#this is continuing to get out of hand dang nab it

[landwriter]

Dirty Work | Corinthian/Hob | 1.6K | T fake marriage, true love, gardening, domestic curtainfic with an unsolicited side of angst, retired!corinthian, the corinthian loves rural england because he’s the hottest piece of ass for miles, hob loves rural england because the corinthian is safe with him there (and also the stars are lovely at night)

for Domaystic Drabbles, Day 5: Learning Something New

---

“What-” asked Hob. He paused, took a sensibly calming breath, and found himself feeling not much more calm for it. Onward, then. “-the fuck are you doing?”

The Corinthian smiled winningly up at him from under the brim of Hob’s favourite tilly hat.

“The fuck does it look like?” he drawled.

“Gardening.” Having a nervous breakdown, he thought, loudly and uncharitably. It was early. Not these-days early. Fourteenth century early. Lauds early. The robins weren’t even out yet. The sky was still a deep and restive blue. He was irritable. Owing less to the hour, and more to waking up to a cold, husbandless bed, to an instinctive panic crawling up his throat that saw him search through an empty house with increasing dread, before he finally looked out the back window and saw a nightmare. Turn of speech, of course.

It looked like a giant vole had been through. A giant, ruthlessly handsome vole, who remained at the scene of the crime wearing nothing but silk pyjama bottoms, now stained with vegetal viscera. The damage was extensive. And apparently not quite complete. He was still extracting a stubborn bit of Reynoutria japonica. The Corinthian grunted, muscles jumping in his arms, prised the cane loose, and then rocked back on his heels with a little huff of satisfaction. He paused to wipe invisible sweat off his face with the back of his hand, in a move, Hob was cooly certain, designed to attractively smear a bit of dirt across his forehead. The Corinthian abhorred a mess. Unless he’d made it himself. He caught the expression on Hob’s face and preened.

Hob made himself scowl again. On principle, if nothing else. “You’ve dug up most of the flowers, too.”

“Seen better.”

“It’s half four. You can see nowt and fuckall.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice was perfectly casual, which meant it had been a truly awful night. I’m sorry, Hob wanted to say. It’s not fair. It was just supposed to be. But that’s not the sort of thing the Corinthian wanted to hear from him. Not a thing he could bear hearing, really.

“Should’ve woken me,” he said, in lieu of what he couldn’t, and walked over and took his mouth in a hungry kiss to say the rest of it properly. The Corinthian softened into him, making pleased sounds and sliding a hand under his shirt, but Hob could still feel it, all the coiled-tight misery. It practically twanged through the air. Sometimes, he thought it was nothing less than cruelty, what Dream had done to him and named a mercy. But he wouldn’t say that either. They didn’t talk about it. Not like that. “Jesus. You’re like a puppy,” he said, laughing, when the Corinthian finally let them pause to catch their breath. “Can’t be left alone or you’ll get bored and chew up all my socks.”

The Corinthian blinked at him, pupils blown wide in the morning dim. It was still a weird sight. Wrong. “They were shitty socks, Robbie.”

Hob snorted and turned around to take inventory of his garden. The spreading clump of invasive knotweed he’d really been meaning to get around to at the weekend (so he said every Monday) had been surgically obliterated and lay in a tidy pile. The overgrown nettle and bramble was gone. It had gotten a little wild, sure. But Hob had thought it pretty, in a tangled sort of way. And the entire bed of begonias he’d inherited with the cottage was uprooted. He’d never liked those, at least.

“They were passable socks,” he decided, and left it at that. “You’re getting me new ones.”

“The best,” agreed the Corinthian. “We’re starting over. Making something better.”

“As pretty as you?” Hob asked, just to watch him squirm a bit.

“You’re disgusting,” said the Corinthian.

“Wrong answer,” said Hob, singsong. “Nothing could be as pretty as you.”

“You’re messed up in the head, Hob, you know that?”

“’Course I do. It’s why you married me.”

“Pretty sure it was for the sex.”

Hob grinned. “Come inside, then, Mr. Gadling. The garden can wait.”

They weren’t married, of course. They were just strange and scandalous enough for the village already, without living in sin. More and more often, Hob found himself forgetting it had started as a joke. That when the Corinthian said ‘my life partner’ he was winking at Hob. But he said mine in other ways, ways he trusted and knew better, and so Hob didn’t mind much at all. Not that he’d mind it being real, either. He wouldn’t. He wanted to cling to the Corinthian. Keep him safe. And maybe it was old-fashioned of him, but being his husband, swearing an oath to cherish and protect, it would mean he could.

They went inside, and left the garden as it was, turned up and nearly unrecognizable. Like an open wound. All the dangerous and unsightly parts torn out. Scoured clean. Hob tried not think about how it felt so familiar. He was pretty sure the Corinthian already had. Had, in fact, done it exactly because of that. Because he’d wanted to know what Dream had felt, doing it to him.

---

Hob stood in his garden. “What the fuck,” he said again. In three months, it had been transformed. There was a new riot of colour and texture, brought only to heel with perfectly sculpted boxwoods and a cobbled path that undulated through the garden in a way, Hob felt confident, that was actually mathematically significant. The perfumed air fairly buzzed with insect life. In his periphery, a group of swallows darted through an immaculately pruned apple tree he hadn’t known he had, and then skimmed low over the bergamot, calling out to one another. It wasn’t a tame garden. It was the sort you wanted to watch all day, breath caught in your throat.

“It’s a start,” said the Corinthian mildly.

“It’s the bloody grand finale, is what it is.”

“Just did a bit of pruning and bought a few bedding plants. Nothing special. Was hoping you’d like it.”

Hob looked sidelong at him. The Corinthian wore a small, modest smile. He made a noise of disgust. “Cut that out.”

“Aw,” said the Corinthian. He thought it was terribly funny to pretend to be English and see how long before Hob noticed and begged him to stop. He didn’t do an accent. He just wore it. It made Hob want to crawl out of his skin, which in turn made the Corinthian mercilessly hone his impression. Dark mirror of humanity, indeed. Old habits die hard. Hob was sure he didn’t sound like that. Most of the time.

“You’ve done this before,” said Hob, staring accusingly at splendour of it all.

“Nah,” said the Corinthian, looking so proudly out on his work that Hob knew he was telling the truth. “Didn’t know jack about gardening. But I’ve learned,” he said, and meant so much more than gardening. He turned, grinning at Hob in his perfect garden with his perfect teeth. Except, Hob noticed, one of his incisors snagged a little on his bottom lip. He felt his heart lurch in his chest, another beating step further into smote devotion. The Corinthian looked back at the garden. “Good thing the fucker made me so damn curious, huh?”

He was fucked.

---

“It’s dirty work,” his supposed husband was loudly saying, despite being perfectly clean and unblemished. “But somebody’s got to do it.”

Hob rolled his eyes from where he was hanging the washing in their own garden, then looked into the neighbour’s anyways.

“Bless you, Ian,” said Mildred, beaming up at him. She bustled inside and reappeared with a fresh lemon loaf. The Corinthian grinned at Hob across the fence as Mrs. Martin hugged him goodbye. As if it would make him jealous. She was eighty-four. Far too young for either of them.

Five minutes later, Hob was viciously stabbing a slice of lemon loaf. “This has gotten out of hand. You’re being a do-gooder.”

The Corinthian pulled a hurt face. “It would’ve spread back to our garden.”

“I can’t believe she felt up your biceps. Like you’re a choice cut of meat.”

He smirked in a way that said I am, aren’t I? “You threatened by her, Hob?”

“No,” said Hob, and then chewed. “Fuck. Maybe a little. This is incredible.”

---

In October, the garden was named a runner-up in Kent Life magazine’s Amateur Garden of the Year, 1990. Mrs. Martin patted Hob’s husband consolingly on the shoulder and announced the Appledore Ladies Baking Club was unsubscribing in solidarity. All twelve of them.

The entire village, Hob slowly realized, had become besotted with the Corinthian. He was a Yank, but he was their Yank now. He’d endeared himself by sharing his dahlia tubers, lending out his wickedly-sharp secateurs, and most of all, smilingly dismissing any praise about his prodigious gardening abilities by saying, in his syrupy drawl, “I guess I just like pretty things.” Then he’d wink and say, “That’s why I married Hob, you know.” And whoever he was talking to would smile in spite of themselves, and tell Hob he was very lucky indeed.

He was. He’d just never felt guilty for his luck before.

That night, Hob murmured it into the back of his neck, soft and human-warm. “I think I hate him for it. Still. Even now. I didn’t know I even could.”

It was the first time he’d said it aloud. It felt like scurvy. Like a mended bone breaking again, in the silence of the little bedroom. But in his arms, the Corinthian only snorted.

“Of course you can. It’s the most normal thing about you.” Hob smiled into his nape. The Corinthian rolled over, and traced a hand across Hob’s sternum, landing, as he always did, on one particular puckered scar between his ribs. “You know what’s fucked?”

“What?”

“Sometimes, I think I don’t.”

#cob #domaystic2023 #this is continuing to get out of hand dang nab it #domesticity: coping mechanism edition #the sandman #my writing #fic post #hob gadling #the corinthian #(sighs) #hobrinthian #gardening as a stress response am i right #also a sort of sneak preview of my Just Like Love continuation plans #continuing to be unable to write cob without dream as a living ghost haunting all their interactions #and frankly i like it that way #hope you do too!

[observeowl]

That's not how you do it N.R

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary: R comes back from a mission and shows Natasha her trick in interrogating.

===

"Hey Nick!" I just came back from a 3 day mission. SHIELD is currently in a period where things are busy but there's still space to breathe.

"Agent Y/L/N, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Nick?"

"Did you tell me that?" I faked confusion, trying to think. "Anyway, where's Nat? I didn't see her at the office."

"She's in the interrogation room. We just nabbed a new guy."

"Ouuu. Interrogation... I love interrogation." I bounced my head and walked away from Nick Fury.

"You can't get away from the mission report!" He shouted as I opened the door to leave.

Dang it! He caught me trying to sneak away.

"I wouldn't call it sneaking away." Maria spoke out of nowhere.

"Holy shit! Maria, where did you come from? And how did you read my mind?" I jumped at her presence. She gave me a look and remained silent. "Yeah don't answer. You'd probably say 'because I'm a level 8 agent.'"  I walked away and continued making my way to the interrogation room.

I waved for the security officer to leave and looked through the one-way mirror. Natasha is trying to buy the 'loyalty' of the guy she managed to capture.

"Look!" She slammed the table. "I know your company is supplying Hydra. All you have to do is tell me where and who." The guy sat there silently and shook his head. Nat walked over to the bag at the and took out a gold bar.

"This gold bar is made from Dubai, each one costs 500 thousands. Tell me what I want to know and you'll get it." Nat placed the gold bar on the table and made a clang sound from the weight of the bar.

"You think you can buy over my loyalty?" The guy finally spoke.

Nat took out another gold bar and placed it on the table. "1 million, is that enough?" The guy laughed and shook his head. Natasha continued to place gold bars on the table until there was 2.5 million worth of gold bars on the table. Even so, the guy refuses to cooperate. Finally I could not take it any longer and went into the interrogation room.

"Natttt, even with the tools, you still couldn't get him to speak? That's not how you do it." She turned over to look at me.

"I didn't know you were back."

"I just came back." I walked right next to her and gave her a quick kiss. "You've gone soft during the 3 days I left?" I questioned her. She gave me the side eye. I chuckled at her response, she's just so adorable.

"There's 2.5 million here, are you going to speak or not?" I took over the interrogation process.

"I'm not saying anything." The guy maintained his position.

"I am a busy person." I took away one gold bar. "2 million. Are you speaking?" He looked at me uneasy but still remained quiet. "1.5 million." The guy now visibly flustered and jumpy and taking my deal more seriously.

"1 million." Leaving two gold bars left on the table. His heart rate quickens as he tries to make quick decisions on where his loyalty should stand. "0.5 million."

"Wait wait wait stop," He held back my hand that was about to take away another gold bar. "I'll- I'll speak, I'll speak."

"Good, you should have done that earlier." I pat Natasha's shoulder and gave him back to her. "This is how you should have done it." I winked at her before heading back to the one-way mirror to wait for her to finish her interrogation. Instead of giving away 2.5 million worth of gold bars to him, now we only need to give 1 million worth.

I may not be as good as Natasha at fighting, but I am definitely at the top at interrogating and getting people to speak. I have to make up for lost strengths, otherwise, how am I going to stand next to Natasha? Getting to such a high level is not easy.

Finally, Nat finished talking to the guy and came to meet me. A smile automatically comes to my face as I see her. Dang, I really missed her for the last 3 days. I opened my arm and she sat on my lap.

"I missed you so much." Nat spoke softly.

