy enough to begin with. The Ancient One had to be wrong. You were going to step into her office and nothing would happen. You would make a fool of yourself; you weren’t any more talented or skilled than any other sorcerer. Just half a year ago, you’d had no idea demons and magic were even real.

And now, you were expected to carry on the mantle as one of the most powerful sorcerers on Earth? How was that even possible? How could you ever be worthy enough to—

Wong opened a door using a complicated series of hand gestures, and as soon as you stepped through, your panicked mind fell silent. Energy thrummed along your skin, setting the hairs upright.

“Here it is.”

Wong’s announcement was unnecessary; you would know this place in your dreams, even though you had never been.

It was a simple room with a single large, circular window pointed towards the mountains over the city. Potted plants perched on most available surfaces that weren’t covered with books, scrolls, and odd knickknacks.

There was only a single writing desk pushed to the side, humble and unobtrusive. The rest of the room was empty space with a single well-worn green rug in the middle. But the plants made everything seem alive and verdant. It felt very much like a place the Ancient One would spend her time. It was a reflection of her, in a way. Quiet, but hidden with secret truths.

“Take a look around,” Wong said, but you were already moving. Slowly and with intense focus, you circled the room, reaching out and feeling, not with your hands but with your mind.

Odd and powerful energy pervaded the room, muted by spells but still apparent to you. They were coming from the artifacts that were laid out, seemingly casually, on the shelves and desks.

Most of them seemed as plain and unimportant as the room itself. A cracked vase with the lip stained red. A golden helmet that was varnished and faded, but two glittering horns jutted from the temples. A knobby staff with a smooth, grey stone fixed at one end, as modest as any walking stick except for the melodic hum that emanated from the stone. You had a feeling neither Wong nor Bucky could hear it.

But despite all the weird, wonderful oddities in your reach, you were drawn elsewhere. You approached one corner of the room where lay a pile of old scrolls and their cloth wrappings, and moved them aside with care to reveal what was hidden underneath.

It was a sword hilt. Just the hilt. There was no blade, not even a piece of broken metal. The metal was dulled with time and flaked with rust, the pommel grey and dirty.

You reached out and hesitated. Fingertips inches away, something stopped you. The knowledge that once you took hold of the relic, everything would change.

You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky.

He was watching you with close attention, as was Wong, but when he caught your eye he gave a small smile of encouragement. He supported you, even though he had to know what this meant, or at least had a good idea of it.

Not every sorcerer found their relic within the Ancient One’s study.

Comfort and warmth, so strong it could only be described as love, flooded across the bond and washed away your fears. You returned his smile, even if it was shaky, and you held on to that feeling as you turned back to the hilt.

You closed the distance, wrapped your fingers around the relic, and lifted it.

It was surprisingly heavy; that was your only observation before it began. The hilt thrummed in your palm, vibrating so fast you nearly dropped it.

The rust flaked away from the metal, leaving it polished and silver. The grey pommel was shaken of its dirt, and you realized it was white bone, the metal wrapping around it to form the grip and crossguard.

The thrumming didn’t stop, but you couldn’t let go even if you wanted to. Your fingers seized around the metal, energy teeming up your hand and arm. When it reached your right shoulder, all the way up to your pentagram, the sigil burned in a way it hadn’t done since the ritual.

Bucky must have sensed your panic because he rushed forward, but you backed away from him fast, instinct screaming at you to put a safe distance between you now.

It was a good thing you had; the energy from your sigil exploded down your arm, through your hand, and into the hilt. A burst of red light shot outward, forcing you to turn away from the blinding beam.

When the light dimmed and you could see again, blinking away the after images, you stared at the sword. That’s what it was now. A glowing red blade, seemingly made entirely of light. The energy that came from it was purely of the demon realm, scorching and sulfuric.

“What…” You choked the words past your dry throat. “What is this?”

There were only a handful of times you’d ever seen Wong shocked. So, that was three powerful sorcerers you’d rendered speechless in the span of a day.

“The blade of Hell, or so it is spoken. None in the history of the order had been able to unlock its powers, rendering it anything more than a broken hilt.” He leveled you with a somber stare. “It is called Daemonio Vexatur. Which means—“

“—to become a demon.”

Wong raised a brow.

“Rough translation, but yes.”

“So, it’s a demon sword?” asked Bucky, eyeing the glowing blade. He was understandably wary, and honestly, was accepting what was happening better than you were. You were still stuck on the fact that you were holding a glowing-freaking-sword in your hand.

“Yes. And no,” Wong said in traditional teaching-fashion. “A demon cannot wield it, but it takes demonic energy to power.”

“Oh. So that’s why my sigil and my entire arm feel like they’re on fire.”

Bucky’s mouth opened and he took a step forward, protectiveness sizzling along the bond, and you gave him a hurried smile.

“Kidding. Sort of.” You smiled wider through your clenched teeth. “It is really uncomfortable.”

Bucky’s dark look told you he didn’t believe you, and with what you imagined was coming from your end of the bond, you didn’t blame him. Holding the sword was like holding on to a live wire that was also burning. There was a molten jolt connecting the hilt to your sigil, and you were just hoping to not get incinerated in the process.

And just like that, the connection was gone, and the relief of your arm no longer being on fire was dimmed by the disappointment as the sword was extinguished, leaving nothing more than a gleaming hilt.

“What happened?” You frowned, eyeing the relic as if searching for an on switch.

“It will take time and training to effectively control your relic.”

“How long?” You looked up when Wong didn’t answer immediately, catching the serious dent in his brow.

“It’s hard to say. No one in living memory has wielded the blade, and it was believed no one ever would.”

Wong gave a heavy sigh.

“So of course, you would be the one to wield it.”

You returned your gaze to the relic and turned over the hilt in your hand, admiring the metal and bone. You wondered if the bone was from a demon, a safe bet considering.

“So.” You carefully put down the hilt and turned to give Bucky your best serious face. “How does it feel to have a wizard girlfriend with a lightsaber?”

Wong rolled his eyes. He knew you well enough by now to know what you were doing, but he didn’t comment on your attempts to over your fear with humor. He muttered something about reporting to Strange as he left the office.

But Bucky…

Worry and fondness conflicted across the bond, struggling to coexist. He stepped forward, the green cloth tunic he’d found in one of the drawers of your room stretched unfairly tight across his chest. It was the largest he could find in a hurry, and it was nearly enough to distract you from your own anxieties.

“I think…” Bucky wrapped his arm around you, drawing you into an embrace that you melted into easily. “That I’m scared for you. I’m confused as hell what this means, and I’m guessing this isn’t going to make your life any easier or less complicated. But… I’m also proud of you.”

You could sense the pride easily, but Bucky was trying to bury the fear that was close to terror. He truly was scared of what this meant. You were too, and the Ancient One’s words weighed heavily on your shoulders.

There was a questioning feeling tugging at your thoughts, and you remembered too late that Bucky could sense the same anxiety, even if he didn’t have all the details. So you smoothed out your tumultuous thoughts and covered them the best way you knew how.

“You say that to all the wizard girlfriends.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“That is what swords do.”

Bucky pulled back far enough to stare at you with narrowed eyes, but when he touched his horns to yours it was with such gentleness that you nearly forgot to breathe. But breathe you did, drinking in his familiar, soothing scent and allowed the tension to drain from your muscle.

“We should head back.” Bucky said after a moment of intimate, comfortable silence in which you finally relaxed. “Got a bastard to catch.”

You reluctantly let go first, knowing he was right and you couldn’t stay here forever. Turning toward the sword hilt, you reached for it and paused. You took a small detour and picked up an old, ratty cloth nearby and carefully wrapped the relic within. Until you had a better grasp of how to wield the sword, it was probably a wiser idea to not handle it directly. You had no idea if it was sentient like Strange’s cloak, and it would be better not to accidentally set it off. Slicing off your own leg was a poor way to convince anyone that you were the next Ancient One.

On your journey back down the halls toward the portal door, Bucky said, “So… what are you going to name it?”

He smiled at your sideways glance.

“All cool swords get a name. It’s kind of a universal rule.”

Maybe you didn’t know Bucky as well as you thought you did, because you had no idea he was such a damn nerd.

“Yeah? You’ll have to bestow all your sword knowledge on me.”

“Is that a sexual innuendo?”

“It is now.”

Bucky’s smile died on his lips when you were no longer at his side. He paused and looked back where you had stopped at the threshold to the portal room.

“What if I can’t do this?” The doorway before you was no longer just a doorway. It was an insurmountable hurdle, and your feet wouldn’t budge from the floor. “What if I fail?”

Bucky approached slow and steady, his expression gentle and fond.

“You won’t. You’re too stubborn to fail.” A warm hand softly cupped your cheek, his human one, and you leaned into it. He laughed silently at your predictable need to be touched, but his expression faded into something more serious. “But on the very slim chance you do, then you get back up and you start again. Just as you always have.”

Your stomach fell. Bucky couldn’t understand what failure meant in your case. You didn’t even know what it meant, but you could guess. If you failed to be the Ancient One everyone needed… then there might not be any second chances.

Bucky wrapped you in his arms one more time, undoubtedly sensing his words of encouragement hadn’t hit as effectively as he’d wanted.

“Whatever this means, you finding that relic… Whatever happens when we find Zemo...” Bucky’s voice was deep in his chest, a rumbling sound that never failed to comfort you. “I’ll be here.”

You returned his embrace, gripping him tightly as you pressed your cheek against his chest.

“I know.”

And you did, too. Bucky would be there for you. Not because he was compelled to be, and not out of a sense of duty or guilt to protect you. He would be by your side by choice.

And that fact made Zemo’s escape, the Ancient One’s words, and your own self-doubt a little easier to bear. Because you and Bucky would weather it.

Together.

“When wounds are healed by love, the scars are beautiful.” –David Bowles

#branded #demon!bucky x reader #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

[imthepunchlord]

Beewitched Ch 4 (Final)

Three

The crisp Parisian night air was preferred over the brightness of Paris' sunny day. Still lingering in Paris before going back London, Felix took the chance to wander on the roof of a building, see and compare Paris' cityscape to London's.

 It was the first time in about two months that he's been on a roof. Since the last time he had seen that fairy. Standing here, he wandered about her, if she was able to defy that prince and handle the witch. He supposes he'll never know. As she had said, that was her last appearance. He had kept an eye on the news, to see if she ever reappeared elsewhere, but she never did. 

 She had been the only thing of magic he got to discover. He had kept his eyes open for any other oddities, but nothing. Paris was the only other city to have magical activity with the curious Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

 "Most civilians don't come to hang out on roofs."

 Felix had a start, having a strong sense of deja vu. He quickly turned, wondering if she found him again, that he'd see those blue eyes once more. 

 Blue eyes did peer down at him, but they were set against red than the black and yellow. He tensed a little. He hadn't expected Ladybug to be a good sneak. And he could still feel a ghost pain at the punch she had delivered that afternoon. 

 Ladybug eyed him carefully, able to tell that he was Adrien’s doppelganger. She hadn't made a move yet, and neither has he. Cautiously, he asked, "Are you going to take me down? To the streets?" 

 She considered him for a moment before she answered. "If you're ready to go back down." 

 "No."

 She shrugged and plopped down on the chimney, releasing a heavy breath, like she was releasing all the exhaustion she felt. It was… very familiar. Felix sat down as well, facing the cityscape. While his body sat still, his mind was moving quickly. What were the chances? 

 Coming here, he got to learn of miraculouses. And that there was multiple, and among them was a bee. The probability to him was high that Ladybug came to London for a break. That she was the fairy that saved a garden from getting demolished.

 And he had tried to use her. 

 He turned to her, drawing her eyes back down to him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "for trying to use you to tarnish my cousin's name." 

 She blinked at him, a spark going off in her bright eyes. She dropped down, crouching to his level. He caught the familiar smell as before, though the floral smell had lightened. With a tilt of her head, she asked, "You're Adrien’s cousin?"

 The soft tone of her question was familiar. He thought back to the video he intercepted from Adrien, of the last video of it, of the soft spoken girl confessing her love, her blue eyes warm with love. Out of all videos, that one had filled him with the strongest sense of longing. And looking at Ladybug now, he could see the girl before him; everything strikingly similar. What were even the chances that the girl that had confessed was before him right now?

 And that Adrien was the "prince" she referred to. To think he was allowing a "witch" to exhaust her filled him with a flare of aggravation. 

 A confused curiosity replaced it. Why did he care? Why was he even bothered? 

 He thought back to that second encounter, when she had the bee instead. How tired she looked, and how heavy her thoughts were that she’d share her woes with a random stronger on a roof. 

 He released a breath, opting to not answer her as he turned to face the cityscape. He could see her pout out of the corner of his eye, but she didn’t push. She sat down beside him, joining him in staring out at Paris. 

 “Was your vacation to London enough?” he wondered, watching the surprise flicker across her face before she relaxed. 

 Chuckling, she said, “No. But, a break was a break, at least.”

 “And the witch?” 

 “Still around,” she whispered. 

  He liked to ask how one of the brightest minds of Paris was being foiled by this “witch”, but Felix held his tongue. He didn’t know the situation, nor was he exactly in a place to comfortably put a girl with powers on the spot. 

 “Are you going back to London soon?” she asked. 

 “Excited to have me leave your city?” 

 “No,” she admitted, her tone passive and even. “I’m more curious and concerned about what went on this afternoon.” She spared him an inquisitive glance. “But I won’t ask if you don’t want to talk about it.” 

 A relaxing quiet settled between them, enjoying the glow of the city, the sounds of it becoming white noise to them. Felix spared Ladybug a glance, seeing her eyes were closed, soaking in what he suspects to be a rare moment of peace. He settled into it, enjoying the moment with her. But after a full minute passed, he spoke up, breaking the silence. 

 “Adrien has long since… irked me.” 

 He felt Ladybug’s eyes on him. Keeping his gaze on the lights before him, he continued, “His naivete. His spinelessness. His inability to grasp the reality of things.” Out of the corner of his eye, could see her move to protest, only for her to stop and sag. He wondered how his cousin disappointed her but didn’t ask. 

 “He’s made it difficult. Do you have any idea how many have approached me in the name of friendship, all to see him. Always him.” Felix cut himself off then. He said enough. There was no more to share. He might’ve already said more than he would have preferred. 

 He frowned, wondering how it was easy to roll things out to her. Was it the miraculous she wore? But she had done the same with him. Or perhaps that was just the sort of person she was, willing to share her woes with any who would listen. And he felt compelled to return the whim. 

 When he got no immediate response from her, he glanced her way, seeing her looking pensive beside him. With pity in her eyes. With more bite than he meant, he said, “I don’t need you pity, Ladybug.” 

 She winced, though her features smoothed out soon. She turned and offered him a smile. “How about friendship, then?”

 He raised a brow at her. “Really? After I tried to steal a kiss from you?”

 “Chat invades my personal space all the time, whether I want it or not,” she rolled out, sounding tired of the norm. Felix though raised a high brow. He wondered why Chat hasn’t gotten punched yet. “But, aside from trying to ruin your cousin’s reputation, you don’t seem like the sort to do that regularly.” 

 “Physical affection is reserved for those I genuinely like,” he told her. He was irked enough to be physical this afternoon, and he told her so. 

 “I suppose then I can give you a chance,” Ladybug said. She stood up, and for a second, Felix felt like it was just like that night she found him. As Ladybug, she hadn’t that same flare or mystery as she had when she had the bee. But there was still something… ethereal about her. The glow of the light in her eyes. The calm and warm feeling she gave, by being near her. Maybe it was all her miraculous, maybe that’s why he felt safe near her. Like it was all ok. 

 When she held out a glove to him, just like before, he easily slid his hand into hers. She pulled him to his feel, turning her gaze up to him. He peered back, feeling a little uncertain as he murmured, “I would like that.”

 She beamed and Felix has to turn away, feeling a slight heat as his cheeks. She voiced, “Now, is there anywhere I can take you? Or are you staying in Paris for a while?” 

 He pointed. “I’m at that hotel. Mum and I are taking the train this coming morning.” 

 “If you’re ok with it, I’ll get you there in a few seconds.” 

 He nodded. Yes, he could deal with a few seconds of touch. Like before, her arm came around him, and Felix could note how natural it felt, relieving the familiarity of before, as she threw her yo-yo forth. They dropped from the roof, rushing through the air as Ladybug expertly got him to the hotel they were currently. They dropped with ease, and Ladybug left with a promise that she’ll there if he needs her. 

 Watching her go, Felix slid his hands into his pockets, having a start when he felt paper there. He knows that wasn’t there before. When had she… 

 He brought it out, reading over the lovely writing before him. 

 ‘I can’t promise to always be available. But I will always talk to you as soon as I’m able.’

 ‘— LB’

 Underneath the writing was a number. Her number. He thought back to the girl he saw in the videos, her similarity with Ladybug. Was this her number, assuming they were one and the same?

 Either way, he felt delighted and warm, and with great care, he folded the treasure in his hands, conscious of the consequences of being careless with it. Pocketing it, he headed inside, wondering what his future will hold with this friendship. He smiled slightly, realizing he was now leaving Paris with two treasures. 

 One taken from his good for nothing uncle. 

 And one freely given by a greatly adored hero. 

 In his room, he swiftly added the number to his phone, the first that a friend’s number, dubbing her Lady B. He took care to rip up the letter she left, securing that no one would be able to recognize the numbers on it. Those were gifted to him and him alone. 

 His gift from the fairy. 

#miraculous ladybug #Felinette #Beewitched #kwami swap #marinette dupain cheng #felix graham de vanily #bee!Marinette

[hearteyes-candyskies]

Houseplant

yandere enji x reader

summary; since enji took you, you’ve only really missed one thing; your houseplants. no, wait, not the houseplants themselves. you miss the control you had over them.

a/n; for @neroesecuzioni. thank you for supporting the blm global network! read the sequel here

tw; kidnapping, dub-con, nsfw

word count; 3.4k

🌱

Before Enji took you, all you had for company were your houseplants. Some hanging from the ceiling, spilling over the terracotta pots, other taller than you were with broad, glossy leaves. Some of them were tiny little succulents, pointy and dainty and smaller than the palm of your hand. All of them healthy and fresh and most importantly, alive. Alive by your hand and love. You miss them, the products of your hard work and love.

“Enji?” He grunts out a sound of acknowledgement, though his eyes don’t leave the laptop screen in front of him. 

“What happened to my houseplants?” At your question he finally looks up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“What?” You fidget with the phone in your hand, debating whether or not to drop the subject and go back to pinning ideas for house decor. Something masochistic in you urges you on.

“My houseplants. You know the ones I used to have all over my apartment? Are they still there or?” You let your question trail off, tone light and neutral, but you can see a muscle in Enji’s jaw twitch. He doesn’t like talking about your life before him. Sometimes you forget you had a life before him.

“The movers probably threw them out. Just put it on the card if you want to buy more.” His gaze is already back on the laptop screen, and while you wish he would’ve said more you can’t expect the number one pro hero to pull himself away from his work to answer your silly questions about some plants. 

You busy yourself with picking out the perfect plants to keep in a bathroom, imagining how cute they’ll look hanging from the ceiling and juxtaposed against the white tile of the shower wall. Leaves falling on the bathroom floor shouldn’t be a problem, but even if they do? Well, you do have to leave your mark in this house somehow. How else would you let Enji know that you’re living here?

🌱

You can’t stop thinking about your old houseplants. You know it’s stupid, especially when you have access to a virtually unlimited credit card and so much more space to fill in the new home, but still. As stupid as it sounds, you formed a connection with the plants you brought home. Home. This house is your home, not the cramped, slightly outdated apartment you used to live in.

You remember what it was like before Enji took you in and decided that you were going to be his wife. You lived lonely and unseen, just like your quirk, blending into corners and shadows. It was certainly convenient for your job and superiors, who were thrilled to have someone who could slip into just about anywhere. Needless to say, it didn’t work out great for your social life. 

You’re surprised that Enji even noticed you in the first place, a wallflower of a person. Maybe he has just been the first person bright enough to illuminate the depths of your personality that no one else saw. 

It’s strange. In a way, you feel more seen when you’re with him, like the light that he emits both figuratively and literally has finally allowed you to bloom. God, your life fucking sucked if you think being kidnapped did wonders for your mental health. Not to say that it hasn’t but still, it’s the thought that counts.