"Yeah, I missed you too." I pulled her in for a hug since there was nobody around and we stayed there for a while before both of us had to submit reports.

Written on 9 Sept 2021

Inspired by The Devil Judge (Korean Drama)

#marvel #natasharomanoff #mcu #scarlettjohansson #fanfiction #That's not how you do it #my writing

[handelplayssims]

Right! Back to Gunther. I got skills to level on him and I’m a bit tired of lingering around this house. So! We go to where there are chess tables out and about! Library or park! Or perhaps...the Von Haunt Estate? I mean, I would, but that has a knight’s club that Wolfgang is in! I don’t think he wants to associate with his brother. So off to the library with us!

By the by, Gunther is in a club still that values writing and such. And yet, I stick him at home when he writes and at the library alone. Across from the place his club meets up with. Alas. A lot has to do with having no relationships with Maike Haas or Hugo anymore so I don’t even think about them. Also Maike is currently not in any home sooooo, that’s fun.

I set Gunther to ponder those logical moves at the chess table and then headed up the stairs to research logic. All the while, continuing to be his very glum self.

Haha! My trap is revealed! Eventually those with high logic skill would spawn in and Gunther could have someone to chess with! And befriend perhaps. I’m not initiating conversations in his gloomy mood, that’ll be up to him. Anyway, here’s Leila Illes, who gained logic purely for the sake of her career growth as an artist. And fellow Rising Star celebrity! No introductions pass and she wins the chess game. Alas! Time to mope around, nab some fries for a munch, and then head home to sleep. All the while, narrowly avoiding chatting with another vampire. SO MANY VAMPIRES AROUND HERE. I need more werewolves to balance it out.

So he arises from his sleep at 9PM. The time of ghosts. Gunther has become nocturnal over the course of this weekend. Alas. He has work in 14 hours. So I’ll send him to bed again at 10 hours til work and see how things shake out.

...and I seem to be running into an issue here. Normally, when you’re unable to cook a group meal, the game points out what ingredients you’re missing. But this time, it doesn’t seem to be popping up? -shrugs- We’ll see if this continues to be an issue. I like making leftovers to eat at other times so...this is disappointing.

And Gunther also reached level 10 Gourmet Cooking! Nicely done!

And thus do I send Gunther to slumber...which only lasted until 2AM. Dude’s well-rested I suppose. Perhaps I’ll take a nap before work happens. Or it could just be another bump in the night that disturbs him awake. Ah well. His whim is to skill up so he and Guidry can play a chess match together. And flirt a little. And smooch. Hehehehehe. But enough of these boys it’s time for-

Neighborhood Watch!

Blakely Harp in the Harp household has died. Blakely got a little too angry and exploded.

Blakely...Blakely. I recognize that- OH! She was one of the butlers! Dang. RIP to her.

Maximiliano Villanueva in the Villanueva household has started a job as a New Hire in the Salaryperson career.

Brayden McCauley in the McCauley household has died. Brayden experienced more embarrassment than any Sim can handle.

Anyway, let’s get back to the smooching boys and-

...I suppose this is to be expected. You know, it’s nice that Gunther found love again. With quite the ghostly fellow! Who will likely smooch anyone but hey, it’s not as if woohoo with a ghost is dangerous! But how does it work? Is it more of a mental thing?

Anyway, another round of chess with Gunther and Guidry. And then, after smashing some hands, a quick nap before we head to work. Our bills also came in and we’re at 5,196. Yeesh. But double checking his career and how much money Gunther makes per hour and he can still afford it. Still really need to get water managed.

Anyway, our assignments are to paint a mural for 2 hours, not what I expect from a food critic but hey, and to write a book. And thankfully, we still got Fizzy Fizz Fuzz in the works for us to finish up. A mural though… I tend to like putting those within the local worlds of the person that lives there. But where would be ideal?

While I ponder this, we sell our latest book and check the NAPs again. 10 for Performing Arts and 9 for Foodies. Hmmmmmm. How much does Gunther want this? ...he wants it. I push for three more votes in the Foodies ballot. With two hours remaining, it’ll definitely win.

Still had the ingredients thing when making a Ceaser Salad for lunch. It wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t have ingredients, but I don’t know what ingredients I’m missing that annoys me. Hmm.

Anyway, still debating between Old Platz, the old historical neighborhood, and the Lykke Centre for where to put the mural. My first instinct is around the library, nighclub and cafe of Old Platz so I headed on over to the Narwhal Arms to scope out the venues for any inviting walls.

And what I found was a good spot to seemingly put a garage door at. Just right behind where the dj would be. Nice nice. Hmm. City? Or Cultural? Let’s go with City and see what we get. ...honestly graffti would be best but the job thing says mural!

And there we go with the Foodies Unite winning the vote. Nice nice! We also completed our job of painting for two hours, but we ain’t yet done with the mural! No we must finish this work! I demand it!

Hmm. It’s nice and all but I don’t know if it fits Windenburg’s vibe. Perhaps cultural next time? I was going to order a drink in celebration but then I remembered, drinks are NO GOOD! So instead we go home to a ghost-free home and get some rest. Well, until something spooks Gunther awake. As things do. I spot a spectre out so I go ahead and cook some food for them. But before the results of attempted spectre appeal,

Nighborhood Watch!

Stanley Crouse in the Crouse household has started a job as a Sales Floor Clerk in the Retail Employee career.

Del Sol Valley: The McHenry household moved out.

Couldn’t take the ultra expensive lot.

Today is the last day with Gunther and since we report into work today, I don’t feel like it’ll be especially long so, extra-long post! We make some asparagus which we ate and also appeased a spectre with! Nice nice! And received a gift!

...so we’re going to drink someone’s essence. Interesting. With it, we gain a bunch of painting experience, as he gained memories from a previous life. Also we can sell the glass, which is nice. Back to snoozing though! Snooze until an hour until work! And then work hard! Work hard, make money!

Returning from work, Gunther’s whims are to read a book, and cloudgaze with the librarian he met awhile back. Well, he works until 8PM and also, it’s cloudless in Windenburg. Summertime and the weather is hot. I at least wanted to get to know the guy a little bit better and make some light chatter  before I head off to find a book. Romance novel, it looks like. Finishing off the book, I make for the Research Station to research more logic. Very close to a level and that’ll nearly be done with the aspiration then. We instead level Research and Debate up to 3 and also get the prompt to go “do you like doing this?” To which I’m basically like, hmmmm, maybe but ehhhh nah. Not a special like with him. Means to an end.

We’re also hungry. I would go to the nearby food stall but all it has is parfaits and hamburgers and hot dogs and this is Gunther! We want fancy feasts! And there are two restaurants that can fulfil that whim. An Italian one and a fish based one. Which does he feel like? I’m always down for noodles so off to Willow Creek. Mostly Gunther was right next to a vampire couple arguing all the while. And other patrons being very scared for some reason or other.

Oh dear. Food is aboslutely horrid. Be grateful Gunther’s not at work chefs! But someone is going to have a very bad day. Primally Gunther. You can send insults to the chef and so I do so. Because he DEMANDS better.

And so we send Gunther home, with a bad meal in his stomach. And so we end this run of the Munch household. Where shall we go next? We’ll find out after…

Neighborhood Watch!

Brindelton Bay: The Richard household recently moved in.

Join us next time for a trip to...the Delgato household. Oh. Oh boy. This’ll be fun.

#sims 4 #liveblogging #gunther munch #that's it we're done with gunther's run! #now it'll be a full house with a family so it'll be extra long!

[ahatintimepieces]

Oh my~ two song drabbles in the morning? What an early treat! If you’re still doing them, how about „You’ll be in my Heart“ from Phil Collins? A fluff classic and perfect for a cute little story~! Take all the time you need though!

I’m so glad to hear it! And omg yesss. I wrote this kind of quickly and hope it’s okay! It’s... long :’D I got carried away.

The ghost read in his chair. It was a new book he had nabbed from his latest victim. Not the kind of material he usually read but it was fine to pass the time. He had a lot of time in the afterlife. And yet, the past year had been one of the longest he had to endure.

Frustratingly, everything was fine. The forest was safe. The fire spirits didn’t come around too often. The queen was staying in her manor. The subconites sluffed off more than they worked. It was dang near perfect. But there was an absence. One that left him feeling sluggish and unmotivated most days. It took a couple months to admit, but with a heaviness in his chest unbecoming a weightless spirit, he missed the kid.

She just… left. Brushed him away with a broom. He supposed he understood. She had a home to get back to, but… no. He was certain any hopes he had that she would want to… well… stay was just his own selfish desires.

Grimacing he remembered the unsigned documents he had offered to try to get her to stay. They were still filed away by their BFF contract. He let out a sigh, trying to let go. It was what she wanted. It didn’t do him any good to linger in what was lost and gone.

It was just so easy for ghosts to do.

After turning a few pages, a splash came from the shallow pool around his tree. He didn’t look up. It was probably one of his minions and he wanted to finish reading a sentence while footsteps tapped into the opening of his tree.

A pause. Silence.

Snatcher finished his page before realizing maybe something was wrong. Tearing his golden gaze from the page, his usual smile dropped with his jaw. Hesitant blue eyes stared back at him.

“Kid?” His voice was strained. She nodded, her lips in a tight line as she clutched the corner of her cape in her hands.

“Hi,” she whispered tightly, looking down and shuffling on her feet.

He snapped his book shut and she jumped at the sound. Feeling a little guilty for startling her, but too caught up in his own pounding pulse to adequately respond he gripped the armrest with one of his talons.

Could she be back because—No! He inwardly scowled at himself, stopping the thought in its tracks. She did not come back because she missed him. Right? He had to act cool, calm, collected. Conceal. Don’t feel. All that ice queen jazz.

Leaning back, he summoned a smirk as he folded his talons together.

“Lose more of your hourglasses? Or did you want to try your hand at more contracts?”

Keeping her gaze low, she kept fiddling with her cape.

“A-actually.” She cleared her throat. “I was hoping to—landmyshiphere.” She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for a cold laugh or angry retort.

“You what,” he questioned, bewildered.

“Land my ship,” she said a little slower. “I… I was thinking… there was a lot I still wanted to do on this planet. A-and Subcon seemed as good a place as any…”

“What about your home?” Snatcher tilted his head, suddenly fretting over her planet’s well-being. He swallowed his feelings, shaking his head slightly. He hated that he cared so much.

“Hmm?” She paused before sighing. “It’s just—I went back and they—well—” she trailed off, slumping.

“You aren’t in trouble, are you?” He growled, ready to tear into the fool who could have caused her crestfallen features.

“No,” she said quickly. “I guess… I just felt… like they barely cared when I got back.” Her small fingers tightened around her cape, wrinkling it. “They just kept giving me more missions and I… I just felt… bad… all the time.” Her brows furrowed as she seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say. “They probably haven’t even noticed I left.”

“So, your plan was just to camp out in a haunted forest on a distant planet?” Snatcher raised an eyebrow with his golden mouth in a tight line, barely highlighting his fangs. “Why not Mafia town? They at least have markets and food. Nothing can really grow here.” Not anything edible at least.

“Well,” she offered with a nervous smile, “my BFF is here.” A moment passed and her small smile fell. “Snatcher?”

His talons were pressed tightly together as he kept his features frozen. Inwardly, he was short-circuiting. Did that mean what he thought it meant? She wanted to stay with him? It was almost too much to hope for; his heart ached as he tried to stifle the rising elation. He thought about the unsigned document. The one he had drafted meticulously and never had the chance to properly give her a chance to read through it. But… now…

“Park your ship here?” He cleared his throat and straightened, feigning a nonchalant air as he snapped his talons and summoned the document. “Well, let’s see, that’s a big favor to ask.” She squirmed a little and he cleared his throat again, trying to dispel his nerves. “If you want to park here, that’s just like saying the forest is as good as your home and I can’t just let anyone live here. So, tell you what, if you sign this paper and agree to everything it entails, I’ll let you live here and come and go as you please.”

The paper flew over to her and into her hands and a feathered pen appeared nearby. Immediately, her head snapped up with wide eyes.

“A-adoption papers?”

“I mean if you dislike it—" he fumbled, dreading the slightly panicked look in her eyes. But before he could finish his sentence, she grabbed the pen and signed at the dotted line. He blinked, almost in a daze as he waved a pointed talon and stamped his seal on the document. The document floated back to him and his chest swelled as he scanned it.

“That seals the deal, Kiddo. The forest is yours to roam freely—”

Sniffling caused him to pause.

“Kid?” He snapped his fingers, filing the adoption papers safely away before flying over to her as she wiped fruitlessly at her eyes.

“S-so I can c-call you dad, now?” She choked out with shaking shoulders.