Enji loves you. That’s the only thought that counts.

🌱

“What made you notice me first?” You play idly with straw in your drink, trying to contain your anticipation at hearing something wonderful about yourself that you never noticed. He gives the slightest shrug of his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. You were pretty enough. Lonely. Quiet. You seemed nurturing enough to be a good mother.” Your fingers still.

“Oh.” You’re embarrassed that you can’t hide the disappointment in your voice, but even worse, you’re embarrassed that you even asked. What romantic response were you expecting from a man who kidnapped you? Enji gives no sign of noticing your crestfallen face, and you quietly excuse yourself to go and shower. 

It’s when the warm spray of the shower head hits you that you finally start to cry. What a naive foolishness to think that Enji had been the first to notice how remarkably lovely you were, to appreciate all of your hidden little quirks and oddities that made you indescribably beautiful. 

You’re a lonely, quiet, forgettable wallflower whose only gift for mothering is to do any job and be too timid to complain about it. Enji chose you because you were convenient and because he was lonely. That makes it two of you, you suppose. You clasp a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your sobs, but deep in the back of your mind you know that the sound of your cries wouldn’t be enough to draw Enji from his work. Not that he would know how to comfort you. You get the feeling he’s never had any positive interactions with his family before.

You can imagine exactly how it would go down if you confronted him right now, hair dripping wet and eyes puffy and red. He wouldn’t open his arms to embrace and soothe you, no, he would stand awkwardly with an almost comical look of alarm on his face before you approached him and only then would he gently pat your back until your crying subsided. Then he would avoid you for the next couple days. 

Enji doesn’t notice how quiet and withdrawn you are later that night, snuggled up to his side as the two of you watch the news. To be fair, even if he did notice he would still say nothing. It’s with that thought that you realize you’ve just traded one miserable, deeply lonely existence for another. Only now you have the privilege of being ignored by the one person who’s supposed to love you more than anything else. The one person that you thought you might have loved.

Except, you know that he’s never truly loved anyone before, never experienced any sort of love that would allow him to recognize the sensation and verbalize it. You don’t think that he felt anything more than neutrality towards Rei, who he put in a fucking mental hospital after she cracked under his abuse, and he sure as hell didn’t love his children, least of all Shouto, who you’ve seen interact willing with him a grand total of three times. 

When he first kidnapped you he promised never to hit you, never to raise his voice or threaten you. He just wouldn’t let you go. He told you he was trying to be a better man, a better husband, a better father. The last part had scared you in the beginning, back when you still believed you would be able to leave one day and continue your career. Hero-work has no place for kids. 

But now? That fear has grown into complacency, your original wariness of Enji into something similar to affection. You never fought him, ever, because, duh. You’re not stupid, you know exactly how it would end. This strange sort of begrudging attraction though? It’s a new annoyance, something that has you dying for his approval and only kept in check by your remaining pride. After the disastrous attempt to find out what he ‘loves’ about you though, your pride is pretty much gone. 

You...don’t know how to retrieve it, and the thought scares you. If you can’t have Enji’s love and affection, or your pride intact, what do you have? You know the answer, even if you won’t admit it.

You have nothing.

🌱

The copious amount of clothes you have astounds you; you knew that Enji had picked out quite a few basics before he took you but you forgot to factor in just how many things you had ordered since coming here. As you paw through your bin of socks and underwear you feel soft lace brush against your fingertips and out of curiosity you yank the piece of clothing from the bin. As soon as you realize what you’re holding you feel your cheeks flood with warmth and embarrassment. 

Cherry red lace and mesh stare at you, wrapped around a tangle of satin and lace in the same shade. You vividly remember buying this, a robe and underwear set that you had drooled over for months while living alone in your sad, cramped apartment. It had remained in your shopping cart for weeks; you just couldn’t justify dropping a little less than a grand on some scraps of fabric that no one would ever see. Once you remembered it and had access to Enji’s credit card, however… 

You don’t hesitate to try the set on, something you were too scared to do when you first got it. As you tie the robe closed with a pretty bow and do a little twirl you feel a girlish sense of enjoyment like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You run your hands up your thighs, finger lifting the hem of the robe seductively before you cup your breasts, cradled in concoction of satin and lace. You look good. 

Then you remember why you bought it and immediately want to rip the whole ensemble to shreds. You had bought it back when you were still under the delusion that Enji was wildly and fantastically in love with you and despite the fact that he kidnapped you with no regard for your say in the matter you were convinced that you were going to surprise and seduce him in the outfit. 

That being said… A half-baked idea forms in your head as you gently take the set off, folding it carefully before placing it in the top drawer of your dresser, easily accessible should you need it. You know Enji likes it when you sleep in the same bed as him at night, so what if you...surprised him? He would love it. He has to love it, he chose you for a reason so for him to reject you- 

You can’t even think about it, the distress in your chest building as you try and push the thought out of your mind. Yes, Enji may have ripped you from your life before him but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a life here. You know Enji likes to read to wind down before bed, so you’ll just catch him then. Yeah. You still have it in you. You can still make him love you.

🌱

Enji barely looks up from his book as you approach, head peeking around the doorframe like a child asking for a bedtime story. You suddenly feel extremely self conscious in your skimpy lingerie, seized by a desire to run back to your room and change and admit that you were wrong, you don’t have it in you to seduce him and even if you do he’ll never love you for it. 

But this is the only thing you can hold onto, the only part of yourself that you can regain control of. You steel yourself as you take slow, measured steps to the bed, heart pounding as Enji sets aside the book and takes in what you’re wearing.

“What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the air, sharp but not unappreciative, and rather than answer you crawl as seductively as possible on top of the bed.

You clamber on top of his broad chest, legs on either side of his waist. He’s paying attention now, eyes trained sharply on your face as large hands wrap around your waist, whether to hold you in place or move you off you can’t tell yet. You don't think that Enji even knows what he wants to do. Enji doesn’t know what he wants.

The silk of his boxers are thin enough that you can feel his growing arousal against your ass as you grind down, hands spread prettily across his chest. His hands tighten around you, and you take it as your cue to let out a breathy sigh. 

“Fuck me, Enji. I want you to fuck me so hard that I can feel it for days afterwards; I want you to cum inside of me so much that I can feel it dripping out of me afterwards.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palms as you gaze at Enji through half lidded eyes. More out of nervousness than an attempt to be sexy, you drag your teeth across your bottom lip, watching as his gaze darts straight to your mouth.

“What are you doing? Where is this coming from?” He sounds wary, guarded even, and you can’t blame him. In however long you’ve been here you’ve never tried to initiate any sort of sexual encounter, merely going along kind of lifelessly every time Enji wanted sex. It’s ironic that the very man who kidnapped you to be his wife is now being cautious about fucking you.

“I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck my pussy with your cock until I can’t take it anymore and then I want you to keep going until I can’t tell you to stop.” One hand travels downwards, toying with the waistband of his shorts. He looks unconvinced, almost like he knows that it’s not normal for a captive to want to have rough sex with their captor.

“Please, daddy.” You bend forward and whine into his ear, bucking your hips against his as you nip at his earlobe. It’s your last resort, and it works. Enji growls, honest-to-god growls against your neck before flipping you onto your back in an impressive show of power.

“You’re a fucking whore, coming onto me like that.” You’re already shrugging off your robe, flinging it across the room in an effort to salvage it. Enji burns the straps off your bra before yanking the panties so hard that they rip right off of you. Damn. There goes five hundred dollars. 

His lips are on yours before you can think of anything else, harsh and demanding as he cups the back of your head with a large, warm hand. For someone as aggressive as he is you’re surprised he doesn’t use teeth. Enji’s other hand reaches between your thighs, finding you almost embarrassingly dry. He doesn’t seem to mind, shoving two thick fingers in your mouth and groaning softly at the way your tongue swirls eagerly round them. He presses deeper, taking pleasure in the way your throat spasms around them as you gag.

“You’re so beautiful. I knew from the second that I saw you that you would be mine.” That’s the first time he’s ever called you beautiful, or even complimented anything about your physical appearance. The praise goes straight to your head in the form of blood rushing to your cheeks, and Enji laughs at the way you squirm against him, pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“You can ask me to fuck you but you can’t take a compliment?” He doesn’t let you respond, instead brushing over your clit with his thumb before working his fingers inside of you, curling and seeking out the rough little patch on your walls. You’re glad for the way Enji captures your mouth again, relieving you of the need to decide between fake moaning and laying in uncomfortable silence.

He goes until the sound of his fingers squelching in your slick is all you can hear, and your stomach starts to clench every time his hand moves. Enji hasn’t deliberately touched your clit throughout the whole process, but the pressure of the heel of his palm is enough to work you quickly to orgasm. Much like the overachiever he is in his job, Enji doesn’t stop playing with your sloppily wet pussy until your thighs are tensing around his wrist, one of your own hands reaching down to stop his. 

“Enji- Enji, oh, oh, Enji, stop-” Your moan is practically pornographic, the pleasure quickly becoming unbearable. His fingers finally stop, and he raises them to your mouth.

“Suck.” You comply without hesitation, reveling in the way that Enji can’t seem to tear his gaze from your mouth. You let go with a ‘pop’ before pressing a small, soft kiss to the calloused pads of his fingers. 

Strangely enough it’s this relatively meaningless action that brings the most emotion to Enji’s face; desire, guilt, and regret all flash across his face before he attacks your neck, sucking what you know will be dark bruises into your flesh. 

You can feel him grabbing his dick and positioning it so that the head is right above your twitching hole and-

“Enji!” You practically shriek as his hips surge forward, burying himself deep within you in one go. Your legs wrap tight around his waist and squeeze, arms coming up around his neck as you let out pathetic little gasps and moans. The sensation of what can only be his cock nudging against the opening of your cervix has your legs squeezing tighter until Enji growls and grabs both your calves in his hands before hiking them over his shoulder and pressing forward.

The new position has your legs twitching as Enji knocks against your cervix with every thrust, and you draw his head in closer as he churns up your insides. The sound is obscene; you’re the one producing it and you’re still embarrassed. 

Enji finally has the sense to reach between the two of you and rub at your clit, peeling back the hood with a surprising dexterousness before flicking gently upwards with his thumb. You feel yourself clenching down harder and harder each time he does it, until you’re finally spiraling into your second orgasm of the night. 

The feeling of your cunt clenching down on his has Enji murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as his thrusts speed up and the force behind them becomes almost punishing.

“Mine, you’re mine, mine, mine-”

“Tell me that you love me.” Your voice is breathy and whiny and you sound so desperate but Enji takes no heed, chasing his own orgasm.

“I love you, god you’re going to make a beautiful mother, you’re mine, I love you,” the rest of his words trail off into incoherent babbling as his body stiffens and you feel hot cum flood your insides. Despite your less than positive stance on having kids right now, you can’t bring yourself to care, replaying Enji’s words in your head. He loves you. He wants you. He loves you. He needs you.

He collapses on top of you, rolling onto his side to avoid crushing you but still gathering you up in his arms. You bury your face in his chest, hands trapped between your bodies, and sigh. Enji’s silent, blue eyes watch your face with something akin to warmth before reaching a hand out to brush hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“I can uh, I can get a birth control pill for you tomorrow if you want.” Part of you screams to take him up on an offer that you’ll likely never see again, but the other part of you can’t help but think how much a child would tie him to you. If you gave him a dual-quirked son? Enji would have no choice but to love and cherish you. You’d be giving him what he’s always wanted.

“Mm.” You make a non-committal noise, snuggling further into his body heat and leaving him to awkwardly tighten his embrace.

“Is that a yes?” This is the most uncertain you’ve ever heard Enji in your life, and knowing that you’re the cause for it sends an immeasurable amount of satisfaction coursing through your veins. You make him so weak. 

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? I want to cuddle.” Your voice is soft and sweet, and you glance at him through your lashes. His face is uncharacteristically open, allowing you to read every bit of uncertainty that flies across his face.

“Ok. Let me get a towel first.” You say nothing, just scooting back so that he can get off the bed. He returns with a warm, wet towel, wiping down your inner thighs with a tenderness you’ve never seen before throwing it in the laundry hamper, turning off the lights, and settling in beside you.

As you drift off to sleep, Enji holding you like you’re made of glass, you feel him press a light kiss to your forehead.

“I…” he seems to be searching for a way to express his affection, something he’s almost certainly never had to do before, “I enjoyed tonight.” You crack an eye open, observing how the iciness of his gaze has melted somewhat. A small smile creeps across your face.

“I enjoyed it too. Goodnight, Enji.” He runs a warm hand up and down your bare back.

“Goodnight.” A pause. “I love you, y/n.” You feel drunk on power at the sound of your name from his lips. 

“Love you too, Enji.” 

#yandere enji x reader #yandere endeavor x reader #enji x reader #endeavor x reader #yandere bnha #yandere #yandere x reader #commission

[helahades]

The Goddess and the Grocer

(Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sappy and hopelessly romantic, the part time art student, part time grocery bagger, and full time fantasy creator Steve Rogers lives in his head, with you as his muse. Making puzzles out of your groceries, and portraits of your every curve and edge, he fears and craves every interaction, while living with you as a lover in his mind.

A/N: Well. I have struggled with motivation for the longest. Something hit me though, and by something I mean other supportive writers and great friends. Hugest shoutout to @threeminutesoflife for being a darling and @imanuglywombat for making TWO beautiful mood boards I stare at more than Steve stares at the Peggy compass.

Warnings: creepy, obsessive Steve. ideation of creepy thoughts. food focused talk. mention of overeating. dub-con concepts. two mentions of alcohol consumption.

New blog, new me! I’ll take this moment to say I’m taking requests, and I love feedback even more than Steve loves you! hope you enjoy

Word Count: about 3k

-

Now rain slicked, the sheen of oil and water twists the reflections of the tonights red, red, green—-“can I make the turn, no too late” on yellow—now red traffic lights into a twisted rainbow on the city streets.

Down those streets, and across a barren parking lot, parents, lovers, businesspeople and more squeak and clack and slap their rainy shoes on the old speckled tile at the entrance (that Steve had just mopped) as they do every week.

At the Potts Grocery Store, nothing ever changes. And never in the night.

It isn’t just night though, it’s dead night. The odd time after things have slowed for sleep, after the rush in between when people bumble in (promising themselves promises they won’t keep about doing the shopping sooner next month), after the ten minute period within which Dr. Banner wordlessly picks up the same array of bland teas.

The night has crawled beyond all the events that happen as they do, and entered the dead night.

Maybe Steve is too poetic—like his dad says he is—too tied up in fate, and hope in life’s mystique, but he holds hope for what happens where the night is dead.

When the night dies, and most are asleep, with it, facades die too. The only people to come in the dead of night, are drunks, doctors, various night shifters, and… you.

He hasn’t yet questioned your reason for showing up so late. Hasn’t really, technically, spoken to you at all, really.

Some part of Steve thinks, maybe if he startles you, says something that clangs too loud or awkward, all your pieces will blow away, like some agitated dandelion, and he will never know you again, if he ever even knew you at all.

No, Steve’s job isn’t to startle you, or to take up your space. It’s to try and meet your eyes as you hand him the reusable bags. It’s to try and figure out what meal you’re planning from what he’s bagging, and what he already knows lies unused in your kitchen. It’s to put the bags in your cart if you’ll let him.

He hasn’t seen you yet. It’s getting late, where are you?

Somewhere between cold fluorescent and neutral warm desk lamps, the lights of the grocery store seem to exist both to chase shadows on tired shoppers' faces, and to mock him, like a candle finally blown out by a stood up date.

Had he done something wrong the last time? If he had, that couldn’t be helped. You were wearing those shorts and looked like you had just gotten ready for bed and you had your hair pulled back, but just a little fell into your face anyway.

And your scent. It always wraps around him like the saccharine spice of pastries when he swings open the bakery door for his morning shift.

The moment you breezed by him after checkout was almost too much to bear. He caught the fresh damp scent of your tied up and deep conditioned hair. You smelled like fresh linens and a life he can only imagine having when he’s chasing orgasms alone and twisting up his sheets.

He could have devoured you.

But he didn’t.

Not even when your shoulder accidentally grazed him while you were rushing out in a frenzy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” came your frantic whisper.

He dreams of making you that delicate again. He thinks he could shape your unsure apologies in his hands like clay, or spread you thin on a canvas when you whisper so soft. But he didn’t do those things at all.

Steve being Steve, he tried to make his large frame slouch, your aura wrapping him up into a double life Clark Kent shyness, despite your gentleness.

He didn’t say a word.

A wordless, mirthless stretch of his lips. An “It’s okay, walk all over me” grin. You regarded him with a flicker of an odd glance, and then you were out the door.

As he finishes up with the last shopper in his lane, his worn Converse squeak as he leans his frame against the bagging station at checkout.

-

Last class, last week, his art teacher dropped a big assignment. Stuffy and sadistic, the man seemed to only eat the pain of lovers kept from expression, so of course, he relished in the moment he told the class to try a new medium, with a subject they hadn’t previously captured.

He seemed to look directly at Steve as he delivered the blow.

Steve's problem certainly isn’t creativity. It isn’t talent or lack of effort. He surely is adaptable, he rarely tells on his love!

For the still life project, he captured the tree that blocks your kitchen window. Heavy strokes in his sketchbook.

He even painted the park in blooms on a paper towel—yes a paper towel—when you justified to a cashier one day that all the crackers and deli meats were for a picnic.

So he has a muse. But he’s not a fool. Sometimes he spends so much time trying not to look like a fool, and paints so much around you instead of you, that it’s a self portrait of his own obsession.

Your face. Your curves. The many separated sections where he tried to master the texture of your hair. All those traces of you live in his sketchbook. Only twice has he turned in a portrait of you.

Being told he can’t have you makes Steve feel like he’s been too obvious. You’re his little secret. And he is no fool. He’ll have to be more careful. So here he is.

The canvas is as bare as the walls of his studio apartment.

Three jobs and a potted plant from his mom just aren’t enough to decorate life. He wishes he could capture sleep in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. When he got too tired and caffeine stopped working, he thinks he’d pick up those frames and absorb the sleep in the way he can absorb nostalgia when looking at a real picture.

Then, he thinks, that’s the sort of thing art majors say when they haven’t slept in three weeks.

The canvas is still bare. It isn’t like Steve. He always knows where to go, what he feels, what he wants.

His teacher told him to try something different. Had the nerve to clap Steve on the back after class and say something about stretching creative wings and finding a new muse.

He thinks the guy should have punched him in the face instead.

There’s nothing stuck about Steve. He knows what he wants and how to get there.

He also knows that schooling ruins the intent of art, he knows how to put love into colors, that art teachers know the least about expression out of everyone on earth, and that he works two night jobs a week to barely afford to be taught by that man anyway.

Life is full of oddities.

-

Some of life’s oddities are right there in your cart as you approach. Steve notices the rain has frizzed your hair, the lovely heart shaped curve of your lips as they stretch into a smile, and the way you yawn before you say hello to the cashier.

He makes a mental note that your hair might have a warmer tinge when illuminated by the sun. You’re already his sun. His stars too. Maybe even his whole universe.

You’re always warm in his paintings. Anything to separate you from the dreadful scheme of this commercial death trap.

What’s for dinner this week?

Your groceries thump onto the counter in practiced succession. Perishables together at the front, and non perishables as neatly as possible following behind.

So thoughtful, my sweet darling.

Your produce today mostly consists of fruit. It reminds Steve of how practiced he is with a knife. How he’d slice up your apples just right for you. He has the practiced skills of an artist. He’d take care of you.

Bucky likes to tell him that cooking is the art and baking is the science. That’s meant to mean that it’s no surprise that Buckys got a perfect little life with a perfect little baker who smiles like the sun and only trusts Bucky in her kitchen.

...And it’s no surprise that Steve’s artsy streak has led him here. Thinking about folding mandarin slices between your perfect lips and letting the flavor explode across your tongue.

He thinks about kissing you. How you would taste tangy and sweet as you try not so hard to push him off so he gets back to cooking and doesn’t burn the house down.

The house. A house with you. A home.

He sees you’re wearing a sundress, and tries not to pity you for the irony. In the closet of some cookie cutter three bedroom, you might ask him how you look in it. He would beg you to wear it just for him a little longer, but ultimately, he would have been able to warn you about the rain.

You wouldn’t have listened though, my stubborn angel.

He thinks about your thighs beneath your dress, and the heat between them.

Sometimes, his dreams betray him, and he steps through the threshold to your shared home, not an artist, but a “Honey, I'm home” suit wearing prisoner.

He fears the simple life, but with you, he believes simplicity could be enough. Maybe he would be rich enough to buy you a million sundresses.

But without his art, he’d be powerless to show you how rich you look, bathed in color, divine from his perspective.

Without his art, he has no outlet for imagination. The only thing that gets him off these days is imagining what you look like under your clothes, and how it might sound if you spoke his name.

When you buy lotion, or a candle, he makes a mental note of the scent, and uses it to color his experience later. You like warm sugary scents, or natural outdoorsy ones, with no in between.

As you small talk with the cashier, your card slips from between your fingers and clatters onto the unswept floor. Finishing a thought, you delay in retrieving it, but by the time you’re leaning down, Steve’s already handing it back.

Eyes flitting up to meet the baggage boy standing up at full height, you melt into an easier smile.

You notice first that his eyes are incredibly blue behind the dark window frames, and second that his hands are incredibly warm as he hands your card back.

Frazzled, and just a bit smitten, you smile kindly.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, regarding him fully, perhaps for the first time, and pausing only to let your eyes drift to the knitted cotton polo stretched across his broad chest—no, to the name tag resting on it…

“Steve,” you finish with a smile that makes it ring like an exclamation point. To hear you finally pronounce his name… it’s like church bells. But they’re muted because now he can only consider your eyes locked on his.

He’s never wanted to escape somewhere and go home with someone so badly. And would it be so wrong?

He could slice up fruit for you. He could bring sausages and deli meats and blocks of cheeses whole from the market where they slipped him things free. He’d slice them up nice and wrap them in cloth and surprise you with an old fashioned wicker basket picnic in the mountains.

He’d let you eat yourself round. And after you were full, he’d still offer to feed you grapes, to pour you more wine.

Steve never understood why the rich ate bread with olive oil, but God he wanted to be rich enough to give you that. All the things that sound ridiculous to people who work to live. He wanted to work so hard you’d never work again.

He wanted to kiss you dizzy, bunch up the fabric of your dress on your hip and tell you he loves you while you’re wine drunk. He’d carry you back to the car and surprise you with wildflowers in a bunch.

Later, he’d paint you nude with them in your hair, and he’d feed you more grapes.

He would tuck you in and wrap you up for later when you woke up missing him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave at all. Maybe you would want to spend the whole day with him too.

He’s got a twinkle of charm in his eye and just a bit of sadness that looks every bit like the starving artist people believe him to be. Bucky hasn’t stopped bringing him the leftover rolls at closing since he found out Steve spends more money on paint than meals.

And is it so wrong? As Steve looks into your eyes, he musters all that charm his mom said he was born with. He blinks brighter the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re welcome,” comes Steve’s gentle, but sure reply.

You pause at that, because really it’s nothing... But people always seem to say “Don’t worry about it!”, “It’s nothing”, or maybe nothing at all.

You pause at how the reaction seemed genuine, in a world of practiced replies, and on a day that you’re feeling shitty because the rain ruined your hair and happiness.

You smile at him again, grateful for a pocket of truthful kindness, and turn back to the cashier, effectively ending the interaction.

Steve’s mind is spinning in ways he just can’t bring himself to understand. So he bags your groceries. You forgot the reusable bags, he doesn’t pause to wonder why.

Click. Click. Click. Beep!

Tomatoes. He bags them with the apples. Double bags for good measure.

Beep.

Spaghetti. The good kind that most people overlook in favor of a more common brand. New bag.

Beep.

Frozen garlic bread. He adores you. You’ve got garlic and basil and more herbs than you’ll ever need at home. You’d probably make the spaghetti noodles and parmesan yourself if you could. But you love five minutes at 400 garlic bread.

He imagines your pretty little kitchen, with all its various knick knacks, smelling like garlic and tomato sauce. He can’t help thinking you’d be impressed with his chopping skills too. Just how his mom taught him.

He imagines cooking with you in the dead of night, instead of being here. He imagines you bending over with your legs straight and your back curved and the oven mitts on to get garlic bread out of the oven. You put the tray on the cold burners Steve’s not using.

Maybe he would ask you to try the sauce, he’d hold the spoon to your lips after blowing off for you. Your eyes always flutter closed to process the taste of things, and sometimes he swears he could read your mind.

Then they would open. Wide. The same way they did when you tasted the new product double chocolate brownie sample last Tuesday. You would tell him how perfect it is and praise how he finally isn’t shy about using garlic anymore. Turning off the burners, he’d pull you into his arms, he’d kiss you til you saw stars…

-

Walking you backwards, still entangled in the breathless kiss, he wouldn’t stop until you bumped the padded kitchen bench. Then he’d fall to his knees.

“Steve, honey”—

You’d cut yourself off with a breathy moan because he’d already be under your skirt.

Kissing up your thighs, flattening his tongue against you, kissing you gently, before sucking your clit, while working it with the tip of his tongue, he’d show you again, like always, how passionate of a lover he is.

You’d moan like heaven, because you are.

You’d lean back, propping yourself up on an arm and pushing the other hand through his golden hair. You just can’t stop your hips from rolling against his tongue that’s still worshipping you.

He won’t use his fingers. It wouldn’t be proper, he’s just been cooking. So instead, he uses those hands to pull your thighs up onto his shoulders.

Still swirling his tongue around your clit, Steve is drawing you closer, your body seeming to know it’s own ways to pull him to you too.

It’s electric. You can’t stop and you’d never want to. He’d make love to you every single—

-

That’s not where he is though. He grabs the paper bags he’s bagged up with your ingredients and some other oddities, and he places them in the cart you’ve pushed forward.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re going home alone. He tries not to think about how he’ll be sleeping alone, and in cold colors. Tries to skip forward to later when he has all the time in the world to imagine the way things should be.

A quiet goodnight and you’re on your way. You’re careful not to graze him as you walk away, and he’s careful not to be obvious watching.

The cashier leaves the station, and Steve puts his head down as he passes, before looking up in your direction as he always does.

Except… when he looks up to see your sundress swishing, it isn’t. And you’re turned back looking at him with this funny little look.

You smile. A twinkle of embarrassment, nervous to have been caught looking. He tries not to chuckle for all the irony.

He watches you as you watch him just a bit longer, before your sundress swishes out the door, and the light of your halo fades into the distance, consumed by the rain.

-

By the time his shift is up, the rain has stopped and the sky is colored like a bruise. The sun knocks at a threshold unseen, just slightly feathering light through the sky.

Steve is dead tired, but he won’t sleep a wink. Once he arrives at his apartment, he begins the project.

A mixed medium piece. Acrylic paint, charcoal shadowed details. It’s a wicker basket, full of apples, grapes, and wildflowers.

-

Later, as the sun rises, and the painting is half done, he flops into bed, finishing up a stale roll from the bakery, and dreams about waking up to you.

He pretends there’s no job to be at in three and a half hours, but instead, that it’s a quiet Sunday, and he’s waking up to you in his arms...

Soft and ethereal.

-

Thank you for reading!

Whether or not this is your type of writing, or you liked it at all, I just want to tag some authors who generally inspire me and helped in some way to motivate me posting my first piece: @threeminutesoflife @imanuglywombat @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18 @heavenbarnes @tropicalcap @allaboardthereadingrailroad @thotty-tatertot @sapphirescrolls

#dark!steve #steve #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #steve x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #steve au #steve rogers au #civillian!steve #artist!steve

[maryellencarter]

So the final cause, if I recall my Aristotle (I was terrible at Aristotelian logic, or at least at what the badly illustrated homeschool textbook said was Aristotelian logic), was that my apartment has been growing irregularly more squalorous for months. Occasionally I would have a bout of energy and put my groceries in the pantry, but for the most part I've been doing well to keep up on the laundry. The proximal cause was... probably the coloring books.

Anyway, this morning I put on pants that were not sweatpants, probably for the first time in months, because going to get vaccinated is a festal occasion and one ought to look one's best. (I put on my cute top with the frilly shoulder straps and the little rosettes, too, since I figured it'd be smart to wear something sleeveless. And my combat boots with the pastel tiedye laces, in case of hiking, which also turned out to be smart. I was decked out.)

So then I went and showed a number of people my ID and my appointment email, and they poked me with a timy needle -- not as small as the one they used in the ER for the insulin that time, I didn't even feel that one, but a very nice thin needle compared to my usual standard of needles, which are the ones they use to try and get blood *out* of you, and often fail when you are me. Then they made me sit down for fifteen minutes in case I took an allergy, and then they gave me a lollipop (I got blue cotton candy, my favorite flavor) and a sticker with a hashtag on it and I left.

Then I got to wend my way back from the place where the vaccinations were happening -- it was a big event on the college campus, since they have a lot of nice big rooms and wide open spaces there -- and it happened I was coming back from a direction I do not usually wend my way from, and I dropped into Michaels. Usually I go to Joann's, because they have fabric, which Michaels doesn't, and Michaels is generally a bit froofier in the sorts of craft supplies they stock at least locally, but the Michaels and the Joann's are right across the street from each other, and I still haven't heard anything about my special order on the floss color that Joann's was out of. Michaels doesn't have the full range of DMC colors, but I took a look and they did in fact have the color I needed.

Then I wandered around some, because Michaels actually does have a bigger yarn selection than Joann's, and I found some Patons Kroy (my absolute favorite sock yarn for feel and texture) in a colorway I didn't loathe, which is *not* something I've been able to find since they stopped making that one colorway with all the orange and black and gray stripes, which I loved dearly and can't remember the name of. So I was like "this will be just the thing for that one lace scarf I was looking at that needs wool yarn in case it has to be blocked to look right", because knitted lace is like that and you can't block acrylic. You can "kill" acrylic but that's different and I'd rather not.

Um. Anyway. Then I wandered around some more, because I get into Michaels so seldom that it's handy to look at what-all they've got while I'm there. Over the past... week or so I have had a sudden bout of wanting to color in coloring books, because that happens to me sometimes; there was an impulse trip to the Walmart way out in the boondocks on the unlit road for Crayola colored pencils, because I decided I was not going to pay eight times as much for Prismacolors.

(The really infuriating thing about coloring books, in my opinion, is that right now you can either find the kiddie newsprint coloring books which are with us always, of course, or you can find "adult coloring books" which are *in-fucking-variably* filled with horses and lions and whales and other large charismatic mammals covered in what look for all the world like quilting patterns. If I wanted to color a rendition of a quilt filled with tiny stripes and polka dots, I'd get some graph paper! And the dots and lines and so forth are so tiny that you can *only* color them with colored pencils, because that's Adulty.)

(Yes, I know they sell coloring pages on Etsy and places. I've been avoiding the print shop for at least a month and a half now, when if I would put the things on my thumb drive and go to it, I could start getting my student loans out of default. I would never wind up printing coloring pages off of Etsy. No, I don't know why. Print shops scare me, perhaps slightly worse than post offices.)

Um. Where was I? So I had gone way far out to the Walmart nobody goes to which therefore often has interesting things in stock, and I had discovered that Crayola still does the glitter crayons I had coveted as a tiny, and they also make double-ended scented markers, which are like the coolest thing ever to the tiny early-nineties child I still am in my heart. So as of this morning, my kitchen counter was completely covered with... things. There was already the sewing machine and the Dr Pepper that doesn't taste like an old shoe, and the peanut butter and the elephant-shaped porcelain wax-warmer, but there had been a narrow slot where I could put a plate and eat my meals -- my only table having been co-opted a year ago by my workstation. Now that slot was filled with various Crayola products and a coloring book with mermaids in it, which at least had a few pages that could be colored partly with markers or crayons, instead of being entirely minced into geometric shapes barely larger than a pencil lead.

SO, what happened after I got vaccinated and found yarn and floss, is that I found out that Crayola still makes the *pearlescent* crayons I coveted even more as a kid. I had gotten one in a little sample pack included with my big 64-box, and it was very precious to me. It's long gone now, of course.

So of course then I bought the pearlescent crayons, and then I bitched at Leia for a while about how I didn't have any coloring books I could use these wonderful crayons *on* unless I wanted to go back to the Lisa Frank newsprint of my youth. (They did actually have Lisa Frank. I strongly considered it. But my tastes have evolved beyond newsprint.)

Then I googled some things, and I found Walmart listing a Crayola mandala coloring book. I went to look for it, and I didn't find it, but I did find a different coloring book with "stained glass" style pictures (sadly not on actual tracing paper, but it occurs to me that if I could source some tracing paper, which it further occurs to me that I haven't seen in years although admittedly I haven't been looking, that I could *trace them* and color them and tape them on my windows like the tacky '90s kid I am), which GLORY HALLELUJAH has spaces big enough to fucking color in!

...Michaels also had neon and metallic Crayola crayons. I might go back. They were 24-packs of each. The single silver and gold crayons from my mom's 64-pack were pretty much only used for Easter eggs in our house, so as not to use them up. I just -- I have a wealth beyond imagining of special effect crayons and markers available to me, and I'm struggling to find anywhere to use them. This seems backwards.

So anyway, then I also found a cute sundress big enough to go over my ass, and then I sat in the furniture section for a while and pondered buying a new table so I wouldn't have to keep stacking coloring books on top of the peanut butter jar in order to eat, and it occurred to me that if I took down my Christmas tree, which I've had up since the Before Times (having gotten it from in fact the same Walmart east of anywhere after all the rest in town were sold out of the particular model), then I would have a space along the back of the kitchen counter where I could hypothetically put a table.

So, because I am a sensible and moderate individual, I bought a thing of string to tie up the Christmas tree branches with, and did not buy a table yet. Then it was time for D&D, so I hurried home and put my vaccination card on the fridge and got into the voice chat and started taking down the Christmas tree.

Then it was five hours later, and I had started konmari-ing the whole apartment in order to have somewhere to store the Christmas tree, and I had discovered that my closet shelf was almost entirely full of empty cardboard boxes, so I had pulled all those out and rifled through them to make sure they didn't contain anything important, and after rescuing three cards from a friend and one glasses chamois, I stuffed most of the boxes in a trash bag, jammed the condensed Christmas tree and all the winter blankets and my air mattress and various other wintry things into the giant box my office chair came in, managed to get that giant box up onto the closet shelf (I have some soreness around my injection site but I honestly don't know if it's a side effect of the vaccination or a pulled muscle from wiggling a very large heavy box into a very tight space over my head), and moved the Goodwill oddities into a midsize box that I think I brought my workstation home in, but they just moved the remaining onsite agents into a much smaller room so I don't think I'm going to be asked to bring my workstation back for a while, and when I do go to bring it back I think the monitors will fit nicely in my washtub.

(I'm giving Goodwill my crockpot. After I forgot the garbanzos in it for three days until the chicken broth started to stink, I decided I am not a person who needs to own a crockpot. Also something like eight skeins of rather ugly yarn because I bought too much for the baby blankets I was making.)

(I'm not sure why I own a washtub. It's bright blue and plastic. It does have a use, which is to hand-wash my weighted blanket in occasionally, as of course you can't put twenty-odd pounds of glass baubles in a washing machine.)

(I certainly did make some life choices that led me here, did I not.)

Annnnyway, so now I have an almost empty three-drawer Rubbermaid dresser, an entirely empty and extremely large Rubbermaid tote (I'm pretty sure I could trap myself in there, but I haven't tried), a mostly empty square ottoman which is also a storage box, and a royal shitton of tiny things like office supplies and party favors that don't *go* anywhere.

"A place for everything" is the really hard part, you know. I achieved it once. Then I moved out of that apartment and have never achieved it again. Once things *have* places, then even if you don't have the spoons to put the peanut butter jar back in the pantry right *now*, you know it has a spot between the Hormel and the Chef Boyardee, and it's way easier than "oh god if I open the pantry there won't be any room and I'll wind up putting the peanut butter under the bathroom sink with the Johnnie Walker Black or maybe over the kitchen sink on top of the Thermacare back wraps."

(You're supposed to store whisky upright in a cool dark place, okay. None of the upper cabinet shelves are tall enough, so I could have put it either directly over the water heater or directly next to the oven. Instead it lurks behind the toilet paper, next to the Clorox wipes and the pre-pandemic Lush bath bomb, which I should... probably use at some point.)

Erm. So then I was pondering what-all storage I would need to source in order to begin having places in which to put things, *findable* places which is the real grail, and -- I think I took a pause to read Dreamwidth and someone linked me a plushie trilobite, okay. I haven't yet entirely decided whether to buy it, but it occurred to me that I definitely have no home for a plushie trilobite, any more than for the amazing Zaeed plushie currently trapped under my cross stitching or the Star Wars Build-a-Bear who was supposed to make Ewok noises until three weeks of freeze-thaw cycle in a malfunctioning package locker did for his electronic squeaker, or the poor American Girl doll languishing inside the ottoman.

So then I was like "we used to have that little net corner hammock for stuffed animals when I was a kid, we never could get it mounted right, but perhaps with fewer cooks that would be a good option". So I googled for one, and all I could find was an assortment of JUMBO five-or-six-foot-long double-deep toy hammocks, obviously necessary to keep your child from drowning in the flood of stuffed animals that have taken over beds in the past thirty years.

(Okay, I was pretty toy-deprived as a kid, the 1980s were not in general what you would call a time of less stuff in American households. Still. I have a twin bed. I can hardly even *find* a toy hammock that wouldn't be bigger than my bed in some dimension.)

So then, it being the aforementioned five hours later with a lot of D&D combined with hard physical labor in the middle, I said to myself, said I, "Hammocks are made out of net, and nets are made out of strings." And by god, if there is one thing I'm better at than another, it is making things out of string. I've never actually gotten around to trying out the whole process of making an actual fisherman's net, which is much more closely related to tatting than to knitting, but I have yarn and most of the possible knitting or crocheting supplies I would need to invent things.

Which, at long last, explains why I have paused to write this halfway through creating a triangular filet crochet toy hammock out of sparkly yellow yarn.

Joann's is having a 50% off sale on plastic storage whatsits tomorrow, but I think I'll probably spend a large part of the day putting office supplies into ziploc bags and hanging them in rows on the wall with pushpins so as to figure out what-all I in fact own.

#i feel like this probably needs at least a few warning tags #but i have no idea what those would be at this point

[feathersandpaintbrushes]

Entye

ENTYE -  “Debt”

— Chapter 3: Partnership

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4,

Summary: The Mandalorian and Kas learn how to share a ship.

Warnings: mild injury, language, combat (should slow burn be a warning?)

Characters: the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), the child, original character

Disclaimer: Slow burn is an understatement. Don’t worry, it’s worth the wait! Also, I took a long break (almost a year) without posting more of the story. I didn’t stop writing though and have about 15 chapters saved up. Oops.

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

Her new life on the Razor Crest wasn’t the most ideal, but it worked more naturally than the solitude of Hoth, despite the many oddities and complications.

There was only one bed, for one.

The first week had passed in a sleep deprived blur for Kas, though she suspected the Mandalorian suffered as much as her.  The fact was that they simply did not trust each other.  Sure, she’d saved his life and he’d offered her a place on his ship, but she was slow to trust anyone anymore.  Especially a masked bounty hunter.  And she couldn’t blame him for not trusting her either.  It had taken days for Kas to not unholter her blaster every time the Mandalorian entered the room, and she was certain this did not encourage him to trust her in return.

But they’d gotten used to each other.  The child was closely attached to the Mandalorian, and for a few days he’d regarded Kas with wide eyes.  But he’d relaxed around her first, crawling onto her lap or chewing on the hilt of her dagger.  And slowly, steadily, she’d gotten more comfortable around the Mandalorian.  Stopped flinching when he reached for something near her.  Stopped freezing with a racing heart as he passed her in the narrow spaces of the ship.  Eventually she’d grown so exhausted by lack of sleep that she’d caved, collapsing on the small bed fully clothed and passed out for hours, not even reaching for her blaster when a gloved hand had shaken her awake.  She’d watched, bemused, as he stumbled headfirst into the bed the second she was out of it, muffled snores coming out all metallic under the helmet he never took off.