“Yeah,” Snatcher said, rather ineloquently for a lawyer ghost who was also once a prince. She cried harder and Snatcher held out his arms, hesitating. Finally, he tentatively scooped her up and she looked up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“You’re safe now,” Snatcher promised, brushing her light brown bangs from her eyes. She blinked up at him and sniffled. His heart leapt to his throat as he thought of a song his mother always used to sing. It had been so long… and he wasn’t sure it would soothe the kid like he hoped… but if she wanted him to be her dad as much as he wanted her to be his daughter… he could try.

“Come, stop your crying,” he lowered his voice into a gentle cadence, brushing one of her tears away with a soft talon. “It will be alright. Just take my hand,” he held out his talon and she grabbed onto it, hugging it against her small stature. He couldn’t keep his smile out of his tone. “Hold it tight.

“I will protect you,” he continued softly, floating back to settle down in his chair, “From all around you. I will be here. Don’t you cry.”

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against his mane as she hugged his hand. Her tears began to dry.

“For one so small, you seem so strong,” he continued as she drifted. Leaning back, he closed his eyes, focusing on the words. “My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm. This bond between us, can’t be broken.” His voice wavered a little as he held the last note, either from lack of practice or from the lump in his throat. “I will be here. Don’t you cry.”

He shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position. Her head readjusted on his shoulder. Her small fingers linked with his, their palms clasped together.

“’Cause you’ll be in my heart,” he sang, tapping his toes lightly in time to the cadence. Wait—He glanced down, mildly surprised he had shifted without thinking. His human hand was wrapped tightly with hers, and she leaned against the puffy, purple sleeve on his shoulder. His laced boots stretched up past his knees and she perched comfortably in his lap.

“Yes,” he continued, his voice soft as he examined himself for a moment before sighing and, instead, focusing on hugging his daughter close, “you’ll be in my heart. From this day on, Now and forever more.”

“I love you, Dad,” she whispered, keeping her eyes closed as a contented smile bloomed across her features.

“And I love you, Kiddo,” he whispered back, leaning down and pressing his forehead against hers. He sang a little longer, waiting until her breathing stilled and sleep and sweet dreams lulled her senses. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and muttered, “You’ll be here in my heart, always.”

#a hat in time #soft-hugs-and-bugs #ahit snatcher #ahit hat kid #my writing #song lyric drabbles #I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH THANK YOU #THIS IS 1500 WORDS I DID NOT MEAN TO MAKE IT THAT LONG WHOOPS #but basically my brain this morning was like what if the contract snatcher used to try to get her to stay was adoption papers #and my response to my own brain was oof #I HAVE MORE PROMPTS IN MY ASK BUT I WILL PROBABLY STOP FOR A BIT AND HANG ONTO THEM FOR A WHILE #IM SORRY BUT ALSO THANK YOU TO EVERYONE SENDING ME PROMPTS IM SO GRATEFUL #ALSO THANK YOU TO ALL THE TAGS AND COMMENTS ON THE PREVIOUS TWO DRABBLES THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME THANK YOU #OKAY NOW I GOTTA SKEDADDLE #but i hope you enjoy! #this song is gonna be stuck in my head all day and im thrilled

[snowdice]

Snowdice BINGO 5 Voting

Okay! Prompts are in and it’s time to vote. You will have the rest of today and all day Sunday to vote. I separated the prompts by universe. You have 3 votes which you can apply in any way you want. So, you could vote for 3 different prompts, give one prompt 3 votes, or give one prompt 2 votes and another 1 vote.

You can submit in an ask, reply to this post, or reblog this post.

Make it clear what you’re voting for, please! So do something like.

A-2, M-1

T:3

S1, B1, L1

The prompts are under the cut and separated by universe!

Block the tag “bingo 5 votes” if this annoys you!

Cops and Not Robbers AU

A: Roman, Logan, and Dee get into a mission that goes wrong in the most hilariously ridiculous way (similar in mood to the Roman-Remus mix-up)

The Dangers of Stereotypes

B: Remus and Patton being lovable goofballs and Logan has to deal with them.

The Prison You Deserve Universe

C: Virgil goes home, but, for the first time in a long time, he's not alone.

D: Virgil bakes cookies for the first time, with a little help. Shenanigains ensue.

Cuffed

E: Virgil gets caught in the crossfire between Remus and Logan and is hurt or drugged or something from their shenanigans. They immediately drop the fighting to look after him.

Road Trips and Everything in Between

F: Teen Janus having a nightmare and Remy comforting him?

G: Janus meeting Virgil for the first time in Road Trips.

H: Janus and Remus apartment hunting.

I: Janus and his series of firsts for the Patton-nappings in post-road trip. The first where he actually knows what's going on, the first where Pat came just for him and not because he was there too/Virgil wanted to get his bro, the first he & Pat are at base and they sneak off together to get Virgil (poor Lo), his first (w/ or w/o V) nabbing of Pat, or the very first Janus-involved one where he's there when Pat comes for Virgil but was not aware this was a thing yet, ect.

Birds of Different Feathers

J: More of Janus and Remus’ relationship

K: When Patton and Virgil got together

L: Virgil’s perspective from Kill Dear when he was first captured. An outside impression of the camp and the conversations with “the enemy” would be very interesting, if it included him and Janus being awkward it would be wonderful

M: Janus' perspective on Logan during the first week of captivity in Kill Dear.

N: Remus maneuvering to ensure people leave Roman out of the shadier parts of military life. Choosing to become the dark hand of the north.

O: Virgil trying to escape to murder Roman during Kill Dear and Janus having to foil his plots.

Labeled

P: Virgil actually gets in trouble in senior year thing from your ‘Labeled is making me sad’ post? (That is the following thing I wrote: Virgil does get in actual trouble at school in his senior year. (The principal is a bit leery of calling Patton at that point.) He and his teacher got into a disagreement in a chemistry lab. It was a perfectly civil and Virgil wouldn’t have gotten into trouble about that. Except… then the words “here I show you” came out of his mouth and… he started a small chemical fire despite his teacher’s vehement protests. Logan was like “…Patton you’re going to have to pick him up because I will not be able to physically restrain myself from high-fiveing the child.”)

Q: Patton's first parent-off/bake-off ect with a member of the pta, maybe during or about a bake sale. (Bonus if some of the ladies are over there admiring the view of his hot af professor husband who's helping set up, which is not at all getting in the way of dealing with Karen and her dang muffins. Honestly.)

 R: Logan and Virgil turn training into a real-life game of Fruit Ninja (with or without superpowered lightsabers).

 S: Virgil seeing Patton’s home office and the mess that it is for the first time. (Referring to this: Patton also has an office in the house. Well. An “office.” It’s actually a dinning room that they never use. It’s sort of a marital compromise. The rest of the house is clean and organized, but Patton is free to live his natural life in the office. He does actually use it as an office space when he writes papers and stuff. It also has his sewing stuff, painting supplies, and a small television. Papers from 20 years ago lie crumpled in the corners. There are half finished hats from when he wanted to pick up crochet. Missy hides treats in there when she can’t get to the yard to bury them.)

T: Logan’s class while he’s going through the adoption. Moments of memes, their unflappable professor being late or distracted or confused. Preferably with a Roman or Remus Cameo.

U: Virgil and Emile's first appointment

V: Virgil begrudgingly asks Remy for advice for his first date. (Original prompt is a date with Roman but it doesn’t really work so it’ll be a date with a random side character.)

W: Bluebird buys Virgil a sandwich

X: Familial Virgil & Logan & Patton. Word prompt: “sugar,” “shoo fly pie”, and “messy.”

Author’s choice

Y: Virgil sometimes wears his big headphones without actually listening to music so he can hear what other people are talking about when they think he can’t hear them. He accidentally hears them planning a surprise for him and he has to act like he doesn’t know so that he can continue listening in (cuz it’s calming to know that people aren’t talking bad about you at any chance they get) and everything’s super sweet

Z: A dramatic heist thing where Virgil, Patton, and Roman try to steal some Crofters from Logan. Bonus points if Remus barges his way in, insisting that he be the demolitions expert.

aaa: Kid!Virgil makes friends with a raven/crow/corvid

bbb: Diesel Fuel, verse: any/all.

#not writing #just talking #snowdice bingo #bingo 5 votes #my prompts

[where-dreamers-go]

“Part 3 -- Lemons” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. Welcome back to the Riley Poole x Reader series! The Declaration of Independence is safe from Ian, but an unexpected turn of events has changed your plans. But you, Ben Gates, and Riley Poole have to find out what’s on the back of the Declaration in midst of a time crunch. Danger is racing to catch the three of you. Will you all be fast enough to outsmart the others and handle Doctor Chase knowing what you all were up to?

Ideally, I wanted to have this typed and uploaded in March, but…yeah..the rest of February happened and then…stuff. So~

Check out Part One and Part Two.

Word Count: 3,999)

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

The time seemed to tick away faster the more you needed it. A different destination in the plan, the van continued down the roads in the extremely late hour. The darkness eased some anxiety, if only because it meant no traffic in sight.

Sitting in the van, much quieter than earlier, the four of you entered a neighborhood. It was calm and held no activity. A familiar house sitting on a small lot. Patrick Gates’ house.

Having been friends with Ben since you with both teenagers, you just knew Patrick would not react well to any of the situation at hand. Not even if he knew a small fraction of it. You dreaded to see the look on his face if you knew about the Declaration. You cringed, actually.

To the left sat Patrick Gates’ house. Short green hedges lined as fencing. Lights were still on inside even on the second floor.

You peered over the back of the driver’s seat to get a better view.

“Looks okay.” Riley peered out of the driver’s side window as he slowed the van to a stop. The window that had been shot out by one of Ian’s men.

“Park a couple of blocks away.” Ben said.

“Well, how long do you think we got?” Riley eased the van forward.

“I'm gonna give them a couple of hours at least. I hope.” Ben started pulling off his bow tie.

“What do we do about her?” Riley gestured with his head to Abigail. “I've got some duct tape in the back.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Both you and Abigail looked to Ben.

“No, that won't be necessary. She won't be any trouble. Promise you won't be any trouble.” Ben said glancing over to her as she silently evaluated the situation.

She sighed. “I promise.” Abigail said without a hint of sass nor anger. She sounded more tired and over it than anything else.

“See? She's curious.” Ben said.

Well at least she toned down in her yelling and name calling, you thought. Added that one of the last things you wanted to do was be duct taping someone, especially her. She seemed more than capable of handling herself and getting all of you into extreme trouble later on. She didn’t appear inherently bad, just tired and appalled.

. . .

The walk to the house was cold. Quite cold. It made the four of you move even faster. Your feet would thank you for changing into even more comfortable shoes. Yet everything else would nag you for cold-weather clothes. You had considered nabbing a blanket from Riley’s van, however thought better of it because you wanted full arm movement without restrictions.

Head held as high as he could manage with the Declaration hidden in the maroon cylinder over his shoulder, Ben lead the group to the front door and rang the doorbell. Lights were still on even then. It was mildly surprising that Patrick was awake this late.

You took a deep breath, standing beside Abigail on the short path.

The door opened, Patrick answering in a robe.

“Dad.” Ben breathed out.

“Where's the party?” Patrick asked in a flat tone.

You glanced down at your attire. It wasn’t exactly casual wear. Ben was in a tux and Abigail was in a ball gown.

“Well…uh…I'm in a little trouble.” Ben started slowly.

“Is she pregnant?” Patrick asked, glancing over to Doctor Chase.

You clamped your mouth shut.

Oh, dang.

Riley and Abigail looked at each other. Everyone else glanced at her.

“Well, if she is, are you gonna leave the woman carrying your grandchild standing out in the cold?” Ben played along, anything to get indoors.

“I look pregnant?” Abigail’s voice was hushed as she directed her question to Riley and later to you.

He shook his head and looked down, couldn’t look at her.

You kept your mouth absolutely shut, shaking your head. It wasn’t entirely surprising to hear Patrick say that, for how long you had known Ben, but still.

Without a word, Patrick stepped back inside with a beckoning hand gesture as he allowed all of you in.

Ben, cautiously, walked in first. His father whispering something to him that you could hardly make out besides the words ‘dumb treasure’. Riley followed in second as you and Abigail were the last ones to enter.

The four of you shuffled into the room to the right. A living area with a fireplace.

“Well, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.” Patrick said as he walked into the room passed all of you. “There's some pizza. It's still warm, I think.”

All of you walked further into the room. It was nice, cosy, and decorated with various historical pieces. Yet your eyes darted towards the cardboard box of pizza.

Hello, you thought, walking over to the thin box. Starting to lean down to snatch a piece, but you stopped when you noticed the box was on top of a few books. How could he? And on the ottoman no less? That’s s—.