Strangely, the single bed was the easiest barrier to hurdle once they got over the fear of being vulnerable while asleep.  The simple fact was that it didn’t make sense for both of them to sleep at the same time anyhow.  One of them had to be up either steering the ship or watching the child.  Kas wasn’t the best pilot; while she was able to keep an eye on things while the ship was in hyperspeed, or man the ship during long stretches of empty space, she was quick to call for the Mandalorian when asteroids or another ship blipped on their radar.

And so their routine became established, sleeping in shifts, spending their waking hours in comfortable silence, slowly learning to speak easily in front of each other.  Their conversations always danced around safe topics – the past, his helmet, personal questions of any kind really – were all subjects they avoided out of respect, and fear that the other might ask similar questions in turn.  But the Mandalorian had a sense of humor that was surprising, and more enjoyable because of it.  Dry sarcasm and gentle teasing were languages they had in common, and when all else failed they could talk to or about the child.  The first morning she found herself humming under her breath as she prepared food for the child was the first morning she realized that she liked it on the ship.  Enjoyed this life, despite the inconveniences and oddities. 

It wasn’t ideal; the bathroom was small and cramped and the sonic shower didn’t always work, forcing her to use the incredibly unreliable real shower; the water sputtered out smelling of sulfur and even gas on one occasion.  But, Kas reflected one particularly annoying morning as the sonic shower refused to turn on even after repeatedly hitting it, and the water pressure left her trying to rinse shampoo out of her hair with a gentle mist, it was better than breaking off chunks of ice to boil in her one small pot and shivering violently while cleaning one small part of her body at a time.

Food was tricky.  The child was nearly always ravenous, and the Mandalorian refused to even sip bone broth in front of her.  This left him crankier than normal and her exasperated to no end until she put a foot down.  A shouting match ended in an uneasy truce that saw her banished to the cockpit with the child for a half hour three times a day so the Mandalorian could hastily gulp down food before the child inevitably escaped her grasp and made its way to the Mandalorian again. 

No, Kas thought to herself as she watched the stars wiz by in hypnotic lines as the ship hurtled through space, the only part about the last month that she couldn’t handle was the feeling that she was trapped.

There really was no escape in a ship this size.  While showering that morning she’d listened sleepily to the muffled shouts and bangs as the Mandalorian tried to stop the child from tearing the ship apart.  She’d eaten her rations on a cramped stool with one hand while gripping the child’s smock in another.  She’d smacked her head so hard on the Mandalorian’s helmet while they both reached for the same fallen tool that her vision had gone black for a moment and she’d gripped to the ship while listening to the Mandalorian’s poorly muffled laughter.  She woke up to the sound of the Mandalorian animatedly discussing the passing stars with the child, despite its inability to speak Basic.  She fell asleep at night to the smell of a stranger on her pillow and the sounds of the Mandalorian fiddling around with the ship’s constantly needed repairs.

Kas missed walking and running and riding the Tuan Tuans.  She missed the stretch and burn in her arms as she climbed a rocky crest in search of something to eat.  It had been three weeks since they’d left the desert planet.  Her arm had ached and itched and burned at intervals, but she’d gently moved it and strengthened it each day, doing pull ups on the ladder or pushups in the narrow hallway, often with the child clambering on her.  Still, she was antsy.  She wished she could work on maintaining and modifying weapons, but still didn’t feel comfortable with the Mandalorian to ask to mess around with his weapon store yet.  She was bored and stir crazy and tired of smelling the same air every day.

“Kas.”

She jumped, fingers automatically reaching for the hilt of her blaster, though she’d long since stopped wearing it around the ship.  The Mandalorian stood next to the captain’s seat, and she cursed him internally for his soft footedness.

“I thought there was another hour left before you got up at least,” she murmured, rubbing a tired hand over her eyes.

“We’re running low on fuel,” the Mandalorian murmured softly; the child must still be asleep then. “I actually came up to see if there was any planet in particular you’d like to stop to refuel at.”

Kas blinked, trying to force her brain into linear thoughts after hours of allowing them to drift aimlessly as she did the monotonous task of “keeping an eye” on things when the ship was on autopilot.

“Somewhere with rain,” she said, surprised at the sudden longing that swept through her.  How long had it been since she’d seen rain? Or something green?

“Rain with cliffs or rain with forests?”

“Cliffs,” Kas said firmly, arms flexing unconsciously as she thought of climbing one until she was higher than the clouds.

---

“Is this what you were hoping for?” Slight skepticism and maybe, if she was right, just a touch of amusement saturated the Mandalorian’s normally crisp words.

“Yes,” Kas breathed, unbuckling her seatbelt quickly and skipping the last few rungs on the ladder in her haste to get to the downpour that was echoing like hail inside the metal ship.

Outside was cold and crisp and clean and Kas stumbled slightly in her eagerness to get out from the sheltering confines of the ship’s entry.

Rain showered against the bare skin of her arms, plastering her thick hair to her neck.  She laughed as she raised her face to the clouds and opened her mouth to let sweet tasting water cover her tongue.  It was elixir.

Opening her eyes she saw the Mandalorian crouching under the safety of the ship’s awning, watching the child splash in a small puddle nearby.

“It’s good for him to be outside like this,” Kas puffed as she jogged over to them.  The Mandalorian lifted his helmet from the child and looked her up and down, taking in her dripping hair and saturated clothes. 

“It seems like he’s not the only one enjoying it.”  The Mandalorian’s voice was as dry as a desert, and she laughed. 

--

They’d parked in a small space port attached to an equally small town.  After paying the alien who owned the port and maintenance shop to refuel and run some minor repairs on the ship, the three of them set out in the rain in search of new supplies and food.

The rain still hadn’t let up, and while Kas and the child delighted in it, the Mandalorian seemed less enthusiastic.  Could a helmet have a sour expression? Kas wondered, smirking as the man’s shoulders rose up high as a stream of water from the roof above splashed against him.

She wasn’t sure how it was possible for a man to look half drowned when he was fully clothed and covered in heavy armor to boot, but she’d never seen someone less enthusiastic about rain before.  The relief coming off the Mandalorian in waves was palpable as they ducked into a small building with a sign out front identifying it as a sort of trade center.

Inside was a maze of spices and ration packs and weapons and medical supplies.  Kas’s fingers twitched and she started towards a particularly lovely display of daggers when a movement around her knee distracted her.  She turned in time to see the child waddling quickly back to the open door and caught up to it in a few quick strides.

“Not so fast you little womp rat,” Kas murmured, snatching him up and settling him on her hips.  “Your dad would never forgive me if you got lost.”

The child’s eyes narrowed and its huge ears drooped, making her smile indulgently at it.

“Want to look at some pretty knives?” she cooed, walking over to the display shelf.  “See this one?”

Kas picked up a slim dagger with an arching cross guard and pommel and offered it to the child, who scrunched his little face up in apparent displeasure.

“You’re right,” she said with a laugh.  “Far too fancy.  And so thin! If you didn’t get it exactly between the ribs it’d snap at the first thrust.  How about this one?”

The continued on for several minutes, Kas handing the little one dagger after dagger to inspect with an intent expression.  After several fairly staunch rejections by them both, they finally came across a promising blade.

It was fairly simple, but elegant despite that.  Deadly sharp, with a horn handle and strong crossguards.  No fancy grooves or patterns marred the blade, but the surface seemed to glow slightly. 

“Careful of this one child,” Kas murmured, cautiously placing the hilt in the reaching hand of the little one in her arms.  The child regarded the blade for a long moment, the slightly iridescent surface reflecting in it’s large eyes.  Then, as if in approval, the child turned the blade over and stuck the rounded pommel in its mouth.

“Your girl chose a good blade there.”

Kas spun around to face the shopkeeper, extracting the blade from the child’s grasp in the same movement.

“Not my girl.” The Mandalorian said firmly, stepping out of the shadows with rations piled in his arms.

“I’m not his girl,” Kas laughed, rolling her eyes.  “I’m my own girl.  What do you know about this blade?”

It was songsteel.  Allegedly.  A valuable, strong weapon if it was true.  Kas frowned at the dagger and then the shopkeeper incredulously.  If it was truly songsteel it was invaluable.  And Kas couldn’t afford invaluable.  Besides, she already had a good dagger. 

Feeling only the slightest pang of regret, Kas handed the songsteel back to the shopkeeper and pulled her own dagger from its customary spot on her waist.

“How about this one, little tauntaun?” she murmured, holding her own old dagger out to him.  The blade was chipped in places, and the handle covered in old blood.  But it was freshly sharpened, and the handle fit her hand like a glove.

The child touched it gently and cooed at her with big eyes.  It was with this dagger she’d save the little one’s life.  She wouldn’t trade it for a new one.

--

The rain had left off slightly, leaving the planet green and feeling so alive Kas imagined it was breathing.  The ship still wasn’t ready so they hiked to a small hill overlooking the port, carrying the child and some of the more spoilable rations they’d picked up.

“You’re good with him.”

Kas turned to see the Mandalorian watching, leaned casually against a tree as she threw her knife at targets, to the child’s obvious delight.

“He just likes the chaos,” she said with a laugh, watching the little one wander excitedly after a frog who’d been unlucky enough to catch its eye.

“Sorry about the shopkeeper.”

Kas blinked and then laughed.  “People see what they want to see.  To him we looked like a nice little nuclear family.  No harm done.  Besides, no one would remember a family stopping in, but a bounty hunter and a little green child and a –” she stopped, and then forced out another laugh.  “It really isn’t a big deal,” she assured him.

“Oh, good.”

“Are you sure?” she teased.  “Because it seems like you’re the one who’s upset by it.”

“I’m not – “ The Mandalorian broke off and she could feel him glare at her from behind the helmet.

“Right.  Got a jealous girlfriend or something? I promise not to tell her we’ve been using the same bed.”

That really riled him, and he stood up straight, posture stiff.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Good,” Kas said, then broke off with a confused laugh.  “Wouldn’t want her to stab me over a little misunderstanding by a shopkeeper.”

Kas turned around and threw her knife back at the target, smiling only slightly when it hit the center again.  She walked to fetch it slowly, feeling confused by the whole interaction.  It was by far the most personal conversation they’d had so far – which was really saying something because in her experience, most men were very keen to tell her how very single they were.  Of course, she thought with more amusement as she wretched the knife out of the log, a Mandalorian was not ‘most men’.  In fact, she still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t a droid.  He stood so stiffly, and a modulator could hide a multitude of sins.

--

They left the planet the next day, to Din’s relief.  They’d spent a little more time in the small town, and Kas had even wrangled the child and himself up a small rock outcrop, passing out fresh bread and meat and some vaguely alcoholic drink when they reached the top, declaring it a ‘fine day for a picnic’ with a wild sort of glee on her face that was only accentuated by the wind that threw her hair around in tangles around her head.  They’d eaten, prevented the child from falling off the cliff, and then climbed back down sore, muddy, and – in Kas and the child’s case – elated.

For Din, watching the planet fade into the distance as he aimed the ship back into space was a relief.  As for Kas…

The woman was in turns solemn, irritated, cheerful, and listless.  She wandered around the ship, moving objects around, poking around in the storage areas, and generally being so distracting that Din ground his teeth behind the privacy of his helmet.

Eventually she’d wandered back into the cockpit and stood over his shoulder until Din thought he might snap.

“Do you want to fight?”

The woman’s voice was… not casual exactly, though it was clear that was the tone she’d been aiming for.  No, Din decided.  It was cautious and a little hopeful.  He looked over his shoulder at her.

Her face was slightly pink, but it was the same look she’d had when examining the knives.  He sighed.

“Sure.”

And so, for several minutes before he got his wits about himself, Din had his ass thoroughly kicked.

Once he got over the initial shock of having a small berserker throwing her entire weight at him, Din got his feet back under himself and started concentrating.

She was small, and very quick, but she lacked armor and therefore really couldn’t afford many direct hits before tiring – her tactic was to get in, get a punch in, and then skitter away.  After noticing this, Din quickly had her back against the side of the ship, his forearm pressed against her throat.

Surprisingly, the woman didn’t look discouraged.  On the contrary, her eyes gleamed and a wide grin split her face.  There was a scar on her lip, he noticed suddenly.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

And so it was that they began to spar for a half hour or so before they ate their evening meal.  More and more often they found themselves at a draw, a fact which alarmed Din, but also drove him to fight harder.  And Kas had been right.

It was fun.

#the mandalorian #Pedro Pascal #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #star wars #my writing #entye

[lhs3020b]

The Wooden Spaceships, by Bob Shaw

The Wooden Spaceships is the sequel to the first Land/Overland novel, The Ragged Astronauts. It's set about a generation after the ptertha-driven migration from Land; civilisation on Overland is at least stable now, if not entirely-comfortable. Unfortunately "comfortable" isn't what Toller Maraquine is looking for in his older years. Apaprently he hasn't learned any lessons about getting what you wished for, because bad news arrives on Overland in the form of an airship from Land! That's right, apparently there are survivors on Land, and they're not very happy with their neighbours.

My thoughts are under the cut...

TWS is a bit of an odd book. It's really two main stories, somewhat awkwardly joined together. There's the plot with the attempted invasion by the New Men - briefly, the children of people who proved to be unusually-resistant to pterthacosis, who apparently are either immune or are tolerant enough to the disease that they've managed to live to adulthood. The New Men, sadly, have learnt nothing from their parents' folly and may actually be worse people; their survival seems to have convinced them that they represent a sort of superman who are destined to rule the universe. I suppose a more-sympathetic interpretation might be that they're the products of a collectively-traumatised society, and are dealing with said trauma by projecting all their negative feelings onto imagined enemies on Overland. That said, regardless of interpretation, their actions are not sympathetic and King Rassamarden is clearly a psychotic nutjob.

Also, it's worth noting that they are the New _Men_. While presumably New Women must exist, we never see any. This was an interesting ellision given that TWS is generally a step up relative to TRA for gender stuff. TWS is still quite bad, don't get me wrong, but there has been some improvement. Berise is a plot-relevant female character who actually gets to do stuff, the Kolcorronian king's key adviser is actually his wife Queen Dasseene and there has been some progress on the social front. The Air Corps has been opened to female applicants and it's implied that society as a whole has got a bit more equal. (That said, let's not go too far with this - this is still a society where an aristocrat can have innocent people executed on a whim, as we see with the Sergeant Gnapperl subplot, so Overland has a long way to go before it could be described as a genuinely-civilised society. It may have got a bit more egalitarian one way, but it's still a monarchical despotism ruled by the threat and fear of absolute force.)

Toller, of course, ends up involving himself neck-deep in the war with the New Men. This has the effect of cratering his marriage to Gessalla. In what is genuinely a moment of awesome from her, she tells him that while she's glad he's still alive, she's had quite enough of spending every day wondering whether today is the day she's going to have to bury her idiot husband's corpse. It's stressful and unpleasant, she's lost quite enough in her life already (literally including her homeworld!) and if he can't settle down and sort himself out, then they're through.

Toller, of course, can't deal with this. His marriage thus collapses, and that leads us onto the second part of the novel.

Incidentally, before we get to that, allow me one small tangent. We're halfway through the trilogy, and Toller has entirely forgotten his previous wife. After she disappears halfway through TRA he just - forgets? un-persons? has selective amnesia? goes into denial? refuses to take any responsibility for his own actions? - her entire existence. Toller, you were MARRIED to this woman! Seriously, what a cad! We never find out anything about what happened to Fera at any point in the series. Even in the third novel when a return to Land happens and Shaw could have tied the plot-thread off, but we get nothing.

(Since we never find a body, I've decided to invoke headcanon. Like Toller's father, Fera was one of the rare people who are entirely-immune to pterthacosis. As such she actually survived the implosion of Ro-Atabri and the end of civilisation on Land. After some confusion she eventually moved into an abandoned princeling's palace and has been living out her days in comfortable luxury; she spends her time either walking by the river or reading books - a hobby she recently developed - and occasionally she has been known to take lunch with some of the more pro-social New Men, so she's not entirely without society either. She mostly keeps away from them, having made a reasonable judgement of their character, but that said the odd social do can be refreshing. All considered it's not the worst situation she could have ended up in, and she's certainly managed better than virtually everyone else in Kolcorron. When the Overland exiles' return to the planet happens in "The Fugitive Worlds", Fera - still alive, though an old woman by then - sees the balloons and discovers that she simply has nothing to say to the people who abandoned her to her fate 50 years earlier. As such she decides to avoid them during their visit. In the abstract she supposes that it's nice that society has survived over on Overland, but really, neo-Kolcorron's antics are just Not Her Problem Anymore, so why even bother?)

The second part of the novel concerns a group of Overlander colonists who have recently arrived in a remote area of the planet, newly-opened to settlement. (One oddity of the novel is that for a planet whose population still must be less than a quarter of a million, nonetheless people are spread quite widely across Overland.) The area they've arrived in is fertile, has a pleasant climate and even pre-existing houses, built then abandoned by the last group of prospective colonists. You see, unfortunately, it appears to be haunted.

Bartan Drumme, the semi-leader of the group, is mainly there because he's trying to court his would-be bride Sondeweere. Amusingly, Sondeweere has his number and is quite-blatantly stringing him along, mainly to annoy her domineering uncle. Bartan is of course entirely-blind to this - honestly, Land and Overlander men all seem to run at a permanent +10 to Oblivious - and the "romance" proceeds in exactly the dysfunctional manner that you might imagine. Unfortunately, what would have been an amusingly-cringy romantic dark comedy gets interrupted when the new arrivals in the Egg Basket region start falling ill. Bad dreams, disturbed moods, sleepwalking, full-on psychotic breakdowns - all is not well in the Egg Basket. It quickly becomes apparent that the region is being influenced by some sort of external force. The sensible people leave; the less sensible people cling on and meet with various misfortunes.

(If there is one moral to the Land/Overland trilogy, it seems to be "if you see any hints of trouble, pack your bags and leave NOW, because things will only get worse, and don't expect the government to do anything even minimally-useful".)

Anyway things go from bad to worse, the Egg Basket's mini-society essentially collapses, and then Sondeweere gets abducted by aliens.

Yes, you did read that right. A spaceship turns up and hoovers her up. In context it's not quite as random as it sounds, but it is still quite random.

Anyway this leads Bartan to a decision that he wants to retrieve her from Farland, the third planet in the Land/Overland system. He teams up with Toller, who is now deep into the rebound stage following the implosion of his marriage. Along with Berise and some other acquaintances of Toller's, they construct a spacecraft capable of travelling outside of Land/Overland's mutual atmosphere and set off for Farland. Technically they're under commission from the King; honestly, I got the sense that the King and Queen have simply had enough of Toller's antics, and see this as a convenient way of getting rid of him.

Then reality ensues and they almost die, because nobody on the ship knows anything like as much about either outer space or basic Newtonian physics as they think they do. In fact it turns out no-one has any grasp about continuous acceleration, and they've been running a continuous halvell/pikon thruster-burn for entire days (somehow without running out of fuel, either - apparently the specific impulse on the pikon/halvell reaction is something insanely high?). By the time Sondeweere becomes aware of the ship's situation, it's running at over 100,000 miles per hour and is barely days away from reenacting the Chixculuub meteor on Farland.

Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention - Sondeweere was abducted because her nervous system had become host to an alien parasite (the same one that was causing mass psychosis in the Egg Basket) and she now has superhuman intelligence and telepathic powers. And also, a far better grasp of modern physics than anyone aboard the titular wooden spaceship from Overland. Fortunately, Sondeweere is able to take charge of the situation and arranges something close-ish to a soft landing on Farland - the crew don't enjoy the experience, but they get to walk away from it, and that's about as good as it gets in aerospace incidents!

Anyway my review here is a bit forced, but that's because the last 40% of the novel also feels a bit forced. The pacing is off and the narrative makes some rapid jumps. Honestly TWS's problem is that it's actually not one novel but rather two separate novellas that have been welded together in a particularly-awkward manner. A lot of things aren't really followed up or tied off properly. The fact that Farland is inhabitable and also inhabited turns up quite late in the book and is dealt with in what I felt to be a bit of an unsatisfactory manner. I was also intrigued to find out that all three planets orbit within 42 million miles of their sun. Apparently the star must be some sort of K dwarf, I guess - no, in fact it may well even be a brighter M dwarf, because this is roughly the orbital radius of Mercury! This is odd because the sunlight is never described as being pink-ish. The only thing I can think of is that maybe nuclear fusion also behaves differently in Land/Overland-verse? Perhaps not only is Pi equal to 3 but perhaps smaller stars are hotter and brighter than they would be here? Or maybe everyone's so used to the pink sunlight that no-one thinks to remark on it at any point?

(Canonically they do fuse - in fact Sondeweere actually has a go at explaining nuclear fusion to Bartan and the others at one point, which was thoughtful of her, though sadly the Overlander males remain as obtuse as ever so the effort may have been wasted.)

Anyway overall, I think this book suffers from a bad case of "mid-trilogy syndrome". I'm glad that female characters are handled better here, and I was cheering for Gessalla when she told Toller to fuck off. The extra expansions to the universe were interesting, and it was also interesting to see the gradual consolidation of colonial life on Overland. Madcap as it was, the interplanetary voyage to Farland did have some "big-picture" excitement too. That said, however, the books minuses were continued dropped plot-threads from the previous novel, unevenness in pacing and perhaps also just having too many ideas in a small package.

#Bob Shaw #The Wooden Spaceships #Books 2021 #LHS reads

[arrow-guy]

Sister Winter (10/??)

Summary: Keeping secrets only hurts those closest to you, but sometimes the blunt truth hurts more than you’d ever imagine. What happens when you can’t differentiate between the two?

A/N: We’ve finally arrived at the events of The Avengers. I’ve changed canon a little for Reasons, but I’m happy with how this came out overall. Now it’s time for some sad times!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: ClintxReader

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Part 9

“You must prepare for this invasion, Director,” I say. “There’s no telling the scale of their forces, but I have no doubts that they’re going to come at us with everything they have.”

“And just how do you know this?”

I shake my head. “The energy fluctuations are becoming too unpredictable for there to be any kind of coincidence. If he were further away, the fields would be more stable, just as they were four months ago.”

“Any guess as to when he’ll show up?”

“No, but we are working on an approximation. It’s hard to pinpoint any specific time. I can only say that it’s a matter of weeks now, rather than months.” I take a deep breath before explaining further. “Look, I know you’re not going to like what I say, regardless of how I word it. I have given you the information that I have and I’m simply asking that you trust me.”

He stares at me long enough that I begin to wonder if I said something wrong.

“Alright. We’ll take this into account. Agents Coulson and Hill will be heading this project until the time comes that this thing blows.” He pushes himself up from his chair. “I trust all of you can get along without me here?”

He’s answered by a chorus of “Yes, sir’s”, after which he promptly leaves the room.

Agent Coulson crosses the room to speak with Clint and I. He extends his hand to me and I look at Clint for help. He just gestures for me to take Coulson’s hand, so I do.

“I look forward to working with you,” Coulson says as he shakes my hand.

I’m so surprised that I can’t stop myself from saying, “Really?”

He laughs. “Yes, really. If Clint trusts you, I’ll take the plunge.”

“Oh, well…” I shove my hands into my pockets. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiles and nods at Clint. “Agent Barton.”

Clint nods in return. “Coulson.”

I watch him walk away, perplexed.

“Odd.”

“What?” Clint slings his arm around my shoulders. “Coulson?”

“No, just… all of it, really. Fury just accepted all that. He barely asked any questions.”

“He’s a mysterious guy,” Clint shrugs and turns us towards the door. “Take the win, for now, and worry about what’s happening with the cube instead.”

“You’re right. There are more important things.”

“Yeah, more important things like making sure you actually manage to get some sleep tonight.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve been trying. Nothing works.”

“You could always stay in my room. There’s more than enough room for the two of us in my bed.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Clint laughs. “Honey, if I had my way, you would’ve been imposing months ago. I just didn’t want to push you.”

“I thought we had to be quiet about our relationship.”

“If anyone hasn’t noticed that we’re together at this point, they never will,” he says.

I laugh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So, you’ll stay with me tonight?”

“Unless someone tries to send me back to my room, yes.” He grins and I can’t help smiling back. “Don’t get too excited.”

“I’m gonna get as excited as I want, babe. I get to have a sleepover with my girlfriend.”

I laugh. “You’re so enthusiastic.”

“But so many things are exciting.”

“I will have to trust you on that.”

Clint leads me to a secluded alcove away from most of the foot traffic. Leaning against the wall, he circles his arms around my middle and holds me against him.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that there’s a full-scale extraterrestrial invasion headed for your planet, which is hardly even equipped to handle humans to begin with. Not to mention the fact that my father has refused to send any sort of aid.”

“You asked?”

“Of course I asked. Seeing Loki as crazed as he is made me realize that I’m not enough.” I put my head in my hands. “We need all the help we can get, but… I don’t know why I even bother.”

“Because you care, and you care deeply. The fact that you even asked is more than we could’ve done.”

I sigh and fold my arms. “I’m frustrated.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.”

I nod. “Alright.”

“Come on,” he kisses me briefly and takes my hand. “Let’s get something to eat. We’ll work out a rough plan to run by Maria tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

We barely have three weeks to prepare before any kind of extreme anomalies presented themselves.

“Coulson, it’s happening.”

“Now?“ he asks.

“No, next week. Yes, right now,” I hand him the tablet with the Tesseract’s energy readings. “We need to call Fury.”

He scans the readings before handing the tablet back. “I’ll do that right now. Does Maria know?”

I nod. “I let her know earlier so that she could start organizing the evacuation.”

“I’ll help her with that as soon as I get ahold of the Director.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s Clint doing?”

“Keeping an eye on the situation,” I gesture to the catwalk. “He’ll be able to see if anyone’s getting too close to the tesseract before any of us. He’ll let us know if something goes wrong.”

“Alright. I’ll let you know as soon as Fury’s on his way.”

“Thank you,” I reach out and touch his arm. “Really, for everything. You’ve been a massive help.”

“No need to thank me, (Y/N),” he says, sly smile tugging at his lips. “These are interesting times. I’d hate to miss anything.”

I smile and shake my head. “If anyone could manage to put a positive spin on this, it would be you.”

“I do my best,” he says. “I’ll go make that call. You make sure nothing blows up till Fury gets here.”

“I won’t make any promises about that.”

He nods and leaves to make arrangements. I check in with Maria to see where the evacuation plan is at.

“We just need to pack up and leave at this point,” she says. “You’re sure shit’s about to go down?”

“I’m certain. I worry that if we don’t evacuate, we’ll lose more people than necessary.”

“What do you count as necessary?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

“If it comes down to it, me.”

“You’d be willing to sacrifice yourself?”

“It sounds as if you have a problem with that.”

“I have a problem with anyone sacrificing themselves, but I’m pretty sure Barton would lose his fucking mind if you died.”

“Then we’ll do our best to avoid that.” She doesn’t seem convinced, but there’s no time to worry about it. “Coulson said he’d help you with the evacuation as soon as he has confirmation that Fury is on his way.”

“That’s great. I’ll get started on what I can. Where will you be if we need you?”

“I’ll be on the floor with Selvig. Clint is up in his usual perch. If you need anything, just let us know.”

“Guess I’ll see you when something goes wrong, then.”

I nod and pat her shoulder before heading back to speak with Selvig. I pull one of the lab techs away from the Tesseract before he can get too close along the way.

“All of you, stay away from that,” I command. “We don’t know what could happen if you touch it. I doubt it’ll be a cute little zap.”

Everyone nods and shrinks back to their work stations.

“That was quite the talking to, (Y/N),” Selvig says. “Somehow they never listen when I say the same thing.”

“It has everything to do with what I am, Doctor. I don’t think they like getting bad news from an alien.”

He laughs. “Perhaps. But you can’t really blame them for wanting to get a closer look. We’re watching history happen right in front of us.”

“Many have been lost to history. You all would be wise to remember that.”

“I understand why you’d be wary.”

“But you don’t take my concerns seriously.” I shake my head. “It’s a wonder humans have survived this long.”

“Ah, we’re a resilient species. You’d be surprised what we can survive.”

“I don’t think I want to be.” I fold my arms. “We’re waiting on Fury, now. When he arrives, we can begin to evacuate.”

“Shame. I really hoped that we could learn more before this time came.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll have ample opportunity to study oddities in the future.”

“I’d consider that a blessing,” he says.

I snorted and left him to his work.

An hour and a half later we begin evacuating the staff and moving important tech and other precious possessions offsite.

An hour after that Fury arrives.

“Talk to me, Doctor,” Fury says.

Selvig meets him halfway, saying, “The Tesseract is misbehaving.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“It’s not funny at all. The Tesseract is not only active, she’s… behaving.”

“How soon can we pull the plug?”

“She’s an energy source. We turn off the power, she turns it. If she reaches peak levels-”

“You prepared for this, harnessing energy from space.”

“But we don’t have the harness. My calculations are far from complete. And she’s throwing off interference, radiation. Nothing harmful, low levels of gamma radiation.”

“That can be harmful,” Fury mutters. “Where’s agent Barton?”

“The Hawk?” Selvig scoffs.

“He’s up on the catwalk, Director,” I say. “Keeping an eye on everything.”

“Get him down here.”

I nod and turn to Clint. I sign for him to come down and he immediately begins his descent.

“You were supposed to be keeping an eye on things,” Fury says.

“I see better from a distance, sir,” Clint offers a nod. “(Y/N)’s been keeping an eye on things closer to the ground.”

“Have either of you seen anything that might set this thing off?”

A technician alerts us to another energy spike and my stomach clenches. It’s getting close.

“Nobody’s come or gone,” Clint says. “And Selvig’s clean. No contacts, no IM’s. If there was any tampering, sir, it wasn’t on this end.”

“You’re still going with your space travel theory?” Fury asks.

“Yeah, the Cube would act as a doorway to the other end of space.” Clint shrugs. “Doors open from both sides.”

The building shakes and I grab Clint’s arm.

“It’s happening.” I look back to everyone at the workstations. “Everybody, out! Get out now.”

The Tesseract sparks and I pull Clint and Director Fury away from the machinery. Something in the Tesseract activates and a beam of light shoots out towards the platform near the wall. Everyone watches in morbid fascination as a portal opens before our eyes. A deep feeling of dread settles in my gut. As soon as it appears, it disperses into the room, leaving behind a figure crouched on the platform.

Several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents creep towards the figure. They slowly lift their head to reveal a wicked grin to go with a shock of wild, raven hair.

“Loki.” I take a step forward, but Fury blocks my path with his arm.

“Sir,” he says. “Please put down the spear.”

Loki looks at the object in his hand as if just now noticing he had it. He tilts his head to the side and lifts the spear, pointing it directly at Fury, Clint, and I. I manage to shove Clint and Fury away, but wind up taking the brunt of the blast. In the time it takes me to get to my feet again, he’s taken down five men and nearly killed the technician who was caught in the crossfire.

Before I can react, Loki rushes over to Clint, easily slapping his gun away. The glint of cold recognition in Loki’s eyes freezes the blood in my veins. Clint grunts as he struggles against my brother’s hold.

“You have heart,” Loki says. Loki lifts the spear to Clint’s chest.

“Stop!” I yell.

Loki jerkily turns his head to look at me, His eye twitches. “You.”

“Me.”

“You dare interfere?”

“Yes, I dare. You’re making a mistake here, Loki.”

“I assure you, I am not,” he says. He holds out his free hand to me. “Join me, sister. We can do this together.”

“I won’t,” I shake my head. “Just let him go. Please.”

“I don’t think I will.”

He presses the point of the spear to Clint’s chest and his demeanor immediately changes. His posture relaxes and he puts away his gun. Something about his eyes changes. I’m too distracted to notice Loki doing the same to another agent. His attention is drawn back towards Fury at the sound of a faint click.

“Please don’t,” he says. “I still need that.”

My eyes flit from the case in Fury’s hand to where the Tesseract is supposed to be. I only find an empty space.

“This doesn’t have to get any messier,” Fury just barely turns back.

“Of course it does. I’ve come too far for anything else.” That seems to get Fury’s full attention. “I am Loki, of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.”

“Loki,” Selvig stumbles to his feet.

“No,” I try to gesture for him to stay back. No one pays attention to me.

“We have no quarrel with your people,” Fury says, managing to keep his voice even and steady.

“An ant has no quarrel with a boot.”

“You planning to step on us?”

“I come with glad tidings,” Loki looks pointedly at everyone in the room. “Of a world made free.”

“Free from what?” I ask.

“Freedom,” Loki says as if it’s the most obvious answer. “Freedom is life’s great lie. Once you accept that, in your heart-” he presses the spear to Selvig’s chest. The Doctor gasps at the reaction. “You will know peace.”

“Yeah, you say “peace,” I kinda think you mean the other thing.”

Clint and I both notice the anomaly swirling in the ceiling of the room. Clint approaches Loki while I creep closer to the Director.

“Sir, Director Fury is stalling.” Clint steps up beside Loki and looks back at Fury and I. “This place is about to blow, and drop a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us.”

“Like the pharaohs of old.”

“He’s right,” Selvig says. “The portal’s collapsing in on itself. We have, maybe, two minutes before this goes critical.”

“Well then.”

Loki looks to Clint and nods and draws his gun. I just barely manage to jump in front of the director before Clint’s shot hits him. The force of the bullet knocks me back into Fury and we both fall to the floor in a heap. Neither of us can recover in time to stop Loki and his company from leaving with the Tesseract.

I roll off of the director and stumble to my feet only to brace myself against the wall. My legs give out and I slide to the floor, clawing at my jacket in search of the bullet. I barely register Fury warning Maria about Clint as I pull the bullet from my chest. I unzip my jacket and pull my t-shirt aside to inspect the potential wound. The skin just barely split, but I’ll have an awful bruise in the morning.

Fury hauls me to my feet and drags me from the room.

“They’ve got the Tesseract,” he says to Maria. “Shut them down!”

I follow Fury through the halls and out to the helicopter he arrived in. As soon as we lift off, we’re in pursuit of Loki’s commandeered vehicle. Fury shoots at them, only for Loki to shoot us out of the sky. Fury and I manage to jump from the aircraft before it crashes with us in it. Fury recovers faster than I do and he fires off several more rounds at the car. They manage to get away unscathed. I watch them drive off before falling back onto the dirt and trying to catch my breath.

I can faintly hear Coulson trying to contact Fury. He picks up and fills Coulson in. Fury asks for a report from Maria, who seems to still be stuck at the facility. She’s tasked with finding anyone she can that’s still alive in the tunnels.

“Coulson,” Fury says. “Get back to base. This is a Level Seven. As of right now, we are at war.”

“What do we do?” Coulson asks.

“We’re pulling every resource we have,” Fury’s jaw clenches. “That includes the Avengers initiative.”

“Sir, are you sure about that?”

“We have no other choice.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line cuts out and Fury appears in my line of sight. He offers me a hand up and I take it. I wobble as I get to my feet, but manage to steady myself.

“So,” he says. “You’re blue.”

“What?” He gestures at me and I look down at my hands. The enchantments must have faltered when I was shot. “Fuck.”

“Why keep this a secret?”

“I… you’re not upset?”

“No, I’m not upset. You’re not exactly the first alien I’ve met. I just need to know going forward.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You prioritized the mission over yourself and your boyfriend,” he explains. “You took a bullet for me-”

“I’m a little more bulletproof than you are,” I mutter. He scowls and I shrink away. “Sorry.”

“As I was saying, that earns you a little respect, if not a little trust on my end.”

“I-thank you, Director.”

“Explain yourself, thank me after.”

“Right, uhm… yes, I am blue. I hid it because I didn’t expect anyone to react well to someone who didn’t look human randomly showing up and warning them of a potential war. Before that, I hid it because those from my homeworld aren’t welcome on Asgard.”

“I was under the impression that you were Asgardian.”

“No, my brother and I hail from Jotunheim. We are Frost Giants by birth. Our adoptive father imbued Loki with enough power to disguise him as an Asgardian. I wasn’t so lucky.”

“So you stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Yes.”

“Fair play. Anything else you can do?”

I shrug. “I can freeze things, though it’s not particularly impressive. I’ve only managed to burn my brother.”

“Which brother?”

“The one you actually like.”

“The blond one?”

“Yes.”

“He planning on making an appearance?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I’ve asked for help from Asgard, but I haven’t gotten an answer.”

He begins walking back towards the facility. “I guess we’ll have to work with what we got right now.”

“I just hope that’s enough.”

I wrap my arms around myself and follow behind Fury.

Just before we meet up with Coulson he turns back and says, “We’ll get him back.”

I just nod.

I’m with Coulson when he calls Natasha. She tries to get him off the phone but seems to listen when he mentions Clint.

“He’s been compromised,” Coulson says.

He bobs his head from side to side and shoots me a wink while he waits for Natasha to get back on the line.

“We don’t know where he is, but I’ll brief you on everything when you get back.” Coulson takes a file that’s handed to him. “First, we need you to talk to the big guy.”

I can hear her scoff.

“Oh, I’ve got Stark,” he says. “You get the big guy.”

Her answer is positive, or something close to it because he goes to end the call. I quickly jump up from my seat and hold my hand out to stop him.

“Wait, please.”

“Stay on the line, Natasha.” He places his hand over the receiver. “What is it?”

“Could I talk to her?”

“You know her?”

I nod. “Clint introduced us.”

He nods and brings the phone back to his ear. “You have a minute to talk to (Y/N)?”

I take the phone when he holds it out to me and follow him down the hall. “Natasha?”

“(Y/N),” she says. “How are you holding up?”

‘Well, Clint shot me, so I’ll say not well.“

“He shot you? That doesn’t sound right.”

“He was aiming for Fury. I jumped in and took the bullet.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Bruised, but fine. I don’t think he was aiming to kill. But something Loki did to him… I think it’s mental. Maybe he’s controlling him.”

“You think Clint’s okay?”

“Loki wouldn’t have taken him if he weren’t useful to him past being a bargaining chip. He has to be alive.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

“I’m worried,” I admit.

“We’ll get him back, (Y/N). Don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

“I have to go. I’ll talk to you when we reach the Helicarrier.”

“Alright, good luck.” The line goes dead and I hand the phone back to Phil. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He tucks the phone into his breast pocket. “I’m headed out. You wanna come with? Dropping in on Stark is usually pretty entertaining.”

I shake my head. “I can’t, Fury handed off everyone’s profiles to me earlier. I want to know everything I can before they show up.”

“I understand. Just remember that everyone’s different in person than they are on paper.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

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

Part 11

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you liked this chapter, please reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Tag list:

@ghostlyhamlet, @baguettegirl, @claws-of-vibranium, @creaturefeatures101, @buckysendoftheline, @imagine-assembling-the-avengers, @ptprocrastination, @1950schick, @amayasymone23, @liladeldiamandis, @arfrona-and-marvel, @ek823, @fanaticfangirl001, @ilovebeingjoyful, @furrywerewolfcollector, @kissofvenom922, @not-that-type-of-person, @dawn-phantomhive, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @mairhof1, @starryeyesbadguys, @leahhavoc, @future-ll-evans, @trap-house-homiecide, @buckywhitewolfbarnes, @kaepm981, @howdoesoneadult, @pcdmesamidala, @thefandomplace, @sian22redux, @skeletoresinthebasement, @lady-thor-foster, @jazzcutie, @gaytonystark, @buckybcrnes, @geeksareunique, @nyxveracity, @idalinette, @tomorraw, @breezy1415, @feelmyroarrrr, @darling-loki, @lemonadeorange73, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @princess-unicorn124, @hermionie-is-my-queen, @tofeartheunknown, @queenoftheunderdark

This fic:

@mysticalhermitofdoom​, @imagine-you-are​, @avengerscompound​, @thorne93​, @cryptidwolfe​, @welldonebeca​, @falling-stars-never-cry​, @this-is-mycrisis​, @rhymesmenagerie​

#readerxclint barton #clint bartonxreader #reader x clint barton #clint barton x reader #loki laufeyson #clint barton #hawkeye #my perfect birdie boy #the avengers #reader insert marvel fic

[helianthus-tarot]

Pick-a-card: How do/would people see you as a couple?

Tarot/Oracle pick-a-card reading:

Hey, here's another reading. I should be doing my work but here I am lol.