“Dad… I need the Silence Dogood letters.” Ben said, he stood with his father at the other end of the room. “Yeah, it's about the treasure.”

“And he dragged you three into this nonsense?” Patrick turned to the three of you.

You straightened your posture and gave a weak smile.

“Literally.” Abigail said as she crossed her arms.

“Kinda.” You said quickly.

“I volunteered.” Riley smiled.

“Well, unvolunteer, before you waste your life.” Patrick walked closer.

“Knock it off, Dad.” Ben moved in front of the fireplace.

Riley walked around you and opened the top flap of the pizza box. More than half of the slices were still uneaten. Plenty for a couple of hungry adults. Riley sat down down in the armchair as you immediately reached down to nabbed a piece of pizza.

The pizza was room temperature, but honestly at that point it wasn’t much of a negative because you were hungry and cold.

“Sure, sure, I know, I'm the family kook.” Patrick’s voice rose as his hand gestures increased tenfold. “I have a job, a house, health insurance. At least I had your mother, for however brief a time. At least I had you. What do you have? Him?”

There was a fit of uncomfortable silence.

At that moment, you did not want to tell Patrick that you were more talked into it than dragged. You wanted to help your friends. So you took the hero card instead of sitting at home in a large puddle of anxiety.

“And you’ve brought (Y/N) into this. Ben, their parent was/is a freemason!”

“Dad.”

“Master Mason,” you murmured before taking a rather large bite of pizza.

Patrick glanced at you for a second. Long enough to make your shoulders hunch and you sink closer to the pizza.

“Look, if you just give us the letters, we're gone.” Ben said calmly.

“You disappoint me, Ben.” Patrick walked to the other side of the room once more.

“Well, maybe that's the real Gates-family legacy. Sons who disappoint their fathers.” Ben fired back.

“Get out. Take your troubles with you.” Patrick spoke without even looking to his son anymore.

Ben stood his ground, however less tense.

“I found the Charlotte.” Ben added in, his voice soft, happy.

His father stood still, rigidity gone. Possibilities running through his mind.

“The Charlotte?” Patrick glanced back to his son. “You mean she was a ship?”

“Yeah, she was beautiful. It was amazing, Dad.”

“And the treasure?”

“No, no.” Ben tried getting back to the positive conversation, knowing he was literally walking a thin line. “But we found another clue that led us here.”

“Yeah, and that'll lead you to another clue. And that's all you'll ever find, is another clue. Don't you get it, Ben? I finally figured it out. The legend says that the treasure was buried to keep it from the British. But what really happened was the legend was invented, to keep the British occupied searching for buried treasure.” Patrick tried persuading his son. “The treasure is a myth.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Ben stood unmoving.

All attention in the room had focused on the two Gates. Their tension in different views on the treasure was well spoken. Neither man was one to hold back their thoughts.

“Well, you can believe what you want. You're a grown person. What am I doing? Do what you want, Ben. Do what you want.” Patrick said walking out of the room.

“He's probably right.” Abigail spoke up. “You don't even know if there is another clue.”

“Well, I can think of a way where we could find out. And we can find out right now.” Ben nodded.

The dining room. Ornate and fully furnished. It would become the testing room for the Declaration of Independence.

With a few questions for locations of specific objects, the four of you set up the room. You had cut up a couple of black trash bags and used Riley’s duct tape to piece them together to cover the table. You weren’t about to mess up the table nor contaminate the document. Being that the table was quite long, Abigail helped you tape the plastic together without leaving any bumps or gaps. It made the process faster and it eased your need for having it straight and clean. The dining chairs had been pushed out of the way while gloves were gathered.

Working quickly, the group of you placed a small dish with freshly sliced lemons, yellow gloves, blue gloves, two pairs of white gloves, an open box of baking powder, a small glass of q-tips, a box of tissues, and four short drinking glasses all onto the table. You left the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Force of habit, maybe? It wasn’t any of yours’ table. Riley set a big roll of paper towels down beside the roll of duct tape.

Abigail and Ben had removed their jackets before grabbing the maroon cylinder. You and Riley stood adjacent from the pair. Once all of the necessary tools were set out and ready, each of you put on a pair of gloves. It was time to get started.

After taking the Declaration of Independence out of it’s protective containers, Ben and Abigail gently laid it out on the table. The four of you were silent, focused.

“Looks like animal skin. How old is it?” Patrick’s voice startled all of you for a second.

“At least two hundred years.” Ben answered.

“Really? You sure?” Patrick asked, hands holding the disposable remnants of dinner.

“Pretty darn.”

“Now if this thing's in invisible ink, how do we look at it?” Riley asked.

“Throw it in the oven.” Patrick answered.

“No.” Abigail voiced strictly over Riley’s “Uh-uh.”

“Ferrous sulphate inks can only be brought out with heat.”

���Yes, but this…” Abigail started, but Ben cautiously took the lead in explaining.

“It's very old.” Ben said slowly. “This is very old, and we can’t risk compromising the map.”

“You need a reagent.” Patrick insisted as he started walking away with the empty pizza box.

“Dad, it's really late. Why don't you get some rest?”

“I'm fine.”

Ben took a moment to compose himself.

“Lemons.”

Riley offered the bowl of lemon wedges and Ben chose one. Like surgical work on M*A*S*H, Riley acted as the nurse.

Just as Ben went to squeeze the lemon wedge, Abigail seized ahold of his wrist.

“You can't do that.” Said Abigail.

“But it has to be done.” Ben said, if more to himself than to her.

You had not realize that was how he planned on using the lemon. Obviously, there needed to be a tad more communication. He had not fully explained how to reveal invisible ink prior to getting the document.

“Then someone who is trained to handle antique documents is gonna do it.” Abigail said sternly.

“OK.” He straightened up slowly.

“OK.”

Ben gave Abigail her space as she prepared.

“Now, uh, if there is a secret message, it'll probably be marked by a symbol in the upper right-hand corner.” Abigail explained. Her voice was professional and informative.

“That's right.” Ben whispered.

She rotated the cotton end of the q-tip on the lemon wedge, allowing the material to absorb the liquid.

“I am so getting fired for this.” Abigail said as her right hand and the q-tip reached its destination.

All of you watched on, eyes trained to the back of the document. Abigail only hesitated once before gliding the q-tip across the corner. She did not stop until the small section was covered.

Seconds ticked by as everyone waited. The document had only gotten slightly darker because of the liquid, but nothing appeared.

Abigail gave Ben a firm look.

“I told you. You need heat.” Patrick piped up from a doorway. Head held high and a proud smile on his face.

After multiple checks to make sure the other was going through with it, Abigail and Ben leaned close and breathed onto the document together. A small freemason symbol appeared. The pair smiled.

“See?” Patrick said leaving with a kitchen towel in hand.

The symbol slowly started fading away.

“We need more juice.” Ben nodded.

“We need more heat.” Abigail smiled, actually happy.

You bumped Riley’s arm, “It’s real.”

The four of you rushed out of the dining room.

You went into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator for lemons. There was a whole bowl of them. Thankfully plenty more than you thought you needed earlier.

Why’s he have so many lemons? You thought. Probably got a bag of them. Too bad he didn’t have any lemonade..wait. No.

“Riley?” You called out as you grabbed the bowl of lemons.

There was a patter and squeak before Riley appeared in the doorway.

“Can you help me cut up some lemons?”

“Yeah.”

It didn’t take long for you two to slice lemons. Abigail had made it back into the other room with an old hairdryer before Ben had a chance to check up on you two.

Back at the covered dining table, you set a bowl full of lemon wedges down. There wasn’t much time to calmly take a moment before running the tests. Time was still ticking. Even Riley removed his coat before all of you set up more q-tips absorbed with lemon juice. Abigail was firm in that she would be the only one to run the test. None of you argued. She was trained. You all trusted and respected that fully.

Abigail immediately plugged in the hairdryer and waved it over the document once she was finished using the q-tips. Numbers and dashes appeared as the heat activated it. Ben carefully wrote down the code on a yellow pad. He did not want to risk miswriting anything.

“That's not a map. Is it?” Riley asked, taking a closer look.

“No.” You answered in a hushed voice.

“More clues.” Patrick said, watching on. “What a surprise.” He layered on the sarcasm and you suppressed the oncoming eyeroll.

“Are those latitudes and longitudes?” Riley then asked being as he still didn’t know what they meant.

“That's why we need the Silence Dogood letters.” Ben explained to his friend.

“That's the key?” Abigail questioned.

“Yeah. ‘The key in Silence undetected.’” Ben was on a roll. “Dad, can we have the letters now?”

“Will somebody please explain to me what these magic numbers are?” Riley asked from the end of the table beside you. Couldn’t blame him for wanting to be in the know when others were.

“It's an Ottendorf cipher.” Abigail said once she shut off the blowdryer.

“That's right.” Patrick said, still observing.

“Oh, OK. What's an Ottendorf cipher?” Riley sighed.

“They're just codes.” Patrick shrugged.

“Each of these three numbers corresponds to a word in a key.” Ben answered further as he stepped back from the table. 

“Usually a random book or a newspaper article.” Abigail added.

“In this case, the Silence Dogood letters. So it's like the page number of the key text, the line on the page, and the letter in that line.” Ben pointed to the numbers with the tip of the pencil. Riley and yourself leaned in to see. “So, Dad, where are the letters?” Ben stood straight with a bright smile on his face.

“You know, it's just by sheer happenstance that his grandfather—”

“Dad.”

“—even found them. They were in an antique desk from the press room—”

“Dad.”

“—of The New England Courant. That's a newspaper.”

“Dad, where are the letters?” Ben asked, his genuine smile gone.

“I don't have them, son.” Patrick finally answered.

Ben blinked. “What?”

“I don't have them.” His hand gestures had stopped completely.

A sickening feeling filled your stomach. If the anxiety from breaking the law and most likely having your name on radar was troubling you, having another obstacle wasn’t helping. You were rushed and had a time limit before anyone, Feds especially, came to the house looking for information.

If Patrick didn’t have the letter then that meant there was another step as well as another trip. It was becoming increasingly harder each time you all accomplished one task you had set for yourselves.

Your lips formed a thin line to avoid grumbling or mouthing a curse word. That and you really didn’t want to start down the dark, rapid tunnel of anxiety at the moment.

Ben sat down in the chair behind him with a thump. Frustration rising, he used his teeth to pull off his white glove.

“Where are they?” Ben asked his father without loosing eye contact.

“I donated them to the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia.” Patrick said firmly, if not stubbornly.

“Time to go.” Ben pushed himself up and walked passed Abigail to retrieved his tux.

You started pulling off your blue gloves, your mind giving you visual steps of what you might do next. Having a drink of water and using the bathroom were on top of your list.

Tiredly, you looked over to Abigail who had her eyes back on the document.

“I still can't believe it. All this time no one knew what was on the back.” Abigail spoke softly as she stared down at the Declaration.

“The back of what?” Patrick’s hands were already reaching out.

“Uh-uh-uh!” Riley lurched forward.

“No!” Ben spun around.

You ran into the table’s edge and did nothing but cause pain in your midsection.

It was too late.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Patrick’s hands remained on the sides of the document. The more he looked, the more he touched it with his bare hands.

You cringed, physically and internally.

“I know.” Ben stated.

"Oh, my God. What have you done? This is... this is the…” Patrick stuttered.

“I know!”

“This is the Declaration of Independence.” Patrick could probably cry or crumble to the floor.

“Yes.” One of Abigail’s gloved hands delicately held the top of the Declaration. “And it's very delicate.”

“You stole it?” Patrick asked as he backed away. Panic had been quickly replaced by disappointment.

Riley immediately pointed a finger at Ben.

You stood frozen. The best you could think to do or do instinctively was to remain absolutely still. You already knew how much trouble all of you were in to not spark anything more from Patrick.

“Dad, I can explain, but I don't have time. It was necessary. And you saw the cipher.” Ben said as he approached his father.

“And that will lead to another clue, and that will lead to another clue! There is no treasure. I wasted twenty years of my life. And now you've destroyed yours.” Patrick huffed. “And you pulled me into all this.”

“Well, we can't have that.”

He gave his son a questioning look.

“Hey, Patrick?” You asked, taking off your gloves and tossing them onto the table.

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about duct tape?”

“Excuse me?”

. . .

After quick bathroom trips to freshen up, the group set to work again. Car keys were found, a disposable cup was filled, and the tv remote was located.

You approached Patrick.

“Hey, if this doesn’t work out…I have undeveloped photos in my camera hidden by the rice in my apartment.”

“Oh—I’m not getting invol—.”

“Of The Charlotte.” You quickly added.

His mouth sort of hung out in a look between shock and happiness.

“By the rice. Camera film. All yours,” you said.