So I’d like to be clear; this is for those who are in a relationship, or those who have a person in their mind; and whoever this person is, you have had some sort of interaction or have a relationship with them already (eg. friendship). If you are single and have no one in mind, and would like to know about your future relationship, this might not be for you. If you are thinking about an ex, probably not for you either. I mean, you can try to see if it resonates, but some piles seem to cater more to people who are currently dealing with someone in their life.

I asked three questions;

How do/would people see you both as a couple (your relationship) How do/would people see you as your person’s partner How do/would people see your person as your partner

This is about how people see you as a couple. What people see may not be what reality really is. And also, please adjust the tense and grammar according to your situation tbh I think I mixed them up.  

Feedback in the forms of likes, reblogs, messages is very much appreciated. I’d also love to know how you relate/not relate to the reading. I hope to improve and to be able to give out better content!

Instructions;

Center yourself and focus on the topic above, think of the person you are in relationship with or your love interest. Choose a number (or numbers) that you feel the most drawn to, as if the number is calling out to you. Trust your intuition and read the message under the cut.

May the message resonate.

Visit my tumblr for more readings!  

Pile 1 

You two as a couple: The Hermit, The Moon You as your person’s partner: Ace of Wands Your person as your partner: The Sun

So right off the bat, people see that both of you share similar energy.

You as your person’s partner, the way people see it is that you spark the fire and life inside your person, and your person in return does the same for you in a way that you become closer and true to yourself. People see you as a partner who takes on opportunities to grow in your relationship; maybe you do things that can bring you and your person closer, or maybe you like creative dates and doing playful or adventurous activities with your partner; which something that can help your relationship grow. People see that your energy encourages your person to enjoy life more. A passionate partner. People might see that your person can’t seem to keep their hands off you.  

People also see that your person reciprocates the same energy in return. Your person might have a youthful, playful energy, and their energy seems to bring playful side out of you too. They see your person as a gift being given to you. Maybe your person is someone popular within their friends group or community; there’s this feeling of you being so lucky that this person is your partner. People see it as you two being the source of energy for each other, feeding off each other, moving each other forward.

As a couple, your relationship gives off this isolation vibe? Wait, how to describe this. You both have some sacred space for you guys as a couple, like your own world. And people sense something deeper between you two, that you might share some deep emotional or soul connection with each other. I see lights in both of these cards (The Hermit and The Moon) so like I mentioned just now, people see you both as being the guiding light in each other life, as being partners who can bring each other back from whatever turmoil one of you may have. People see you both as also having this serious melancholic side, sometimes you give off this philosophical vibe when you two are talking or discussing about something. People think you get each other on a deeper soulful or emotional level.

The energy is quite similar to Pile 3.

...

Pile 2

You two as a couple: 5 of Pentacles, The Hanged Man You as your person’s partner: Knight of Pentacles Your person as your partner: 6 of Cups

To be truthful, 5 of Pentacles isn’t exactly a bright card; unless the surrounding cards very much are. First of all, I’m not here to tell you whether your relationship has a future or not and good or not, you decide that. This is merely what people see, and what people see may not be what reality really is. Just keep that in mind.

What I can sense is that people might see your relationship as difficult; they see it as you both might have gone or would go through shit together (mainly because of the choice to be in the relationship). I mean, adjust the tense according to your situation. People wonder how did you do it and whether you two really have a future together. That’s the feeling I got.

They might see someone in the relationship as having been abandoned or is abandoned periodically; as if it happens several times. OR both of you might have been or would be abandoned by other people (due to being in a relationship with each other). Maybe there are people who are against your relationship, this might be the thing that contributes to the hardship in the 5 of Pentacles. The Hanged Man reminds me of many things; different perspective, stagnation, a time when nothing obvious happens, a time of waiting, surrendering, a time of changes happening internally. Your relationship might be different than the typical relationship. And due to this difference, people see your relationship as sometimes not going anywhere, not fulfilling, may negatively impact one of you or both, etc.

People might also see you both as being able to see something about your relationship that they themselves are not able to see. Maybe they see something in that relationship that's why they stay/continue, kind of feeling. People might feel like regardless what reason you have for being in this situation/relationship, it’s just hard for them to understand. You both seem to hold on and are able to stay together regardless the struggle and problems that come at you, for some reason that defies the logic. There’s this feeling of ‘oddity’, ‘illogical’, ‘unfathomable’.  

You as your person’s partner; people see it as you doing the hard work. You are practical, putting tangible and consistent effort into the relationship. You are patient with your relationship, you are willing to put on work to make this a success. For your person, people see them as someone who might have a long history with you, which maybe why you guys can’t seem to let go. You have a soft spot for your person. I know 6 of Cups can be considered a soulmate card. I did consider that, which is why I said you might have a long history or past connection with this person. 

Honestly in this 6 of Cups, it doesn’t feel like your person is the person who’s giving, but instead the one who receives (because of your Knight of Pentacles card). People might see them as being the receiver in the relationship, and you are the giver. At least, from the surface, whether this is true or not. Whether your person reciprocate in the same way, isn’t apparent here. I however get the feeling that you want something from them emotionally, you might try to feel enough with whatever you currently have with your person or whatever they can give you.  

I mean, there’s no advice card in this reading, but because I give advice in the other pile, I think it’s only fair I give something here.

I’m the kind of person who follows my guts more often than not regardless how many people are against it or find it weird (and many have, trust me). I have this view that people don’t always know what’s best to do in your life because they are far from the situation (they are not living your life, you are), but I can also see that they are not always wrong/clueless either, because there are things that can only be seen from afar. So IMO to get the actual reality of a situation, look at both sides. But in considering other people’s perspective, avoid those who say negative things out of their own limited belief and insecurity, these people will only confuse you and wont give a close-to-objective description of the reality since they heavily filter the reality through their internal issues.

...

Pile 3

You two as a couple: Wheel of Fortune, Page of Pentacles, The Magician You as your person’s partner: 4 of Pentacles Your person as your partner: 4 of Swords (2 of Cups and 6 of Cups fell together with this)

So you guys are perceived as that couple who do things together, creating things together, travelling or going to places together. Exploring, learning, growing. People see you two as inevitable, as something that is meant to happen, fated, natural order of the universe lmao. You guys together are perceived as having this expansion yet grounded energy. I have this Page and Magician as how people perceived you as a couple/unit but I can’t help from feeling like people see one of you as being less established than the other. In a sense that there’s also a feeling of teaching and learning here. Like, one person has a lot to teach. The other, although less established, also has something to give too.

4 of Pentacles lol people might see you as being protective of your person, of you two’s relationship in general, as someone who has got what they want and intend to keep it that way. People might feel a little miffed about it though, I think it has to do with the 2 of Cups and 6 of Cups that fell out for your person’s part. I put those two cards back in the deck but somehow I think they are relevant here. People notice that or see that your person is your safe space, your home, your comfort, someone whom you find at the end of the day, someone you go to for rest. And they see that your person likes this role too. Like, if you are scared or tired, your person wants to be there for you; they cherish you and you are special to them. In a way, people sense that your person is your person; soulmate, the one, whatever you call it. So people can see why you are protective over this. There’s a little feeling of envy here. Like, yeah yeah we know they are your person but chill or no need to make it so obvious.

Honestly regardless what people think, just do you. Be affectionate with your person in public if you want and your person is okay with it. Who cares, right. It’s not like people can do anything about it lol. Though, a gentle reminder to be careful to not let your insecurity takes over (if you have any), you don’t want to act on the negative side of 4 of Pentacles.  

The energy of this pile is quite similar to Pile 1, just saying!

...

Pile 4

You two as a couple: 10 of Swords, 7 of Cups You as your person’s partner: The Star Your person as your partner: Queen of Cups

I get the feeling that people see you both as two people who have been through a lot of past hurt/failed relationships, who finally have met the right person. Like, you or your person could have had many relationships before, or many not-so-relationship-but-something-else-was-there, or many times things just don’t work out and it has been hard for you/your person to even be in a relationship. And then you met each other. You met each other and it feels like this is it, or at least people see you both this way. You coming together, to other people, seem like the end of your/your person’s suffering and meaningless pain and unfruitful effort. Finally they have met someone who can care and love them the right way.

As we can see in The Star and Queen of Cups. People see both of you respectively as being emotionally attune to each other, comforting each other. People see you both as being soft and sensitive to each other’s concerns, pain, or personal conflicts. They see you as the guiding light of your person, as someone who your person can be vulnerable with; you wont hurt or take advantage of your person. They see your person as someone who cares deeply about you, who can calm your emotions and who are fulfilling to you emotionally. You both are seen as couple who are honest with each other, who can have heart-to-heart conversations, who address and sooth each other’s pain, who have so much love to give to each other.

I’m sorry this is short while others are pretty lengthy! The pile is so straightforward.

...

Pile 5

You two as a couple: 7 of Pentacles, The Devil You as your person’s partner: 9 of Swords Your person as your partner: 3 of Wands

First of all, I feel like whoever the person you are thinking about, you guys might have had a friends-with-benefits kind of relationship before? Or it starts of as escapism, as something to indulge in and not serious. That’s how people see you both because it might have started off like that. But people also see that you both could work out, if right effort is put into it. If you want to work it out and be in a serious relationship together, you perhaps can. At least this is how it feels like. People can see that you both have something together; a connection, passion, a link. You both are often seen gravitating to each other at the end of the day. To people, yours might not exactly start off as an ideal relationship, but it can move toward that. These two can make it work if they want.    

With this 9 of Swords, people see you as someone who your person always goes to at the end of the day. Like no matter where they are or who they are with, they’ll come and search for you. You calm their fears and demons, you make their nights calmer. Weird I don’t know why I got this impression. Late night calls, late night meetings, late night talking about some shit about the universe and serious past issues. This person might have issues or a hard life growing up, insomnia, issue of abandonment? Or you do. But I feel like it’s your person. People might see you sometimes being worried about this person whereabouts, or there might be instances you might not know what to do with the connection or about where this is heading.

As for your person, people see them as, I don’t know why I get the feeling like they aren’t always in one place for too long. At least they are not the type who has a routine, schedule or who is totally predictable. People see this person as indirectly (by being with you) pushing you to move beyond, to step in an unfamiliar territory, whether this is good or bad it’s not apparent here. People see this person as not really the kind of people you are used to or the kind of people in your typical friend circle, as if this person vibes differently from your usual life. Your person is perceived as a wanderer; I know this is wands which means fire element but I feel air. Like Gemini or Aquarius. Moon in aspect to Uranus kind of vibe. You or your person might have issue with attachment, like one of you might have been abandoned before and this makes it slightly challenging to form a relationship with them; but it could work. That’s how people see it.

#pick a card reading #tarotblr #tarot reading #free tarot reading #card reading #read: all #read: love #pac

[ashes-to-anew]

“Redemption Arcs” Magic Post (Part 1)

Because “Redemption Arcs” is basically a half-assed collage of ideas that can barely be classified as coherent and a sad excuse for the outline of a “story”, I’ve decided to start creating lore posts about how the universe works. Yep, I said universe, because space travel, other planets, and futuristic technology is a thing. Not to forget, it’s my attempt to fit all of my favorite characters into one storyline, so it’s bound to get a bit complicated. So strap yourselves in, demons that live in my room, because we’re talking about ~magic~.

There’s three different types of magic, unique abilities some magic has over others, a council of the best magic users, and abilities which are unrelated to “magic”.

Types of Magic:

Set: Set magic is magic that only has one specific “form”. You know how elemental magic works in other media, in which a fire user can only use fire magic and whatnot? Yeah, this is basically that but on a broader spectrum. Not only does Set magic apply to various elements, like fire, electricity, and metal, it also applies to other things, such as telepathy, telekinesis, shadow manipulation, the manipulation/use of sound, and so on. What a Set magic user can do depends on the kind of magic, but they can’t do anything unrelated to their type of magic. Like, a fire user can’t use telepathy, and etcetera. Set magic is the most versatile and common-- you can be very good at it, or have little use of it. It’s not a surprise to see someone using Set magic for very mundane things. However, if one is unusually powerful when welding Set magic, they have a chance at becoming one of the ~Illustrious Trine~. However, that is very rare-- not only do you have to practice a lot, you must be naturally gifted with the power, which is very rare.

Fluid: Fluid magic is an oddity. Not restricted to a certain aspect like Set magic, Fluid magic users have a lot more use for their magic. Their magic can act as extra limbs, with special powers. One can move things around without needing to lift a finger. One could use their magic in combat, either using the limbs to strike and block, or instead conjuring their magic in a powerful blast of light. They could use the magic to give themselves wings and fly, or hold a legion at bay. Fluid magic users are incredibly rare, but most, if not all of them, are extremely powerful. Thus, they have the reputation for being unstable and uncontrollable, able to turn on you at the flick of a switch. Due to Fluid magic being very hard to control correctly, anyone born with Fluid magic must take classes to restrain their magic (or if their family is wealthy, learn to use it). There is a Registry for all Fluid magic users, in which they are added to at birth-- hiding a Fluid magic user from the Registry is a harshly punishable crime. It’s unknown what causes people to be born with Fluid magic, but it does seem to occur more commonly when at least one of the parents is very powerful with Set magic.

Deity: Deity magic has no bounds. And when I mean no bounds, I mean no bounds. Unlimited body modification? It’s possible. Turning someone to dust with a flick of your tail? Definitely possible. Creating fits of mass hysteria? Wiping out whole cities? Summoning a perfect chocolate cake out of nothing? All of it is possible for a Deity magic user. That’s because Deity magic users are typically, well, deities. If someone is immortal, then they probably have Deity magic. Sure, restrictions vary from deity to deity, but the gist of Deity magic is that boundaries depend entirely on the user, and not Deity magic itself.

Non-Magic:

Innate Abilities: Innate Abilities can be confused for magic, but in reality are not magic at all! Abilities are restricted to certain species, and are simply acquired by just being that species. That’s why they’re called Innate Abilities-- you just get them at birth. They’re innate. Some examples are clones, all of whom can shapeshift, and dragons, which all have some sort of elemental breath depending on the subspecies. Of course, there are many other examples, but it would be impossible to list them all. And yes-- someone can have both an Innate Ability AND Set or Fluid magic.

Ok this is getting longer than I expected I’ll finish it later

#My posts #Lore #Redemption Arcs #Magic

[inikavulpixelreviews]

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - The Hatenna Family

856: Hatenna

What an adorable Kirby-enemy lookin lil dude! Hatenna is a cute lil monster that's little more than a head with feet and some hair that it seems to use as arms. So much hair that its eyes are covered over by its fringe, which is always a cute look. It also has a “tail” that resembles a little sleepers cap! Said tail apparently also acts as an emotion detector, and that it hates every second of it. It wants to stay as far away from feeling as possible. (Mood?)

857: Hattrem

Hattrem feels notably more typical though... not only growing a sudden body but also pulling the hair over its eyes. They really can't have a Pokemon remain “eyeless” for long, huh? It also SLIGHTLY switches gimmicks up by having its hat be made out of hair, which it also uses to stand on and even beats up anyone displaying strong emotions near it with its pigtails. Not even specifying “negative” or “positive” emotions. Just emotions.

It was also clear to me upon seeing this thing that we were in for another “Gardevoir.” And I was right, though it is an interesting inversion of the concept since Gardevoir is a design all about strong magical powers via emotional expression but this line is the exact opposite in that it wants to throw hands with anyone that so much as has a good day around it.

It's also once again running into this odd problem of the line starting out Psychic type but then becoming Psychic/Fairy. This line already feels like it aughta be Psychic/Fairy, or at least should've stayed mono-Psychic, but here it is being different. It all seems to be in service of the character Bede's development, given he starts out a stuck-up asshole who primarily uses Psychic types with Galarian Ponyta and Hattrem here as his “signature” Pokemon of sorts, only to then mellow out a little and become more of a Fairy type trainer, Rapidash and Hatterene reflecting that by going from Mono-Psychic to Psychic/Fairy. Eh, it's an interesting idea though I don't like the idea of entire Pokemon lines being designed to selfishly serve the development of a character ingame simply because stuff like this just comes off as an odd series of questions if you say, got into this series two more generations down the line, ended up really liking this line, but was curious about this typing oddity that was lost on you because you didn't know the context behind it.

Anyway, Hattrem definitely feels like another Pokemon that has its concept supersede its own design a bit. Hattrem feels a bit bland design-wise as much as I like the idea of a Psychic emotion-reader that hates being able to read emotions.

Personal Score: 6.5/10

858: Hatterene

Thankfully, Hatterene saves the line from being a generic Fae-creature line. It immediately has a cool visual in being a limbless curvy humanoid, but it's only constructed this body entirely out of its own hair!

Obviously it has the suggestion of its hair-like arms ending in claws not being its real arms, its true arms being those tiny lil slender sticks you can see even in its official art. But if you look closely, that facade extends into its legs as well! Its legs aren't actually that long, it's just standing on a gown made of its own hair again! This thing's a tiny little grey space-alien-lookin little fairy monster just disguising itself with its hair!

And of course, I like just about anything looking like a witch. With its pointy, large-brimmed hat combined with a little tentacle tassel that also acts as a claw it uses to beat up anybody for the usual reasons, it even merges the witch look with a bit of traditional “princess”, like it's the evil witch and the “damsel” at the same time. In any other context I probably would've groaned at the very idea of basing a monster on a damsel-in-distress in the first place, but this is at least an interesting subversion of it. It's a neat witch look, even if it still isn't the traditional, green-skinned, sickly-lookin, boil-covered witch design I'm STILL one to want.

It's overall a very neat way to incorporate the fairy typing as the typical “seemingly innocent, but watch out” type design. Very fun in a lot of places but with one irritating glaring flaw that I'll talk about in a minute...

G-Max Hatterene:

Of course, being the signature Pokemon of a major character grants you G-Max rights. Though Hatterene doesn't change much overall, mainly just changing the hat-tassels to just be three tentacle-like claws rather than one tentacle with a claw.

It also picks up a bigger “head” chamber, which seems like it more or less confirms that there's a “princess” angle going on here. Which is annoying in the same way I mentioned a minute ago but cool in another. Its head-chamber-hair seems to have some gaps in it, looking a bit like a cage. Given the imagery of Hatterene being a tiny gremlin creature in a big body of hair, Hatterene has made itself into a tower with a princess locked up at the top. In fact, it COULD be specifically a “Rapunzel” monster, given the whole long hair motif. Again, ANY other context and I would've been having a complete other discussion here, but it's hard to deny that a design like that pulled off with this amount of thoughtfulness and elegance is just plain neat and cool as hell.

Personal Score: 9/10

I get the hint I might sound preachy every time I've gone up to talk about this sort of thing but I feel like it needs pointing out that my loving a Pokemon once again comes with a really big “BUT”.

Since Gardevoir, we've gotten at least one traditionally “fem” coded Pokemon per generation, but recent generations have been different from the older ones. Can you guess what it is? No? Well, Gardevoir, Lopunny, and Gothitelle here have the usual 50/50 gender ratio, while Florges, Tsareena, and now Hatterene are given an arbitrary 100% female rate with no males of the species existing. We've gotten less and less fem-coded Pokemon that are allowed to be boys if you really want them to be. What's wrong with letting boys look traditionally pretty? The only exceptions seem to be Primarina and Sylveon, but those are hanging onto the pre-established gender-ratios of Starters and Eevee respectively.

Like, even looking past the more modern understanding of gender, it seems like a particularily unimaginative way to do animal gender. I've used this example in the past, but y'know ants? Pretty much ALL ants within a colony are females. The only male ants ever born come out seasonally for a “nuptial flight” where they meet with a queen-to-be and mate before, in most cases, dying immediately after. Yet Durant has the usual 50/50 gender ratio. I mean, I know Durant doesn't really do ant representation justice in general but it certainly doesn't help. Pokemon rarely ever gives biological justification for their somewhat arbitrary gender ratios (75% of Vulpixes are female for whatever reason?) but it makes me wonder if things like female Machoke or male Gardevoir would ever slide in modern Pokemon in favor of just giving them 100% male and 100% female ratings. Do you think male peacocks give a god-diddly-damn if they more fit the bill for traditionally feminine coding while the drab-looking females look a bit more traditionally “male”? Of course not. So why should Pokemon?

It's not enough for me to lower the score any; especially since I doubt Hatterene's lame gender ratio was decided by the artist that made it, but it's something I just wanted to bring light to since it’s mildly frustrated me every time it’s come up.

[Archive]

#Pokemon #Hatenna #Hattrem #Hatterene #Pokemon Reviews #Gigantamax Hatterene

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Chapter 40 - Emancipation

Author’s Note: Adrien has an apartment! I just decided to say that he straight up bought it. Also, reference 'slides' are a bit different this time. I, uh, had a little too much time on my hands, and I found a room/house design thing online and built it off of a random floor plan I'd found, and then decorated the main living space. Also, yes I made sure he had an apartment with a balcony. I haven't looked at it for uh, probably a few weeks now, and I don't have time to fix anything weird, soooo... bear with me? Also, I don't know anything about this in general, it's mostly just to give you a better idea of the setting.

Yes, I purposefully chose the more unusual furniture and decorations.

Anyway, find them here!

Chapter Summary: Adrien gets settled into his new home.

First | Previous | Next

It took time. More than they wanted, and far less than they expected.

It took time, but Adrien is free.

The morning after they’d decided to start their operation a little earlier than expected, there were already articles.

Articles that didn’t look so good for the Agreste brand. Sure, initially, the lawyers tried to keep on top of it, but more came.

And more.

And more.

And more.

The stream of articles was seemingly endless, and just as Marinette suspected, more hidden things came to light over time.

Once there had been a few days of the fashion mogul’s reputation taking a beating, they struck.

Adrien legally began the process to become emancipated.

Gabriel was furious. He demanded Adrien come home, but couldn’t enforce it. The bodyguard quit, openly supporting Adrien’s decision.

Nathalie was the only one to stand by Gabriel.

When the day came that they had to go to court (they suspected Gabriel found a way to have it pushed forward to end the madness sooner), Gabriel’s smug face made his stance clear.

When they’d played the clip. Gabriel looked pale, not having realized that they had that.

It’s not even the end. They not so subtly accuse the man of everything from unpaid child labor to child abuse and there’s proof for all of it.

By the end, Adrien is granted emancipation, along with plenty of Gabriel’s bank account balance as monetary compensation for all that happened.

Which brings them to now. Everyone had had a sleepover at Marinette’s, and now they’re helping Adrien with his new apartment.

Chloe’s movers had finished with the bigger furniture items already, now they were figuring out what else he needed.

Marinette paled as soon as they entered the apartment. She stared for a moment, then walked into a corner and covered her eyes, her back to the room.

“Adrien. I love you. I really do. I understand. But at the same time. I just. Cannot.”

“Aw, Mari, it’s not that bad. It could have been worse,” Adrien teases, well aware of her feelings on the matter. 

When Adrien was choosing furniture for his new home, he’d come to the realization that he truly could choose, anything.

Anything at all.

Some of his motivations had partially been choosing things that would have hurt his Father’s very soul, but mostly, he just chose things that he liked, paying no mind to whether it fit with the style of the room.

In fact, he tried to get as many colors as he could.

And that was just with the furniture. They hadn’t even gotten to the decorations yet.

Marinette’s poor designer soul was having a crisis. Chloe, Allegra, and Felix seemed somewhat uncomfortable looking at the mess, but Allan seemed fine with it. Claude had played the biggest role in helping him choose all the pieces (there was a shark head bean bag that they’d been the one to discover), so they were the least surprised. He and Adrien had matching grins.

They’d been planning, and they were far from done.

Marinette wheels around at the implication that he could have made this worse. “Please don’t,” is all she manages to whisper.

It really isn’t as bad as it could have been, and honestly, if he were to go too far even he’d be uncomfortable. The walls are a cheery yellow, standing out against the dark wood floors. Near the door is a white circular table (it’s hard to call it a ‘dining table’ when all he has for comparison is the one back at Father’s place), with four chairs around it. There are two types of chairs, each pair placed across from each other.

One set, a grape colored oddity, had caught his eye immediately. It was just so different from anything he would have found back at the mansion that he’d been immediately sold. The wide curved bottom is supported by thin trapezoid shaped legs that connect to each other through another metal rod along the bottom. The base of the chair tightens as it becomes the back before widening again in a vaguely crescent shape. It’s partners at the table are entirely different. The bottom is like small wooden stools, a lighter oak color. The ocean colored back starts as smooth wings along the sides before connecting in the back, not even coming close to the stool, leaving a gap.

“At least the other stools are just gray?”

“I’ll just… only ever look at your kitchen. Only your kitchen. Ever.”

That’s fair. He’d left the kitchen alone, and as such it was likely the tamest part of the main room. The stools in question are simple, wood legs with a simple gray seat and back.

There are four of those stools seated at the table, facing into the kitchen. The other side of the surface has a sink. The fridge is in the corner, with more counters next to it, and a stovetop at the end. A microwave hangs on the wall, with wall cupboards next to it. The counters and cupboards are simply white, and the wall behind them is some sort of triangular zig-zag pattern of gray and white.

“Did you end up getting that Ponyo rug?” Allan redirects them.

“Of course!” Adrien hurries to the living room, where, sure enough, most of the space in front of the couch is taken up by a rug with Ponyo’s sisters swimming forward together. The couch itself is three cushions long, the base and back of it being dark gray, while the seat cushions and half of the middle back were light gray. The other two back cushions were half blue.

A short gray coffee table holds the tv, and a fluffy pink beanbag is next to the shark head one, parallel to the wall.

“Yeah,” Chloe quips, “This is what I imagined Adrikin’s decorating as.”

“We aren’t even done!”

“Before you go to the store, you may want to go through each room so we can make a list of what sort of stuff you want to look for,” Sabrina reminds.

Allegra gestures towards the empty walls. “Like what you want to do with your walls.”

“Pictures,” Adrien answers immediately. “I want memories on my walls, not money. I don’t want to put something up just because it’s fancy or expensive. If I have something, it’s going to be because it makes me happy.”

“That is the most precious thing I’ve ever heard. How on earth did you become so sweet in that place?” Claude hugs the former model.

Adrien tries to shrug, but it’s difficult with how many people are hugging him now. 

---

The group leaves the apartment again, having dropped off all the purchases.

“Well, if we’re going to get pictures for you, then we’ll begin with whatever you want to do. Decision time!” Allegra cheers.

“Uhhh… I don’t really know.”

“That’s fine!”

“Yeah, we can just explore the city with you!”

“You’ll have no restrictions for once!”

It would be nice to be able to go around Paris as Adrien without having to worry about an akuma on his tail or Gabriel tracking him down.

“Let’s do it!”

They wander around the city, often stopping at the well known landmarks Adrien had never been allowed to properly visit. Everyone is sure to take pictures of each other, doing their best to catch as many moments as they can. Marinette and Claude catch each other taking pictures of each other, grinning mischievously at each other through the lenses of their phones.

Allegra takes a picture of that.

At one point, inspiration strikes Marinette, who begins planning out loud to Allan, who happens to be the closest. Adrien stares at her with such a soft face, and Felix gets a picture of his expression.

When they get slushies at some point, Allegra has a red one, and Chloe a blue one. Chloe mumbles something about purple being a nice color, and Adrien gets a picture of their blushing faces. When they stand to go, Allegra holds out her hand and says, “Since we’ll be walking for a while, could you hold this for me?”

Their faces get even redder after Chloe takes the other girl’s hand.

Sabrina got a video of that interaction.

One of the group gets a picture of Claude and Adrien mimicking The Thinker.

Eventually, it’s getting a little late. Everyone starts to head back to Adrien’s place, Allan and Marinette muttering to each other.

The pair drag Adrien into a grocery store.

“You need to learn to cook.”

“So ya’ need ingredients.”

Marinette gets out her phone, showing it to Adrien. “These are all fairly simple recipes, so you choose a few you want to try, we can get the stuff for those.”

Adrien bounces where he stands, going through the list and choosing five or so. “Are these good?”

“It’s your choice, so if you want them, then they’re good,” Allan assures.

Adrien smiles at that.

Marinette shoves him towards the others. “Allan and I can get the ingredients, you can choose some pictures. They’re all in that shared album, so just choose your favorites and get them printed.”

He salutes her. “Yes, ma’am!”

---

Adrien unlocks the door, gesturing for everyone to enter.

“Ready to try your hand at cooking?” Allan calls as he and Marinette set the groceries on the counter.

“It sounds exciting!” Adrien cheers, hurrying over to help them put things away.

“The rest of you, out of the kitchen!” Marinette ushers everyone else to the living room. “Shoo!”

“This is ridiculous-”

“Utterly ridiculous, yes Chloe, we know. Out!’

With the other five banished from the kitchen, Adrien, Allan, and Marinette focus on their task.

“So it may be for the best if ya’ choose a recipe that doesn’t need an oven-” Allan starts.

“Just for our piece of mind-” Marinette continues.

“For your first few goes.”

“Of course if you want to try one-”

“That needs an oven-”

“Then we’d certainly support that-”

“But we just aren’t so sure our hearts can handle the stress-”

“Of you ‘playing with fire’-”

“So to speak.”

Adrien just looks between the two of them, blinking a few times. “When did you start finishing each other’s sentences?”

The two look at each other, then shrug, speaking in unison, “It just happens.”

“Claude calls it their ‘Mom-mind-meld’,” Felix informs.

“It’s freaky!” Claude shouts, “One minute they’re normal the next they’re telepathic! Always be on your toes! You never know when it’ll start!”

“We aren’t that bad,” they argue.

Claude gestures at them helplessly. “See?! Same tone! Same inflection! Same everything!” He falls off the couch, then scrambles backwards to hide behind a beanbag.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Ignore them.”

“Anyways, we’ve got to get started-”

“This dinner won’t make itself after all.”

“So here’s the list you made-”

“The ones that don’t need an oven-”

“Are at the top.”

Adrien glances back at his other friends. “Should I be scared?” He stage whispers.

Allegra, for her part, seems to be amused. “You’re fine. Just don’t get hurt. If anything happens then you’ve got two synchronised anxious mom types hovering over you. Just accept your fate, they’ll be fine.”

Adrien turns to the list, eventually selecting one of the ones near the top.

They nod, Marinette reading off the instructions, while Allan supervises Adrien’s actions. For the most part Adrien does it all on his own, though the other boy has to intervene at one point, when Adrien almost cuts his finger off.

When the two have been assured there’s not even a cut, let alone blood, they continue, and soon enough Adrien has finished.

High fives are exchanged, and Marinette produces a gold star from somewhere, sticking it on the recipe card she’d written everything down on.

“Now you know you’ve done this one before!”

“Great job!”

“Hey! Mari! Al’! Over here!”

“Yeah?” Allan answers.

“What?” Marinette asks, confused.

“You’re all good, Claude. They’re back to normal.” Allegra turns to where Claude is presumably hiding.

Sure enough, the actor pops up. “Thank goodness.”

“Adrikins! What did you make?”

In response, Adrien begins to set out plates, and everyone hurries over.

---

“Where are Allegra and Claude?” Marinette asks, setting down her lunch box as she arrives at the lunch table where only Allan and Felix are seated.

“Last minute student tour.”

“Ooh! Exciting!”

School has been strange ever since the news of Lila broke. Her fellow students had definitely seen the story, and she knows they’re not stupid. There’s no way they didn’t piece together that she was the student bullied out of Dupont. She knows there had already been rumors of her having been bullied, and that ‘some girl called Lila Rossi’ had hurt her.

Surprisingly, these rumors didn’t seem to make people dislike her, instead they all just loved her more for it, which had confused Marinette early on. She’d been so stuck in the mindset that people would hate her if given any reason to.

Then the school just decides that they still like her? It had been confusing.

She could tell people were torn. Everyone was aware that it wasn’t their business to bring it up, but everyone acknowledged what happened without flat-out saying it. Mostly, her classmates just seemed to be extra nice for a few days, wanting to see her smile, which was nice, but she can already feel herself trying to figure out how ‘pay them back’ which is a habit she’s been trying to break.

There’s no need for her to ‘pay back’ kindness. Her classmates just wanted to lessen what they knew must have been a stressful experience. Still though, it’s so ingrained in her that she needs to pay someone back for anything and everything.

A new student would be nice, just to change up the norm for a bit.

“What’s up Mari?”

She groans, flopping onto the table. “Nice people are nice, and I’m still trying to convince my brain that that doesn’t require any sort of ‘pay back’.”

Allan frowns. “Oh dear.”

“We will have to work with you on that, but for now, perhaps a distraction would be nice.”

“Like what?”

Felix nods towards the doors to the cafeteria, where she can hear Allegra, “...and here’s the cafeteria.”

Claude continues, “This room contains absolutely no one you’ve ever met before, most definitely not the love of your life, as an example.”

Marinette turns around, seeing Claude, Allegra, and…

Adrien.

She smiles widely, getting up and rushing over.

He catches her in a tight hug, spinning her around. “Hi, Mari. Surprise?”

“Plotters, each and every one of you.”

Claude pretends to be taking an oath. “We only use our powers for good, I promise.”

“Mhm?”

“Okay, maybe sometimes for mischief.”

Allegra rolls her eyes. “With you it’s always mischief.”

“Or puns!” Adrien adds.

“I’ll have you know that my school puns are high class.”

“This. This is my life for the foreseeable future.”

Marinette just pats Allegra consolingly.

“You know Claude, geology rocks, but geography is where it’s at.”

“I can’t even threaten not to finish your tour because you have Claude. This is ridiculous!”

“Aww, you’re starting to sound like Chloe,” Marinette teases.

Allegra goes slightly pink, throwing her hands in the air and walking away. “Allan and Felix will leave me alone.”

Felix shakes his head as she approaches. “If this is about your girlfriend, then it is fair game.”

“We aren’t dating.”

“We can hear the ‘yet’, Ally. Also, we both know I’m not above puns,” Allan chimes in.

“I get no peace.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Adrien consoles, coming over and swiping some of Marinette’s food, who huffs in mock-offense.

---

Author’s Note: Look at Adrien! Becoming an Independent Boy!! Love these precious children!

For those of you that wanted more of Gabriel's entire life coming crashing down around him, I'll be writing that eventually and posting it! No worries! I just need to get my inspiration/motivation back. It ran away and I would like it back now please.

For those of you who want more fluff, I am simply going to redirect your attention to the fact that With Time is now part of a series, and you can now read how the Quantics all met! They're so cute!

Again, find the references for the apartment here! Keep in mind, I didn't decorate it to the fullest extent, and just threw a few random things on the walls, etc, so imagine your own as you please.

Adrien isn't calling Gabriel 'Father' anymore. That man is no one's father.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts, theories, constructive criticism, or anything really in my ask box, in replies or through reblogs. I love seeing what you think!

First | Previous | Next

#miraculous ladybug #with time #fanfic #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml felix #allegra #allan #claude #chloe bourgeois #Chloe redemption #aloe #emancipation #gabriel salt #we're in the endgame now #just two chapters left #and one's an epilogue #friends #allan and mari are a force to be reckoned with #claude is scared #poor baby

[cawolters]

✷ Babes in the Well ✷ (Liar Alliance snippet)

Good day to you! It’s been a minute, but here I am with a little thing that I think you guys might think will be a neat read.

It’s a little snippet of a scene I wrote between charming young King Deria and my newly hatched/refined character, gloomy necromantic Hinrich. 

(Hinrich is a Mask btw, a sort of ambassador to the Kings of the ten kingdoms in the empire.)

Where: Tall Castle at the beginning of book two

Who: Deria is talking

What: He’s wandering the Chalice Room, looking at paintings and thinking about magic when he’s interrupted by a gloomy apparition. 

WC: 1800

Themes: Ghost magic, politcal intrigue, secret coup!!

Is it gay?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Well. Yes, on multiple levels, but not explicit in this scene.

Unfortunately. 

Plot needs pages too.

.

.

.

✴ BLUE FLAG ✴

What a delightful day it was indeed. The sunlight in the mountains cast its gentle overcast glare over the hills as afternoon clouds drifted slowly over the subtly rising and falling hills deep down, down, in the valley, below my childhood home, Tall Castle.

The patterns of shy light and then sporadic sharp beams, raying out of the heavens and touching a little cottage outside the village, was more enchanting than magic.

Or, I would have thought that before I had seen the gold coin eyes of the Blade by the Empress’ side. Ah, and then her flat pieces of dull ebony to contrast his. They had been standing so close and then she had laughed. I saw it, a flower blooming in the deep dark night.

Magic indeed.  

I drifted away from the massive window and toward the far end of the grand chambers of the vacant Chalice Room . My father had called it the Chalice Room because of the grand ornamented stone goblets that ran along the walls on either side of a wide aisle, making an elongated space where politics could merge or divide in its rift.

It was here all the meets with the kingdoms were held. In the middle was the round stone table, large enough and fit for Kings and just a moment ago it had been stuffed with every inch of the continent. The Ten Kings, or, rather our four border kingdoms that could come to us within a week, had gathered here in the tallest of castles, but to what end?

I wondered.

My eyes followed the walls. Paintings, taller than two able men on top of each other’s shoulders, were hung between the lit oil-chalices. King after King draped in deep rich velvets, queens and offspring, squeezed into gilded frames. More often than not, there were more than seven people stacked together in dim rooms and posing.

As I walked, their lifelike eyes followed me. Even my own green gaze, almost hidden behind the black sorrow veil that honored my late father, seemed eager to stalk me through the fabric on my stroll. It would stay like that for five years, covered with black silk to grieve The Great Fifth King. The Wall To The North. Praise in his name.

My face twitched, entirely involuntary, and I quickened my pace for the next two paintings until I got where I had wanted to go.

I stopped at the end of the aisle and came closer to the portrait, larger still than the rest and looking almost empty as there were only three people in the dim light of a dark background. 

Kōrudo, The Cold. The Emperor.

Ohtani, The Sun Smile. 

His lovely tragic wife that looked like she had never smiled in a hundred years, and now she never would. And then, there, holding her mother’s hand; their little daughter. 

Empress Shiroin. The Pure One.

I almost laughed out loud at the nickname.

I had seen this portrait many a time of course. I had admired that oddity of the first girl to be born in the imperial line for a thousand years, but now that I had seen her in person, had had her presence just a breath away from mine, I never imagined an artist to be so wrong about a face.

The portrait looked like her, the likeness was there, no doubt, but he had caught her wrong. The artist’s hand must have begged him to dot those two fictive pearls of oil-white in her black gaze, add that tint of pink life on her cheeks and erase some of that hatred that blazed out of her face like the cutting rays of sun in my valley.

She had only been five when the painting had come into creation, so small a human, but in truth not looking like a human at all. Despite the artist’s efforts.

“Have you fallen in love?”

The quiet voice behind me, slightly distorted into more whispery voices speaking simultaneously, sent my heart racing and made me whip my head over my shoulder. 

When I immediately spotted the menacing cloaked figure of Hinrich, standing in the middle of the Chalice Room, appeared out of thin air, my stomach did a small flip as unease hit it.

His cloak moved as if under water, wavering around his ankles and framing his pale face irregularly. Hinrich’s mass was see-through. An undead ghost. The Mask of Kaiserhof.

I sighed dramatically in a smile, suppressing the urge to flee, and turned back to the painting. My eyes once more seeking Shiroin’s pits.

“Yes always, and with everyone. It’s not a sporadic occurrence it’s a chronic condition. You should adapt my philosophies, Hinrich, then perhaps you wouldn’t look like a wraith who wants to crawl down a well and haunt it.”

Though I had my back to him, I could sense the Mask had glided closer while I talked. His presence had changed the temperature of the room.

“My philosophies are my own, they don’t need outside pollution. And wells are only haunted by dead whore-babes. Not men. I fish for them when my work demands bones and rotting flesh.” He said, quietly, the wisp of a voice far away and carried to my castle with death magic.

By the Gods he was a creepy sort of errand boy. We had been dealing with each other since the Empress had first vanished and I had almost gotten used to it by now, his unsettling being and ghoul magic, but admittedly not totally.

“Gone to the Gods through a wet hole.” I joked lightly, “what an enchanting way to depart this world. Out the way we came in, and frequently visits, no?”

He wasn’t actually a ghost of course. I would not have had the stomach to engage if he had been dead.

When I turned, his mouth was sour, disgust crinkling one side of his straight nose sitting on his translucent face.  