“The Charlotte,” he whispered. Patrick shuffled passed you and the armchair in a daze.

Riley walked in with his roll of duct tape.

“You’re so weird,” you smiled.

Riley made a face, looked down to the tape in his hand briefly and replied, “You have like three types of tape in your apartment.”

“…true, but technically I have like five or six.”

“Focus,” Ben voiced as he pushed a chair in front of the television set.

. . .

Open road in front of all of you, the quest to protect the Declaration and the treasure continued. The four of you left after taping up Patrick to a chair with a tv remote in one hand and a cup of soda in the other. You had all ‘stolen’ his car, but at least you left Patrick in front of the television for entertainment until the Feds arrived.

The car blended in better than Riley’s van and had seating for all. No chance of anyone falling on the vehicle’s flooring.

Ben took his turn in the driver’s seat on route to the Franklin Institute. It was his father’s car anyway. Doctor Abigail Chase sat calmly in the passenger’s seat. There seemed to be less confrontation after she had more time to digest that you all truly wanted to protect the Declaration of Independence. She had not even raised her voice since leaving the van. Perhaps she was seeing how the three of you weren’t out to hurt anything of historical importance. That you were just people who loved history. Aside from the fact that Abigail had yelled, insulted, and scolded you all in the beginning, she was pretty cool. She had a right to react that way then anyway. You’d be pretty peeved too.

You had your head leaning against the window as you sat behind Ben. Sharing the backseat with Riley and the Declaration of Independence was pretty comfy. Then again, you were so tired you could probably sleep on the floor. Riley had his legs bent to be as close to a cuddle position as he could while still sitting with a seatbelt on.

“Your dad's got a sweet ride.” Riley muttered as he hugged the maroon cylinder and his backpack.

“I think we should change clothes. We look kind of conspicuous, don't you think?” Ben asked.

“I'd love to go shopping, too, but we have no money.”

“Here, I took this from his house. He usually tucks a few hundred dollars somewhere between those pages.” Ben said, handing Abigail a small handbook.

“Common Sense. How appropriate.” Abigail mused. She shook out the cash onto her lap.

You yawned and accidentally kicked the back of Ben’s seat as you adjusted your legs.

“When are we gonna get there? I'm hungry. This car smells weird.” Riley rambled off with closed eyes.

“Food’s on me.” You announced, padding your side where you had a wallet of emergency money in other hidden pocket. “I didn’t know what would happen. Plus I went out to eat with…,” you paused, aware of Doctor Chase listening, “my friend.”

“Cool.”

It was better if you and Ben were the only ones who knew which person let you go as a guest to the Gala. Then again, if the Feds had Ben’s name then they very well had checked the list even after checking who Ben was close to. Meaning that your friend was definitely questioned.

Crap.

“What friend?” Riley murmured.

“The one who is probably really confused right now.”

“That’s not a name.”

~~~~~

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Three - Lemons. I hope you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it. I haven’t written more since February, so it’s weird, I’m excited to move on throughout the story of the movie National Treasure. How do you think relationships will change now that the friends’ plans have be altered and danger lurks around the corner? Let me know! All the best!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle @sledgy14

PART 4

#Riley Poole x reader #Riley Poole x reader series #Riley Poole #Riley Poole fanfiction #National Treasure #National Treasure fanfiction #where dreamers go #requested #masterlist

[ewokthrowdown]

Gah I’m back. It’s only been like a week since I’ve written anything but that’s like a really long time for me. Okay have a dumb coffee shop au.

The coffee shop was Yuuri’s absolute favourite. It was warm and cosy and cute. It did the most amazing mochas and even had a little stove fire, which was always lit in the cold New York autumn and winter. Phichit also had a couple of shifts there and liked to flick the mini marshmallows at Yuuri’s mouth from behind the counter. Their current record for Yuuri catching one was three tables and a stroller away. The baby in the stroller had seemed impressed even if his mother had been less so.

Yes, those were the reasons the cafe was Yuuri’s favourite. Definitely not because of the hot Russian man who also frequented it with his colleagues on their break. Definitely not.

Yuuri was currently bundled up in a good spot by the little stove, watching the flames lick up the logs inside as he sipped his usual mocha and thumbed the page of his book. He usually managed to nab this spot as Phichit would save it for him when he knew Yuuri was coming in. It also gave him a prime view of the beautiful silver haired Russian man as he chatted to his colleague, a pretty redhead woman.

Yuuri was actually taking a Russian course at college. It had been free, and he figured why not take advantage of a free language lesson when he’ll have to pay for them when he graduates? It could only increase his chances of getting hired.

His language skills were still not the best, but today the beautiful Russian man and his friend were actually sitting within earshot, so Yuuri tried to listen in to help him pick up a few phrases. But thanks to the noise of the other patrons and his own rusty skills he only got bits and pieces.

“...will be so angry with you, Victor… just don’t do anything stupid… last month’s… the Versace fiasco... next season’s line…”

It was the redhead who was talking, and from what Yuuri could pick up, Victor, as he now knew the beautiful man’s name to be, was at risk at being in trouble with someone. Also they seemed to work in fashion, which made complete sense. Victor and his friends were always dressed amazingly. Not that Yuuri knew much about clothes. He himself was just glad when he’d done enough laundry to avoid wearing one of the t-shirts Phichit bought him, which usually sported slogans like “Bubble Butt” and “Man Crushing Thighs”.

Victor and the redhead had moved on to talking about the coffee. Victor seemed to be complimenting it, only for the redhead to laugh for some reason.

“Oh please, I know that the only reason you come here is because of your cute coffee boy,” she was saying, and Yuuri’s first thought was that he was amazed and pleased he’d understood a full sentence. Then his heart plummeted.

Who was the cute coffee boy? Was it Phichit? It seemed likely. He was very pretty and Victor did always seem to be here during Phichit’s shifts.

“I’m also here for the coffee!” Victor protested.

And then, inexplicably, his eyes flicked over to Yuuri. Yuuri hurriedly looked back down at his book, his ears burning with the thought of being caught staring.

“...just so cute… with the reading though… wearing a sign saying ‘Don’t Talk To Me I’m Not Interested’... wouldn’t want to be that guy.”

Yuuri huffed. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or annoyed that he couldn’t quite translate all of what Victor was saying. On the one hand, he didn’t think he wanted to know more about his Favourite Unfairly Beautiful Man’s crush on his best friend. But on the other, well… everything Victor said was a gift. All soft and rumbly with the accent, but bubbly in tone like… like the best champagne.

“...when it’s styled… but fluffy hair look? Adorable, ten out of ten, would pine for again.”

The redhead laughed and Yuuri fought the urge to take a peek at the pair.

“I think you should go for it,” she said, making Yuuri’s heart stutter. “What’s the worst that can happen? ...maybe a bit awkward if you run into each other, but there’s plenty of coffee shops around.”

Yuuri bit his lip, staring intently at the words on the page without taking any of them in. He could not watch Victor ask Phichit out. He could not.

Yes okay, he didn’t even know Victor, had never worked up the courage to so much as smile at him never mind talk to him, but it was his best friend and roommate. God what if Phichit said yes? No, no, he wouldn’t do that, Yuuri told himself desperately as he gave a panicked glance over to where Victor was pursing his lips as though considering the idea. Phichit knew Yuuri liked the hot Russian who frequented the cafe, he certainly teased Yuuri enough about it. But then as Yuuri had just thought, he had never even spoken to Victor. He had no claim on him. Phichit, lovely, popular, beautiful Phichit, would be completely within his rights to date Victor.

What if they started hanging out at the apartment? Being all attractive and coupley while Yuuri ate American microwave ramen that was an insult to his ancestors?

No, the thought was too awful. Yuuri sprang to his feet at the same time as Victor stood up.

Shit, shitting hell. Dang and nammit. He needed to leave.

Yuuri fumbled for his things, suddenly cursing himself at being so terrible with the cold weather that he had so many layers. Why did he have two books? He hadn’t finished the first one, there was absolutely no need to be carrying the second just in case he finished the first.

Yuuri had managed to get his arm through his hoodie, was clutching his coat in one hand, had dropped both books and could taste what felt like his diaphragm in his mouth, when a pair of feet stopped in front of him. Yuuri looked up.

And knocked the remainder of his mocha over.

“Whoopsie!” said Victor, diving forward to catch the mug at the same time as Yuuri.

This of course meant they smacked heads and Yuuri let out a whimper that was a combination of pain and complete, utter, send me to hell mortification.

“Blyad,” Victor said, making Yuuri wince as Victor rubbed at his forehead.

Somewhere behind him Yuuri thought he heard Phichit make a noise that sounded alarming like the coffee machine frother. Though perhaps that was actually the coffee machine, Yuuri didn’t know Victor was smiling at him oh god.

“Well that is not how I wanted to introduce myself, but there we go,” Victor said, dropping his hand as he continued to smile at Yuuri for some unknown reason.

“Err…” was Yuuri’s eloquent and witty response.

Victor however seemed unphased, flipping his fringe out of his eyes and fixing Yuuri with a smirk that made him want to climb up the chimney above the stove to escape the feeling it gave him.

“I’m Victor. I’ve seen you in here a couple of times.”

“Err… yes?”

One of Yuuri’s most intelligent rejoiners, surely. He coughed and mentally kicked himself.

“Yes, um, I’ve seen you… too.”

So much better.

Despite Yuuri’s complete and utter humiliation, Victor grinned at the response, apparently delighted.

“So we’ve both been seeing each other,” he said with a wink, which oh god the smirk was bad enough. “Perhaps we could see each other somewhere else too?”

What.

“Maybe dinner? Or another cafe? I’m not fussy.”

What the absolute shitting hell.

“Sorry, I’m going about this all wrong,” Victor said, showing the first sign of embarrassment as Yuuri continued to gape at him like a mute fish. Not that fish spoke. Fish were always mute. For the love of god why was he thinking about fish when Victor was clearly the spiciest salmon roll in the ocean?

Yuuri was going to lobotomise himself.

“Perhaps I can get your name first?”

Yuuri’s disbelief and shock had apparently reached some kind of internal limit and defused into a sort of emotionless plateau.

“It’s Yuuri,” he said, slightly croaky, a little flat, but an actually acceptable response.

“Yuuri,” Victor purred, and if Yuuri hadn’t been so overwhelmed he may have trembled apart at the way Victor said his name. He still might. “Well, Yuuri, maybe I can get your number so we can talk more about that date?”

Yuuri’s emotions slammed back into him at Victor’s last word, bringing with them the sort of heat to his cheeks that he’d only previously felt from the New York sidewalk in the middle of July.

Despite this rather alarming state of being, Yuuri was able to accept the phone Victor was pushing at him after creating a new contact for him. He stared for a moment at the little hearts tagged onto the end of his name in the contact, and promptly felt all the blood leave his face again. If he kept going like this he was going to end up in the emergency room.

Yuuri typed his number out numbly and handed the phone back to Victor, his fingers all tingly.

“Wow, thank you so much,” Victor said, with such genuinity Yuuri could only stare at him. “I’ll text you later so you’ve got mine. I’m not going to do it front of you to make sure you gave me the right one, that’d be weird, and, shit, totally within your rights to, um…”

Yuuri watched with a kind of disjointed fascination at the way Victor cut himself off, a blush to rival Yuuri’s blooming over his cheeks as he fumbled the phone back into his pocket.

“Sure,” Yuuri said, managing to find his voice in the face of Victor’s apparent embarrassment. “I look forward to it.”

“Great,” Victor let out on a sigh of relief, running a hand through his hair and looking slightly more centred.

Then he glanced over his shoulder at his friend, who was getting to her feet with an amused expression that she couldn’t completely hide as she drained the last of her coffee.

“Ah, well, it looks like I better be going,” Victor said, turning back to Yuuri with a sheepish smile.

“Well I’ll… look forward to your text.”

Shit, he’d already said that. Moron.

“Great,” Victor said on a breathless sigh, smile widening into a more genuine grin. God, that was cute. “Well… see you.”

Then Victor was turning away and Yuuri was watching him go as though from behind a pane of glass. As Victor pushed the door open and threw one last smile over his shoulder at Yuuri before exiting, what had just happened fully hit Yuuri. He sank back into his armchair with a noise not unlike a balloon deflating.

Through the fingers he had pressed over his eyes, Yuuri saw Phichit hurrying over to watch Victor go through the window.

“He just did the nerdiest little celebration dance,” Phichit called over the heads of all the other patrons, who could you know, hear him. “By my jelly sandals, you two are perfect for each other.”

Yuuri summoned enough energy to fling his empty muffin wrapper at Phichit. Then had to apologise when it hit one of the stroller patroller mothers.

Feel free to send me prompts! Apparently I need them atm. Find me on Ao3 :)

#victuuri #yuri on ice #yoi #viktuuri #my fic #my writing #mine #i have no idea if language classes are free at american uni #they are here #gah #victuuri fanfic

[heidiamalia]

Canvassed

words; 2285

[read on Ao3 instead]

“Okay, so tell me again why you can’t just call this person?” she asks him, toes tucked around her chair, her knee bouncing. Her fingernails tap on the table but keep catching in the grooves of the outdoor furniture. She brings a thumb to her lip to chew on a hangnail - tasting sugar - and watches him grab a newspaper from the dispensers nearby. “Or tell me their name?”

Frank sits down across from her and eyes the bright pink frappuccino in front of her, whipped cream slowly making its way out of the plastic cover, down to soak the stickers receipt. He’s already opening the paper, scanning through the contents panel before looking back at her with a stiff expression. “Drink your dessert, Amy,” he mutters quietly.

She dips a new finger across the top of his cinnamon roll on her plate instead and squints back at his rushed scan of the Bulletin newspaper. His brow furrows with confusion, and he takes a gulp of coffee from his cup. She does not miss the way his trigger finger begins to move, tap tap tap against the newsprint. Her eyes roll. Oh, jees.

“Is it Curtis?” she wonders aloud, knowing instantly his continued silence and clench of his jaw means no. Frank is folding the paper back up and tossing it onto the empty chair beside them, sighing. Amy shoves the plate towards him, licking her fingers again. He pulls the roll apart, wiping it across the porcelain to pick up any melted icing, throwing it in his mouth before rubbing his hands together. Satisfied, she drinks the berry whipped frozen treat through a straw and settles her back against the seat.

They’d been driving for a few hours. Frank got it in his head to get back to New York once the van and the trailer had been packed up, and he had refused to stop until they got in to Hell’s Kitchen. Gotta check in with someone, he told her. She had an inkling.

Curtis had been keeping tabs on them once Amy ran into the fiasco that was Frank Castle and never left. He had her number, and she sent him memes when he would ask after them. But, she noted suspiciously, Curtis was in Queens. And they were decidedly not. She took a glance at the folded Bulletin and took her own piece of the lemon loaf she nicked from the pick-up counter.

“Mm, is this about your uh, your buddy,” she’s careful going about this now, only because Curtis told her before to back off. “Yah know, the one with the face?” Her hand crosses a few times over her nose, eyes focused on the cut on his cheek from his last scuffle in a New Jersey gas station. “I read online he woke up.”

Frank looks at her through narrow eyes and the butt of his coffee cup, and grunts when he sets it down. He leans in close, “No.” His head darts around, tracking something behind her and she turns to look as well before he flicks the hardened lemon glaze chunk off the plate and into her hair. Hey, she’s exclaiming, brushing it from her curls, nabbing it before it fell to the ground. It’s melting on her tongue when she can see him hesitate.

Chickenshit, she thinks. Her arms cross her chest and she sips the frappuccino slowly. They watch each other for a moment. “Sure.” He hums his acknowledgement, but she rolls her eyes again, tired. He knows she can keep a secret. “Look, we’re here, all right? You might as well tell me.”

His trigger finger spouts another surge into his thigh and he clasps his hands together on the table top to avoid it, ducking his head low. “Karen Page,” he tells her. Oh, she thinks, inkling confirmed. He waves his hand at the newsprint flapping against the chill of March air. “She’s a reporter.”

Her phone is in her hands in a flash, her thumbs typing the name into the search engine widget. “Is she, this the uh, the someone, the something-someone?” Her mouth lifts conspiratorially, catching his gaze turning hard. The page loads while she takes a bite sized piece of lemon loaf and throws it at him. Lighten up, huh? he tells her. Frank swipes a hand and smacks it midair. The crumbs bounce off his boots.

“Nelson, Murdock ampersand Page,” she recites to him, a local Hell’s Kitchen attorney link the first to pop in view. “Not a reporter anymore,” she says, noting the private investigator mention in the header. A few Bulletin press photos follow and she notes the shine of blonde hair, the way her smile brightens her whole face. Amy hears his tongue click against his teeth, his head swaying to look down the sidewalk, his eyes rolling quick. She keeps scrolling, as the name triggers a few iconic news articles written by her. There had been something even about her recently in several news sites. Dang, girl, Amy thinks. She flags a few of them to read later, her words in her throat to speak when Frank’s looking at her with a question in the lines of his forehead. “What?”

“Where are they?”

-

“Lieberman sent me the article last night,” he admits to her a couple hours later, leaning against a foreclosed business window across the street from the makeshift law office and pointing at her screen. They had walked 10 blocks instead of losing a parking spot for the van. Amy’s feet protested, her good boots back in her bag in the trailer. “I’m gonna kill him,” he relays simply, like he’s rejecting the offer of milk in his coffee. “It’s a few weeks old - but I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

She is reading the Wilson Fisk apprehension news attached to Karen’s name, remembering the way Frank quickly ushered her in the seat and they were off without another word, shitty fast food their dinner course for the road. Looking at the Nelson’s Meats sign only makes her stomach grumble.

“We had shitty service in West Virginia,” she tries. His head lowers to his chest, but she sees him nod. She wonders for a second. “You didn’t let her know you were coming back though,” she accuses him then, and she puts her phone back into her jacket pocket after scrolling through some more articles.

“She knew I would be,” he whispers with that gravely tone he used when he told her they needed to go. Amy knows he didn’t call her, but the small collection of postcards she’s seen him drop in mailboxes is all she needs to figure that is true.

“Did you also know she’s an absolute shit magnet?” Amy smiles wide up at him as she bends forward against the brick to stretch her arms, using his own terms for when she started to tag along with him.

Frank exhales heavily, closing his eyes and shaking his head in resignation, a small smile turning his lip up. He tries to bring it down quick enough, mouth twitching before she straightens to point at him, caught. “Yeah,” he agrees, a small laugh in his throat, “well.”

The bell on the inside of the butcher shop - whose idea was it to stick an attorney office in there, anyway - echoes in her ears as they both turn to look at who opened the door. Three bodies step out into the mid afternoon sun, a series of chuckles from each as the stocky blond in a suit tells the other two - a blind man and Karen - a story.