“If you’re talking about sticking your cock in somewhere, it better be the Empress.” The light in the room did not fall on him, and he cast no shadow.

“Now now, Hinrich, manners. I am still a King after all.”

“Not my King.” He was a statue, staring at me and pissing me right in the face without a flinch. Then he added:

“Did she comply to the marriage?”

I threw my head back in a loud laugh. The Chalice Room made it sound like a roar.

“Comply?! Good Sir, Have you met her?”

Hinrich’s expression told me that he hadn’t and that he had no interest of ever doing so. All he wanted was his master’s orders carried out. He was an unsettling figure, but a good lapdog, to the right lap.

“If you cannot deliver, we will recruit one of the others. Errin’s King is unwed too.”

“Are you threatening me with ‘The sickling from the swamps’? I have the wall, the army, the looks and I am what they call a ‘team player’. I’m a quality bargain.” I smiled wider and tilted my head, “Besides. If you just wanted an unwed King to lock down the Empress with a ring, or stick something still up her dress, why not use your own?”

I knew exactly why. I was dealing a friendly blow, aimed right up under Hinrich’s arm at the only spot I knew he was truly sore.

“Hm, why hasn’t Eckhart apparition joined us here at Tall Castle to seduce the Grand Empress?”

In a blink his ghost was nose to nose with me. Hinrich wasn’t actually dead. His young, able, body was alive and well in Kaiserhof, but his spirit, tainted and twisted as it were, was right here with me. And though he was not haunting me, the illusion of terror, in that moment, was rather convincing.

I gulped.

Hinrich could not touch me, I had tested that when I had thrown a book at him the first time he came to me, but he was freezing my blood.

“Never take my King’s name in your dirty mouth.” His warning was slow and hateful.

There was a long pause where I could only see his sunken in eyes and feel the ice.

I slowly wet my lips with the tip of my tongue. My bones were shaking.

“Are we about to share our first kiss?” I whispered.

Another pause slid by, in which Hinrich processed my third joke of the day. Then he drifted backwards. Not amused at all.  

“Deria, the quick. You think you are so smart,” his gaze darkened “but you know nothing. Make her say yes. Force her to be your ring.” The word ‘ring’ was a quiet bark his mouth.

“Force her? And how would I do that. Let me tell you, she almost stabbed me twice already, I’m sure she’s eager to actually spear me through my throat the third time I give her an excuse.”

Heinrich didn’t hesitate.

“Use the war.”

My smile fell.

“… Retract my forces? Then the empire loses two thirds of the world army.”

The Mask didn’t blink and he didn’t answer.

“But… Then the war is not ours. The Elsalvians could win, we don’t know their numbers with utmost certainty. Hinrich, people would die -A lot of people, my people your people, everyone! And mine are the first to meet the doomsday fire on our doorstep.” I ran a hand through my curls. “It- it’s the thousand year war, by the Gods! I won’t risk all of humankind for a coup at puts me at the top. I am not starved for a power that comes at that price.”

“Do what you have to.”

“You’re not hearing me, I can’t agree-“ I started but Hinrich interrupted me.

“It’s a threat. The Grand Empress will have to take you as her ring, for the sake of the empire. She will fold. Use the war.” Hinrich drifted backwards, his cloak soaring and floating in water that wasn’t there.

“And if she says no? She’s not striking me as a humanitarian.” I bit. I was getting angry now.

“This will happen whether you want it to or not. You cannot stop it.” His strange hissing voice was fading, the winter cold was becoming more tolerable.

I gaped at him in disbelief before I found my reply.

“Maybe I can stop you. I could expose your little illegal spells to the worlds, the other kingdoms, and then you’d be burned before the rooster is crowing on the last day of this week.”

His face scrunched up as he snarled.

“Try, and you will know what true horror looks like.”

I opened my mouth but closed it again.

“That’s right. Do what you have to do. Or we will, King Deria.”

My name hung in the air for a moment and then the Mask was gone. Disappeared and dissolved like a drop of ink in the running river.

I stared at the spot Hinrich had just been. Contemplating how I was a mouse between two mountain lion. He had had a point. If I declined, they would stage their coup around me, shut me out and keep me in the dark while they worked their sorcery to manipulate the fate of the world.

My hands became fists of their own as I strode out of the Chalice Room.

“Fucking magic.”

.

.

.

-Ciao-

#writeblr #dark fantasy #wip #original writing #cawolters #riseoftheblooddawn #theliaralliance #ayearofauthor

[thecursedhellblazer]

For @thedemonconstantine​​​​​​, who once again didn’t ask for it, but who gets my crap anyway u.u

domestic ship meme || Accepting !

(( I removed three of the prompts because they were the same of the previous meme! ))

JOHN & DEMON JOHN

who reaches out to new neighbors Luckily for everyone, they don’t have neighbours. John has picked a place in the middle of a forest, far away enough from the city, for the exact reason of not having to deal with busybodies and to be able to go around his occult business without having to worry about interruptions or to make up excuses to explain all the oddities that happen around them. After he has freed the Copy from Hell and the Other has become a more or less stable presence in his household, the choice had turned out to be an even more appropriate one. Between the fights and their messed up sexual life, they would have definitely got all the wrong kinds of unwanted attention. Whenever they happens to be elsewhere and make enough of a mess to alarm the people living nearby, they usually end up fighting even more because the Copy just want to off the witnesses, while John leans more towards deleting their memories with a spell. It usually ends with Chas clearing up the chaos, if they haven’t done anything irreparable, or always with Chas calling Zatanna for assistance, because John can’t really be trusted with that kind of spells. Whenever he tries them,while they do their job,  they also always end up having nasty side effects.

who remembers to buy healthy food The Copy eats only what he is fed with and basically everything he gets given, good or not so much. John, from time to time, on a good day, finds the patience and the will to cook for them both, but, at the end of the day, it’s only thanks to Chas if he has the ingredients to do it in the first place. Yet another reason for the Other to call the cabbie their “free maid”. John doesn’t say it as often, but he wholeheartedly agrees.

who remembers to buy junk food They either steal it from Chas’s secret stash (more about it in the next section) or John is the one who drags his ass to the store and buy whatever random junk the Copy has talked him into getting. There is nothing that he hates more than having to comply, but at times it’s the only way to avoid a fight when he is still healing and all sore because of the last one they had. At times, John just takes off with the excuse of them needing “supplies” because it gives him an excuse to have some space away from the Other, because there are moments when he really can’t stand being around him. Usually, it happens whenever he is feeling already unable to deal with himself and having the Copy around just makes it worse. Of course, the bastard seems to always notice and, if he sticks around for too long, the Other ends up exploiting the fact to torment him more than his own head is already doing.

who fixes the oven when it breaks They don’t fix anything. They are, one way or the other, the reason why everything has been broken in the first place, including themselves. John tries to avoid having the most violent fights happening inside, but at times they start so abruptly and so explosively that there’s nothing that can be done to prevent the damage. For the most, it usually ends with broken glasses and bottles, ruined sofa covers and carpets, a smashed chair and blood and maggots everywhere. However, there are occasions in which things get even more out of hand and they add cracks in the walls and thrash everything that happens to be too close to them, including forniture and appliances. In the aftermath, the Copy always leaves, dumping the task to clean up the mess all on John. Constantine usually waits for his demon blood to patch him up a bit, wipes away some of the blood, to make everything look less bad than it has been, and then calls Chas.

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s) John has some herbs and mystical greeneries he grows as ingredients for his spell. Some are in the vault and they are magical enough not to require his attention. Others are in the backyards of the cabin and nature takes care of them. Constantine bothers only with the ones who need a special kind of nourishment, but he still makes sure that they can fence for themselves for long periods in any case. What really takes a concrete effort it stopping the Copy from messing with them. The bastard had used some of them to poison John a few times, with nasty results. He would have probably died horribly, hadn’t it been for his tainted blood, so he just went through the horrible part without actually dying. The Other got his face burnt off with magic or he found himself trapped in a very small cage for days to no end after every single episode. Also, it happens often enough, far too often for Constantine’s liking, that he takes away the on ingredient the magician needs, and urgently, to complete whatever spell or potion he is working on.

who makes the bed None of them cares about it, also because it usually gets thrashed all over again, for one reason or the other. John changes the sheets when they are too soiled with dried blood or too torn to be used (and it happens more often than he’s ready to admit) and it’s only because he put a protective spell on the mattress that he doesn’t have to change it too every two weeks or so. Whenever Chas comes around and is willing to doe some chores, they leave that part to him too, even if, after a while, the cabbie got fed up enough to refuse to do it whenever the bed had got too filthy. He might be their best friend and he might be ready and resigned to clean after them, but he has to protect his own mental sanity too.

who makes the coffee John...just to have it stolen from his hands before he can even get a sip out of the mug. At times the Copy drinks it in his face, especially when it’s the last they had left, others he simply throws it on the floor. Or on his Maker (the hotter, the better in such case).  Some of the burns have even scarred and John hasn’t stayed pissed even after the demon has “not-apologised” (he almost never makes the effort, so when he does it’s supposed to truly mean something, but the magician is simply too done with him to appreciate it at times.) By now Constantine has learnt to be smarter about it, either avoiding to even just look at the machine whenever the Other is around or never pouring it all, so he can get more once he has managed to kick the demon’s wounded ass out of the cabin and into a portal for a trip in some nasty realm, so he can have his breakfast in peace. 

who burns breakfast The Copy doesn’t cook or bother with anything related to that so, when it happens, it’s usually John’s doing. That said, it’s also true that most of the times it’s the Other’s fault too, because he’s the one to distract his Maker from what he is doing, either starting a fight or more pleasurable activities. Then there was that one, odd time when John woke up to smoke from the ground floor of the cabin, just to find that the Copy had somehow managed to incinerate whatever food he had been trying to make and the whole cooker with it. It was the anniversary of the demon’s creation and John had been so stunned that he hadn’t even managed to say a single word on the matter. Later on, when Chas had come over to see if the appliance was salvageable, he had taken the blame from the accident instead of putting it on his demonic self. They never spoke of it again, but that very same night was one of the extremely rare times when their passion held almost no violence in it, despite it being particularly intense, and everything was agonisingly slow.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house They don’t. Each of them goes and comes as he pleases. The only times when John warns the Copy is when he knows that he’ll be away for some time and it’s mostly to warn him not to wreak havoc in his absence if he doesn’t want to suffer the consequences of it. The threats mostly fall onto deaf ears, but at least he can say that he has given the bastard a fair warning when he finds himself forced to keep his word.

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home It depends on the circumstances. For the most with insults and cutting remarks that can either end in a session of bickering or lead up to a real fight. Other times they simply ignore each other past a brief glare. Then there are the times when they haven’t seen each other in a good while and they are too impatient to even go through their usual foreplay, so they just lace onto each other and shreds their clothes off, making themselves unavailable for the next three hours, at least.

who picks the movie for movie night / their favorite kind of movie to watch Their movie night is game night and that usually means that Chas comes over too. It’s perhaps the most normal part of their fucked up routine and John has come to appreciate it exactly for that reason. After he has chosen to bring the Copy back in his life, most of his habits had got screwed up and, while he is used to deal with dangers and chaos, he misses the quiet moments even more for the mere reason that they are now even more often denied to him. Chas’s presence usually means both more tension and more balance, because his best friend is on the edge and glaring whenever the Other is around, but, at the same time, the Copy behaves a bit more because he knows that pissing John off on those nights means being sent away and leaving the two men to enjoy each other’s company. The idea nags him more than he is ready to admit. If a movie happens instead of the game, it’s usually of the sort that has made Chas emotional in other occasions. And that never gets old.

who first suggests a pillow fort / who builds the pillow fort Pillow forts or anything of the sort truly are not their thing. It’s something that would have never crossed their minds if it hadn’t been for that one cursed time when Tim had come up with the idea. Of course, the teen’s only aim had been to make both Johns uncomfortable and feeling like two idiots, even if he had hide it behind the excuse of wanting to understand why some young humans enjoyed the idea so much. Useless to say, he managed to make them miserable and even more annoyed because Yoyo, on his part, had appreciated very much being allowed to perch in peace over all those pillows, while staring at them both amused and judgemental. The fort had been later set on fire as some lame attempt of payback. For the most, it had been done in the hope that the shame would have burnt with it.

who tries to distract the other during the movie Most of the times it’s the Copy. John does it too, but less often. In any case, if they are alone, it’s rare that they get to finish whatever they are watching, be it because they end up painting the floor red and each other black and blue or because they decide that the movie can go screw itself while they screw each other. Or both. The fights begin verbally and quickly escalate into physical violence, and they can be born out of a bad comment or a wrong word or just out of nothing. The sex, instead, can either start with no preambles and one of them simply throwing the other down on the couch or on the floor, or it can be more subtle, with not so random touches escalating into a full groping and kissing.

who falls asleep first Depends on the circumstances. The Copy doesn’t need to sleep, so there are times when he doesn’t even stick around once they are done with each other and John sleeps it off on his own. In other occasions, the demon waits for his Maker to have fallen asleep or purposefully knocks him out, so he can have the chance to keep him close in his arms until he starts to stir again. Other times again, it’s exactly the other way around, with John waiting for the Copy to go into stasis so he can non-cuddle him. However, it starts, the next morning, they never really talk about or acknowledge the fact that they have woken up entangled in each other in a way that speaks of everything but the hatred they are so keen on openly proclaiming to each other.

----

JOHN & CHAS

who reaches out to new neighbors John doesn’t have neighbours, since his cabin is set literally in the middle of nowhere, and it’s usually Chas who stays over and not the other way around. However, there are times when they are staying in some other city/town for a few days and they have to rent a place or take a motel room. John’s dabbling with magic can cause some mayhem, which can result in injuries, very odd noises or him coming back in a state that is either indecent or worrisome and it’s up to Chas to take care of public relations, which includes making sure no one calls the police. No need for their American criminal records to get as bad as their English ones.

who remembers to buy healthy food Chas. He is the one who does the shopping in general, because all John never forgets to buy are cigarettes and booze. All the rest he is very likely to forgo, especially when he has his head wrapped up into something. Chas has learnt since their very first months together that being Constantine’s best friend means being his keeper too. Besides, he likes cooking, so it’s never that much of a bother.

who remembers to buy junk food Again, Chas. He stocks up for movies night and keeps a small stash of snacks for whenever Tim shows up at their door. He usually tries to hide it in the most creative ways he can think of, because John tends to dig it up whenever he is staying on his own for too long and can’t be persuaded to go and get actual food. Useless to say, the magician always manages to find it...even when he hides it in his own flat. Chas can’t wrap his head around why his best mate goes through all the trouble of planeswalking just to do that and yet he can’t be bothered to make a simple trip to the store. One of the many mysteries of John Constantine.

who fixes the oven when it breaks Chas is the one who handles most of the repairs, especially when they involve appliances and daily life objects. If it was up to John, those things would simply be left there and stay broken till the day he decides to throw them out to make space for something else. There was one time when Chas wanted to see for how long John could keep up his pretense of not caring and he didn’t replace the coffee maker after it had got involved in a “magical incident”, which had completely fried it. He watched Constantine trying to use it every morning and late night for over two months, getting mad at it and manhandling it, even if he knew very well that the thing couldn’t have worked in any case, before giving in and getting his best friend a new one out of exasperation.

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s) If they had a pet, it would probably be Chas’s and, as such, his complete responsibility. John might agree to feed it, if the cabbie truly begged him to look after it for one night because he has to work. In the aftermath, both John and the dog would hope that such thing never happens again. As for the plants, as mentioned above, John has some greenery lying around, but it really doesn’t take much work or attention.

who makes the bed Chas makes his own every morning. Once upon a time, he used to make John’s too, if he happened to get the time, but he has quickly learnt not to bother because all he gets out of it is for his best friend to protest and mess it up once again. Now, he sticks to changing the sheets once in a while. Unless he knows that John has had some unconventional company over the night before. In that case, he stands there, glaring sternly, hands on his hips, until John takes care of them.

who makes the coffee Chas makes fresh when if he is around, also because at times it’s a good way to lure his best friend out of bed without having to use force, otherwise John gets it from a bar or use the coffee maker (if his current one is functional).

who burns breakfast John has a long record of burning things, starting with Chas’s old kitchen back when they were still living with the cabbie’s mother. That was an accident involving a spell gone wrong and, with some practice, he has managed to become a decent cook too. However, he also has the bad habit of getting distractive easily, especially if he is hangover or running on no sleep, so...accidents happen. Not to mention that he still uses kitchen utensils for spells, so that one time in Chas’s old kitchen hasn’t been the first and only fire he has started in such circumstances.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house Chas usually gives John a shout, saying that he is heading out. If the magician is too busy or can’t hear him for some reason, he leaves a note saying where he is heading off on the fridge or on the table attached to a bottle of beer, to make sure that Constantine finds him. John most of the times just leaves without a word. It has happened that Chas has kept talking to him, while busy doing chores or cooking, only to realise that the bastard has left mid-conversation and that he has been talking to no one like an idiot for over ten minutes.

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home Usually they come back together, since Chas always drives John back to the cabin before heading off to his own place. When they meet up, it’s usually with a greeting from Chas’s parts and an exchange of playful insults, maybe a hand on the back, on normal days, and either silence or brief, sharp words on bad ones. If John is really in a good mood, which doesn’t happen often, he might even lean in and presse a kiss on Chas’s cheek, before walking off into the room with a teasing smirk. The cabbie almost never fails to flush a bit and that amuses him to no end.

who picks the movie for movie night / their favorite kind of movie to watch They have a game night more than a movie night and usually they both want to watch the same thing, so it’s never too hard to pick something they both want to watch. From time to time John brings back this or that B movie and forces Chas to sit with him through it so that he can talk the cabbie’s ears off with his complaints. Then, there are the very few times when Geraldine comes to visit Chas in the States, instead of the man flying back to England, and Chas manages to trick John into spending the evening with them. They mostly watch either cartoons or teen movies. Useless to say, Constantine sulks the whole time, but Chas has his little girl there with him, with them, and he can’t give less of a damn. Plus, he feeds John good food and enough beer to keep him tamed in any case, so the night never gets spoiled.

who first suggests a pillow fort / who builds the pillow fort It’s another small thing they end up doing when Geraldine comes over. Mostly, it’s Chas and the girl playing and John watching them from the couch with a drink or from outside the balcony while he smokes (no smoking in the flat while Gera is over. That’s one rule Chas forces on him every time, no protests allowed). Then there was one time when John hs found himself having to “babysit” Tefé and, of course, he called Chas to help, because his best friend is much better with kids than he will ever be. It turned out that the girl had no idea of what a pillow fort was and, by the end of her staying, John’s cabin had gained a new, small tree house made of vines, large leaves and pillows.

who tries to distract the other during the movie John, all the way. He is the one who never shuts up during movies in the first place and, when he gets bored with them (and it usually happens the few times it’s Chas to pick a movie he really wants to watch), he starts poking his best friend, verbally and physically. One time when everything else failed to distract Chas, he even started a make-out session out of the blue, just to leave the cabbie’s all hot and bothered and unsatisfied in the aftermath. He wasn’t in a much better state, but he still had to “prove a point”. He only behaves during Geraldine’s movie nights. He is a nasty piece of work, but he knows where to draw a line, at least when it comes to certain things.

who falls asleep first It depends on the circumstances. Usually, it’s John, because when Chas drags him to bed it’s because he hasn’t been sleeping or he is drunk off his sorry ass or he is badly injured. It’s usually John the few times they end up in bed together too, since Constantine feels safe enough to pass out and get the rest he rarely allows himself to have. There are other times when Chas stays over and dozes off on the couch or on the “guest bed” while John goes around his business and the magician always takes a moment to throw a blanker over him before either heading off to bed himself or going back to whatever he was doing. Also, when he comes over during Geraldine’s visit, both father and daughter always end up falling asleep first, together, and John sticks around to make sure they are comfortable, before heading back to his own place.

#hellblazer #john constantine #demon constantine #chas chandler #* My reality is eleven tenths perception. * ::headcanons:: #thedemonconstantine #* You're the Mirror I'm not Afraid to see My Darkness reflected in * ::John&Demon John:: {thedemonconstantine} #* If Souls came in Pairs Yours would be the Brighter Half of My Own * ::John&Chas:: {thedemonconstantine} #sv. Invertigo