“Oh,” Amy mutters back, watching the way his face lines ease, his mouth parting at the sight, “but she’s your shit magnet, right, amiright?”

He gives her a brief glare and sighs in response before turning to see she’s rooted to the spot when she sees them. Frank pushes away from the wall with a kick of his boot when they watch Karen Page tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, mouth moving softly, as if exhaling. His hand lifts in a wave before she slowly steps away from the two men with her to get a better look. One of the men - the blind one - freezes in their conversation at her action, his head turning sharply in their direction, his laughter disappearing.

Karen smiles with her teeth, her eyes crinkling. “I’m right,” Amy smugly states.

The tall blonde is already edging towards the road, towards them, her hair whipping in the breeze as she turned and looked both ways. The blind man says something hurriedly, his arm extending to reach hers before she touches the pavement. Amy watches as the cane in his grip bounces around on his wrist as his mouth moves just as fast. The stocky blond beside him lifts his gaze across the street at them, a bit squinty in the face before his eyes widen in recognition of Frank. He hesitates with his hands in his pockets and then says something to the blind man, shaking his head.

Whatever it is only makes him grip Karen tighter. Frank shuffles from foot to foot, his head bobbing side to side. He’s radiating anger. “Goddamnit, Red,” he says, his voice low, a warning Amy is quickly getting familiar with. His jaw clenches tight as the blind man reacts as if he’s heard him.

She rests her chin on a fist, kicking her foot back to the brick, curious to the way the man moves as if he didn’t need the cane. “He looks like an asshole,” she tells him factually, hearing Frank bristle back a laugh with a harsh grunt as Red - she adopts the nickname - turns his face again at her words. Karen’s glaring at the arm still on her elbow, her mouth seething, her head shaking at Red. Amy can nearly taste her shout, Let me go.

Her arm rips out of his hold and Amy sees the way his jaw clicks, the hand brushing down his tie to seemingly act casual as Karen looks into the street again. “Attagirl,” Frank gently whispers. She’s readjusted her purse on her shoulder, her heels clack clack-ing quickly as she makes her way over. The lawyer boys stay behind near the shop. Red grips his cane with two fists.

Frank meets her on their edge of the sidewalk.

Karen’s arms lift and wrap him in close around his neck, eyelashes fluttering closed. Oh my god, she breathes out, Frank. She can hear the raw relief in her throat. Her knuckles are bone white as she holds him. Amy spots when his nose buries into her neck, the tight grip of his hands on her blue coat. “Hey,” he tells her, his voice now soft and quiet. They sway together in their steps for a moment, just breathing. “I woulda got here sooner,” he starts. The sound is muffled by her skin, but Karen releases her arms to slide them down his shoulders, and Frank stops to take her in again. He keeps his hands on her waist and instead of complaining she arches to stare him in the eye.

Amy tracks the way her thumbs lift up to stroke his jaw, a worry rub bruising on her mouth as she looks over the scratches on his face. Frank brings a hand up to reset a blown-around strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers tracing her cheek. She can’t help the way her eyes light up with relishing anticipation when she spots Karen lingering her own on the cut in his lip. “Are you okay?”

“Jesus Christ, Karen,” he says. It’s a real, true laugh now, bubbling up from deep in his chest. The anger from before is a distant memory now. He rests his mouth at her forehead when she lowers her gaze and pets his jaw again, careful to avoid the bruises creeping beneath her fingers. One of her hands settle against his collarbone. Oh, he’s never living this down.

“You go toe to toe with Wilson Fisk and nearly get killed by that crazy dude in the devil outfit, and you’re asking him if he’s okay?” Amy finally butts in, pointing at the gruff mess in combat boots in their company. He’s trying to keep the grimace off his face at the mention of the ex-FBI agent. “Him?” She sweeps her hair to the side and watches as Karen Page’s face widens in another smile, this time in her direction. Dear god, she’s pretty.

“Someone needs to,” she joked. Frank lets her go, one hand sliding lazily across her hip as Karen came closer. “Amy, right?”

It takes her a second to unlock her shoulders from panic at the recognition. Frank wouldn’t put her in harm’s way. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Karen’s eyes dart to and from each of them before turning a heel abruptly around to see the lawyer boys are still hovering on the other side, watching. “It’s my lunch hour,” she says slow and clear, with an edge of exasperation. “We’ll - go,” and Frank pulls at his bottom lip with teeth to stop the smile rising, some kind of secret split between them.

Her fist grabs at Frank’s black jacket by the wrist when she continues, dropping her voice back to friendly. “Catch up. Tell me what’s going on. The diner down here’s got a great turkey club.” Amy brings her foot down to the concrete and steps away from the wall. Yes, please.

Red takes the blond guy’s arm and they make their move slowly down the opposite end of the street.

Frank slips his fingers into Karen’s and she leads them further away.

#kastle #frank x karen #frank castle #karen page #kastle fic #cmon tags #hey so i love amy #i took some inspo from set photos again lol #my writing #put my shit in the tags goddamnit

[kinsbin]

Movie Night

Title: Movie Night Ship: Johnny Cage/Alexys [Self Insert/Canon] Word Count: 2058 Summary: Johnny and Alexys plan for their annual movie night, with a selection of good monster movies and a plan to kiss during all of them. Pure fluff.

A/N: A commission for @bad-blue-moon-rising! She’s slowly getting me into mortal kombat and it is a TIME

Movie nights were, more or less, a tradition now.

Alexys would call it a testament to their relationship, in a peculiar sort of way. The endless entertainment both herself and her boyfriend seemed to garner from the animated or live-action features always drew them closer together. It was important to how they first met and, hell, it would be important for the rest of their time together certainly. There was something about being able to forget about the outside world that warmed her heart. Of cuddling into a pile of blankets with her boyfriend and being able to exist only in that pure bubble of momentum and delight. The mere idea brought a smile to her lips as she imagined a life where they could be together comfortably. To always have movie nights. To be...she dared say normal...but what life was normal with Johnny Cage?

Her thoughts were interrupted when a hand fell against her wrist, pulling her back against a strong chest as a chin rested on the top of her head. She could feel the taught muscles of the body against her go lax the moment they made contact, the warmth of their shared heat nothing short of delightful as she exhaled outwards and smiled. Reaching up, she felt the arm around her and squeezed it, half hugging the being behind her in the best way that she could as she also tried to focus on the hot popcorn bag she had been pouring into a bowl before hand.

“Johnny,” She managed out through a small fit of laughter that only seemed to grow as his lips descended on her neck, “I’m trying to make us popcorn!”

“And I’m trying to kiss you,” He purred back with a smirk that she could feel on her neck, “Looks like we’re both doing pretty good at what we decided to try, eh?”

“Easy for you to say! You don’t have hot butter near your fingers, now either help or sit on the couch.” She giggled and smacked his arm playfully. Johnny laughed back at her before relenting, raising himself upwards and off of her body so that he was at her side rather than behind her. Alexys looked up and admired the face of the man before her, muscled with a curved and perfectly kissable jaw that she loved and adored so much. Without his signature sunglasses covering his eyes, she was able to note the soft laughter lines that trailed from underneath his pupils to down on his lips, admiring their movements as he stretched his face between words and expressions. They were always so fascinating and, somehow, so melancholy to see on him all at once...it was interesting.

“Hey, Ripley, you’re spacing out on me.” He joked as he snapped his fingers in front of her, drawing her out from her momentary enamorment of his face. HIs grin was wider now than it was before, “I know I’m good looking but, dang darling, you’re gonna make me blush if you keep those doll-eyes up on me.”

Alexys felt her face heat up with intense redness, her gaze pulling itself away so that he wouldn’t catch the effects it had on her as a whole. He did, however, because he was just that good. Because he was Johnny Fucking Cage. And he bit back a laugh as he instead returned to hugging her, his lips this time finding her cheeks and nuzzling into her temple with a purr, “Don’t be so embarrassed, doll, I think it’s incredibly adorable. Goes with the rest of you~.”

“Stop being a sap and tell me what movies you brought over,” She laughed it off with a grin, turning to kiss his nose in retaliation. After a moment of sputtering and laughter over the sudden kiss attack he had been the victim of,  he recovered by removing his hands from her in a gesture of surrender before reaching around to the messanger bag he had set unceremoniously on the ground before wrapping himself around his lover. When he rummaged through it, he eventually pulled out two DVD cases with a wide, delighted smile.

“Aliens and Big Ass Spider. Classics.”

“One of these things is certainly not like the other,” Alexys managed out with a bubbling laugh over the ridiculous title of the second one, admiring the way its cover displayed its concept almost too perfectly. A large, comically photoshopped tarantula whose eight legs were busy crushing cars as people ran in mock terror was organized on the front, along with the name of the movie in comic sans font and the head actors who, surprisingly, were no one Johnny actually knew. Well, not so surprisingly perhaps. It was a very niche movie.

“One is a cinematic masterpiece filled with beautiful acting, a strong female lead, and a fearsome inhuman foe ready to kick the ass of everyone in its way,” Johnny declared, “And the other is Alien.”

Alexys cackled at the comparison, her hand flying over her mouth to stop the laughter as she shook her head. Johnny’s own laughter echoed heartily against the kitchen as they shared the moment of giggles together. It was moments like this, she admitted with ease and delight, that she loved these movie nights most of all. The feeling of laughing with the man she loved, the strong earthen defender who had somehow fallen for her...It was almost normal. A sweet sense of normalcy that she had craved time and time again amongst fights and bloody fists and watching him come home with blood that wasn’t his across his torso...It was something else, certainly.

It was almost homey.

“Go put it on the TV,” Alexys sighed, “I’ll finish getting the popcorn.”

“And the soda!” Johnny called out before exiting the kitchen to the living room with a grin, sending a sharp wink her way before complying to set up their featured films. Alexys smiled as he went, watching him as he began to juggle the two DVDs in his hands, knowing she was staring behind him. Knowing that she knew he was showing off. She laughed again before gathering the popcorn up into its bowl and melting some butter to go with it.

The snacks organized and balancing precariously in her hand with some sodas, Alexys meandered her way towards the couch, where Johnny had already set himself up comfortably, DVD in and remote in hand prepared to hit play on the feature whenever his girlfriend gave the okay. He reached over to nab the sodas from her, smiling as she sighed with relief and was able to put the popcorn down with no spillage to its contents. “Gotta say, doll,” He joked while putting one of the buttered popcorn pieces into his mouth, “You know how to butter me up.”

“That joke was as corny as these kernels.” Alexys chided with a laugh at the joke either way, making Johnny grin and lean forward to press a kiss to her cheek, which she accepted happily with a hum of approval.

“So which cinematic masterpiece are we watching first?”

“If we watch Alien first, it’ll only enhance the pure artistry of Big Ass Spider,” Johnny reasoned, the shit-eating grin on his lips stretching further when Alexys rolled her eyes and shrugged to indicate that she was fine with that order of business, perhaps even a bit happy to be putting off the lesser horror movie for a couple hours longer as she pushed herself closer to Johnny and snuggled up into is side. Johnny felt the tips of his ears glow a bright red at how close she was, at how he could feel her body press on him, and he could only cough between a subtle remark of how he was going to press play.

The movie started in the way it always did, for they had seen Alien together more times than Alexys could actually count on her fingers. She considered it a bonding movie in one way or another, the joy to which the both of them had in quoting the entirety of it line for line and laughing at the parts that  did not hold up to modern day cinematic standards was a delightful way to offset the true tension and terror the Xenomorph could instill upon them to that day. Alexys felt Ripley’s lines falling from her lips, word for word, while Johnny seemed to read for everyone else. It had been their fifth time watching it together when she had acquired the teasing nickname of ‘Ripley’ by her star of a boyfriend, happy to hear her quote words in and out of the comfort of their home. Happy to hear her excited about whatever she was talking about.

Happy to be with her.

The thought still rustled in the back of her mind, making her blush at the mere idea of it. Someone like Johnny Cage somehow liked her...It’s how most people would view it, wouldn’t it? When she had met his friends, their first impressions had been something along that nature but now...now? Their shared banter of movie quotes and bad jokes had everyone nodding in understanding. An appreciation to how well they got along permeated the friendship circle endlessly as they continued to stay together.

Alexys leaned in further against Johnny’s chest, her breath hitching as the climax of the movie set itself into place and Ripley was facing off against the Xenomorph at long last. The music score crescendoed darkly, emphasizing the already dark parts of the room around them. Johnny watched her out of the corner of his eye, biting back his own smile at just how cute she looked pressed up against him. How her eyes grew wide with tension and excitement and her tongue darted out to lick at her lips while she waited for the part she knew was going to happen occur full force. Her excitement warmed his heart, in a strange way.

His arm found its way around her shoulders, bringing her close to his body and giving him a chance to haphazardly hug her. Alexys startled at the touch, blushing brightly but smiling as she snuggled into his body. He pressed his head to the top of hers, kissing and inhaling the scent of her soft hair as they watched the rest of the movie together. Against her, he whispered softly:

“You know it’s popular to kiss during the scary parts. Distracts you from the actual scare.”

“We’ve seen this movie like ten times, Johnny,” Alexys teased, “What are you, a teenager?”

“Maybe at heart,” He laughed back, “But maybe I just really want to kiss you right now. Did you think about that?”

She averted her gaze biting back a smile with a thoughtful hum for comedic effect. Johnny laughed, but used the moment to lean in and capture her lips in a kiss. Alexys squeaked, but accepted it. In the background, the final fight scene echoed against her eardrums as Ripley and the Xenomorph attacked one another. As they fought for survival. In the meantime, she put her hands on Johnny’ chest, feeling the solid muscle underneath the loose shirt he wore. Feeling how careful he was being with her, keeping his hands on her shoulder and hips, to bring her as close as possible to him while he kissed her.

When he pulled away, she was breathless. Alexys felt the warmth of her face as she looked up at him, the only saving grace of the embarrassment was the fact that she could see the red tips of his ears and nose as well, showing just how in love he was with her. Showing just what she made him feel.

“I love you,” He finally murmured out, pressing a new and more gentle kiss to her forehead. Alexys sighed with a content breath, snuggling into his chest and reaching for a piece of popcorn, popping it into her mouth and closing her eyes for a moment to relish in the shared care they had for one another.

“I love you, too.”

#self insert #self shipping #self ship writing #writing commission #kinley writes #other ships

[callmeakumatized]

My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend - Ch. 18

Prev. Ch. Ao3 FF.net

Marinette and Plagg Flashback, part 2/2

Marinette clamped her hands over her mouth, but the scream wouldn't stop coming. And, dang it, she couldn't stop staring.

That…that seriously was exactly what she thought it was, right?

'Cause cats that talk don't actually exist.

When her lungs finally begged for mercy, Marinette let in a large gasp of air, preparing for Scream Session Round 2.

It only came out as a flat wheeze.

Luckily, her lack of oxygen to dive into a full-fledged scream turned out to be a bit of a blessing. Red-faced and close to hyperventilating or not, she was thankful she was able, in the slight lull from one frantic, panicked sound to another, hear what was going on in the room next door. Or, rather, noticed the deep, sudden silence that was once a busy fencing practice that had just been shocked into silence, presumably by some girl's blood-curdling scream.

Not a moment later, hurried footsteps and quiet voices could be heard coming up to the locker room.

AHHHHH!

Marinette looked quickly around, trying for all her might to keep her head on and think of some sort of plan – because that's what Ladybug does, dang it – and failing at everything. Tikki was currently busy being absolutely no help. The red Kwami was going in dizzying circles, deep in the throes of her own thorough freak-out. And the little Kwami in the locker didn't look like it would be of much use either, considering the large yawn he had just let loose before curling up in a ball.

Closing her eyes, Marinette thought hard...and came up with a plan. A…crazy plan. Per usual.

Shoes, phone, Kwami, locker, Adrien. Shoes, phone, Kwami, locker, Adrien.

Marinette's head did nothing but swim around with those thoughts, the sounds of footsteps getting closer.

"Tikki!" she yelled quietly (yes, it's a thing). "Spots on!"

Shoes –

Ladybug grabbed the pair of shoes from Adrien's locker, leaping over the set and reaching the door in a quick bound. She took the laces and wrapped them around and through each other and the handles until there was a thick, tight, and super cute bow holding the doors secure.

Phone –

Skittering back around a way where the students that had just tried to jimmy the door wouldn't see Ladybug messing around in their locker room, Ladybug wrapped around another row and skidded to a stop in front of Adrien's locker. Above all else, Ladybug was determined not to make this trip a total bust – while Chat Noir's secret identity had been a big blow to her internal functioning systems, she hadn't had time to deal with the emotions buzzing around that, and, therefore, still needed to nab that phone and delete that stupid message. She grabbed the phone and then stared at her next target.

Kwami –

This part was going to be a bit harder, maybe, and, depending on how fast she was, could blow up in her face.

A strained smile was the only thing she offered the suddenly suspicious Kwami before grabbing him around the middle. The banging on the large room's door and the excited voices on the other side of the row of frosted windows covered up the mewling yowl the kitten let loose.

Locker –

Nope. That part of the plan wasn't going as planned. She had hoped to make it look like Adrien's locker wasn't actually messed with, but as fast as Ladybug had grabbed the black Kwami from inside, said Kwami started fighting against her grip, phasing through her fingers almost faster than she was able to grab onto him.

"Get your paws off me!" he yelled at her, skittering around the air.

"I need your help!" Ladybug whisper-screeched back, landing hard on her stomach after another failed attempt to keep the Kwami still. "Please! I'll bring you back – I'm Ladybug for goodness' sakes! Can't you just trust me!?"

Plagg laughed humorlessly, settling on top of the locker she had just dropped ungraciously from.

"What's going on in there!?" a stern, pompous voice came from the other side of the door.

M. Dargencort.

Marinette looked back to the cat Kwami with the biggest eyes she could pull, begging him to please help her.

Plagg only stared back, tail flicking.

Just when Ladybug thought she'd lost all hope and was about to make her exit, the raspy voice replied, lilting in a way that was almost teasing.

"You're the baker girl, right?"

"Yes?" Ladybug whipped around, looking frantically between the kitty and the door to the locker room. Her feet directed her backward, but her eyes stayed on the cat who had just floated up to her.

"I like cheese. Feed me, and I will stay with you."

"Ah, yea-!"

"Mess with me or my boy, and you will wish that you had never laid eyes on me."

"-aaaauuuhhhhhhhh…" Ladybug finished with another wheeze. The door to the room banged, like someone was trying to push their way in.

Marinette didn't have a choice.

She'd already stolen a phone, anyway.

Could it really get much worse?

As she zipped away, Kwami in hand, she heard a loud, familiar voice yell out from the locker room.

"Plagg!? PLAAAGG!"

Although Tikki had seemed reasonably twitchy at the school, Ladybug resisted the urge to transform as of right now just in case her Kwami had come to her senses enough to scold her. For right now, Ladybug needed a clear thought process, not a little bug laying into her. That would inevitably come sooner or later, and, while she could still choose, Ladybug chose later for the time being.

Plagg, meanwhile, poked around in Marinette's room, ignoring Ladybug stomping around and pacing, and definitely ignored every probing question she shot at him, trying to make sure he really was Adrien's Kwami, that he was Chat's Kwami, that there weren't other cat Miraculous holders, and so on. He seemed to draw the line at a favorite colors comparison, choosing then to float away.

"So why am I here?" he finally asked, tone drawling lazily with an edge to it Ladybug did not like. In the next moment, Plagg tapped on the computer keyboard and, for some reason Ladybug couldn't make out, her hidden folder of Adrien pictures blew up in full view, Plagg viewing the horde with a wicked grin on his face. "Oooo, nice collection!"

Ladybug was frozen. How did he even find that!?

(No really? Where did he find it? Because she hadn't been able to find it the last time she looked…)

Another click on the keyboard and a collection of documents popped onto the screen.

"Save me, Adrien! Golden hair and lipid pools of green. How I long for –"

"AHHH! STOP DOING THAT HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT!?"

Ladybug leapt to the computer, exiting out of everything as quickly as possible

Where had that even come from!? GEEZ, 14-year-old Marinette was whack –

"AHHH! TIKKI, SPOTS OFF!"

Marinette was already rushing across the room – HOW DID HE EVEN GET UP THERE THAT FAST!? – to her loft bed where Plagg sat lazily, looking through the contents of her diary.

"February 14th, 2015," he read out loud. "Today was a crazy day! Adrien wrote a love poem to me and –"

Marinette made it up the stairs just to see that Plagg had already floated back down.

"Tikki!" she begged. "Help me!"

"I actually responded! It was amazing! Except I forgot to sign the letter. I am such an airhead!"

Tikki, finally realizing what was going on, darted after her other half, Marinette coming from the other direction.

"Then Kim got Akumatized because of Chloe (no surprise there) –"

Marinette ran smack into Tikki in midair, Plagg somehow suddenly sprawled out on her origami garland, swinging back and forth while continuing to read.

"…and I had to KISS CHAT NOIR – AH HAHAHAHA!"

The diary fell with a smack on the floor, and Marinette finally managed to grab onto the little imp, fingers unnecessarily tight around his scrawny middle. Tikki took the diary back to its "magic box", slamming it in place and snapping the lid shut. Both Tikki and Marinette took a breather from their sudden, completely unnecessary exertion.

"What," Marinette pushed out through a sharp exhale, "do you want to eat?"

Plagg grinned widely.

"Smart girl," he said triumphantly, phasing through her fists easily and up to her face. Tikki joined the two a moment later. When the Kwami looked at her ward and opened her mouth, Marinette waved a dismissive hand in a I'll tell you later, but it's messed up and you're not going to like it gesture. (Yes…it was a thing. Especially between those two.)

"Cheese, right?" she said, raking in a deep breath and shaking her head, thinking. "Cheese… What – What about…gâteau de fromage?"

Plagg went still, one whisker twitching, his eyes taking on a slight faraway look.

"Cheese…cake?"

"…because he would never give up on anyone, you know? I mean, yeah, he's just beautiful to look at, but…he's beautiful on the inside too. Not…Not perfect but…beautiful." A pause. "Adrien's genuine. I always knew that if he…If we were together, he'd never let me down."

Plagg, who was making gagging noises during the whole recorded speech, made an exaggerated gagging sound at the last sentence. Tikki slapped him.

"To erase your message, press 7. To save it in – "

A loud, long beeeep sounded through the speaker as Marinette hurried to erase the message.

"Message erased. To listen to – "

Marinette pressed the red button to end the call and heaved a sigh of relief. Her body flopped over the counter, face pressed into the cool surface.

"So…" Tikki began, Marinette only half listening (Incoming Lecture, T-2 seconds and counting!) "What are you going to do now, Marinette? You have Adrien's phone and his Kwami. And he knows his Kwami was taken. He's probably freaking out, Marinette."

"I know, I know," Marinette told the countertop. Another sigh escaped her that turned more into a raspy groan, as she raised her head. "I…I have a plan, Tikki, but…"

"But I'm not going to like it." It wasn't a question.

"But you're not going to like it."

"Bahaha then I'm probably going to love it!" Plagg said excitedly, shooting up in the air to touch cheeks with Tikki, giving the red Kwami a glinting look, before coming to sit in front of Marinette's face. A smirk made it onto her face despite herself. For the short time that she had known Plagg, he seemed a bit of a…troublemaker of sorts. A rule-breaker. This was something Marinette could get used to. Especially in the fact that suddenly she had someone on her team for her shenanigans. Suddenly Tikki's scolding glare toward the two of them seemed more humorous than guilt-inducing. She turned her gaze away from Tikki and settled on Plagg, coming to stroke his little head while she told her plan.

It was stupid. It was beyond stupid. It was ludicrous and he wasn't going to fall for it and he would know it was her and he'd break up with her and never speak to her again and – !

"Girl," Plagg said from the yarn ball cushion she had hastily made for him. "Chill."

Ladybug took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way it shook.

"So…it really has been Adrien this whole time?" she asked the Kwami for the sixth time that night.

Plagg promptly bit her.

While she sucked on her finger and scowled at the black cat, Plagg sat looking completely unaffected.

"I warned you what would happen if you asked me that again," was his only reply. "And I don't know why you do. You know him better than anyone. Well, anyone besides me."

"I thought I did…"

"Look, Chica," Plagg started, turning fully around and looking up at Ladybug directly. "The boy has to act a certain way at all times, never has a chance to be himself. He wears masks constantly."

Something Ladybug had definitely been piecing together in the last few hours.

"Who would want to act like 'Adrien Agreste' all the time? A superhero? Pft. No. The dude is the same person. So sue him if he acts like the free cat he is when he dons the ears. Which look fabulous on him, by the way. And I know how much you like the way he looks"

Ladybug smiled a little at Plagg's words. Adrien in cat ears…

That…

That was something she could definitely get used to thinking about. Mulling over. Fantasiz- NOPE. NOT GOING THERE RIGHT NOW.

Ladybug fanned her suddenly warm face. Chat Noir…was a good kisser. That…That meant that Adrien Agreste was a good kisser. And that she – she! – Marinette Dupain-Cheng, had macked on, sucked face with, kissed the Bejeebus out of Adrien That's-A-Fine-Pair-Of-Lips Agreste.

"Nnnnggg…"

Plagg rolled his eyes at his temporary ward, muttering something about 'hormones'. Suddenly his ears twitched and he froze, listening.

"Ladybug, one more thing before we wrap this up. Well, two. If you mess up my boy, I will mess you up. And the other thing. I need more cheesecake in my life."

Ladybug didn't have time to respond before she finally heard what Plagg must have noticed before: the sound of running feet headed their direction.

Briefly, Ladybug wondered if this was a wise decision. Sure, she felt more secure in the mask, but…technically, this was her boyfriend. If anyone would recognize her, it would be him. But if anything, Ladybug getting caught would just lead to something of an identity reveal. Marinette being caught would only lead to a disaster. Though hopefully, with all the changes she had made, her identity – classmate or girlfriend – would go unnoticed. Sneakers from her mother, a flowery swim cap over her hair, fluffy pink mittens, an oversized t-shirt, and a cheap black mask over her real Ladybug one, and she was set.

In all honesty, if he hadn't recognized her when she dressed up as a garbage-picking delivery girl with a motorcycle helmet and a gross poncho, he probably wouldn't notice her real identity now. It was too late to change anyway.

A wild-eyed young man came barreling around the corner of the alley. Though Ladybug had known he was coming, she was entirely unprepared for a solid mass of lithe boy to ram straight into her. The impact made her yelp and both of them were suddenly slammed against the brick wall. Ladybug was about to make a quip about the situation when she froze, feeling the sudden presence of a hand tracing up her side.

One look at his face and Ladybug could tell Adrien hadn't done it on purpose. He was still blinking dazedly, trying to steady himself, and seemed to just use her as leverage to straighten up. He hadn't moved, however, and Ladybug, who hadn't planned on being this close to him right now for many different reasons, panicked. One look in her eyes and everything would be over. She needed to do something! She needed to do something right now!

Hands deprived of their previous package (had Plagg and his cushion flown into the garbage can? oops), Ladybug looked somewhere – anywhere – for some sort of distraction, especially when Adrien, now bending down to inspect what his hand had grazed just a moment before, dragged his fingers across her waist again. Cursed suit! She was going to be figured out from her danged suit! Looking around frantically, she saw the picture still clutched in his other hand and made a mitten-fingered grab for it.

Ladybug was, temporarily – or maybe eternally, she hadn't decided yet – lost to the world. She had seen every photoshoot of Adrien's, every tabloid piece, every blog snapshot, and every phone photo she could get her hands on. Dating Chat Noir had toned that down considerably, and now, looking at this picture, Marinette felt her throat go very, very dry. It was evidentially a formal wear shoot, the lighting dark and dramatic and the promps and Adrien set in front of a bright green screen, as if he were posing at night in a scene that could be put anywhere. He must have taken it from the collection as something that definitely wouldn't be missed. In all modeling aspects, it was a bad shot – his face was scrunched up a bit, cheeks puffed out as if he was about to pop with laughter. His suit coat was hung carelessly over his shoulder and he slouched over with one hand on his knee.

It was perfect. A perfect shot of a carefree Adrien with the perfect backdrop to make his green eyes stand out. He was happy, and Ladybug was overjoyed.

When Adrien tentatively lifted up the shirt she had over her suit a little, and then lightly brushed his fingers over it again, Ladybug spoke automatically, forgetting what they were actually doing there.

"You can touch more of that if you want to," she almost whispered, still a little breathless from staring at her newest treasure.

When she felt the form next to her stiffen, Ladybug blinked slowly.

Well crap.

She whipped around to see the damage that had been done, the irreparable tear in their relationship that screamed of bad trust and ill-usage and overall realization gleaming from the tears in his eyes…

All she saw, however, was a red-faced boy frozen with his hand still outstretched, staring into space.

"You – Your phone and cat's in the garbage. Sorry. I-love-you-k-thanks-bye!"

Ladybug dashed out of the alley clutching the picture to her chest, laughing maniacally at what her life had become.

A few things started happening in the next week and following year since the Kwami Disaster.

Marinette started keeping cheese in her locker for her new friend.

For some reason, mysterious things started happening around the school. Some said it was a ghost pulling pranks. Pranks that Marinette and Plagg thought were quite funny.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng was almost able to talk to Adrien Agreste full-on in the eyes.

…Almost.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #ladrien #ladybug #adrien agreste #ladybug x adrien #plagg #tikki #marichat #ladynoir #adrienette #adrinette #fanfic #fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #chat noir

[thedaveandkimmershow]

We woke up in a bonafide actual bedroom in an actual house, after an actual good night’s rest. And it.

Was.

Lovely.

This is definitely the way to do camp. ;-)

Also, I shaved for the first time in almost a week. Got an unfortunately good look at probably the most “beard” I’ve had ever. Sad to say, looks like there’s a bunch of white in there. :-(

Boooooooooo.

We rolled back into Moro Campground (now open again) around 10:30AM by which time Linzy’d already dropped her boyfriend off at John Wayne Airport and gone back to bed.

Once she was sufficiently awake, we sat down for some Uno: myself, Kimmer, Linzy, and Linzy’s cousin.

Now I’ve never played Uno even as I’ve known about it for decades. Friends. Camp. And so on.

Apparently it’s been popular for years.

And what I like best about it, of course, are what I identified as SCREW YOU cards... and THE NUCLEAR OPTION.

“Screw You” cards are any cards that cause you to have to take more cards into your hand. “The Nuclear Option” is the card you play that causes everyone to put their cards into a pile that gets shuffled and then re-dealt evenly. Essentially a miracle card when you’re massively losing. But it blows when you’re about to win.

So yeah.

We had fun.

Afterward, Linzy ‘n Kimmer had to step out so Linzy’s cousin ‘n I committed ourselves to learning how to play Pirate Fluxx, a pirate-y card game with goals and rules that can change with each player’s turn. The game quickly becomes chaos once you’re up to speed and, it turns out, we’re just the kind of people who groove on chaos.

Who knew?

Before Linzy had to leave for the airport to catch her flight home, Kimmer ‘n I both nabbed farewell walks with her until it was time for her to hop into her rented Cooper and drive off.

After that, Kimmer had  some work to tend to so I tagged along with her cousin, nephew, and their dog “Cookie” for lunch at the Shake Shack down the road. We sat along the rail high on a cliff above the beach looking out toward Catalina Island in the distance. :-)

By the time we're back to camp, Kimmer's finishing her last meeting. Once she's done, we have some travel logistics and planning to attend to. For one thing, until and unless we carry our own mobile hot spot, we have to rely on and plan around the WiFi of strangers.

Now, we’re all good while we’re here at camp with its own strong WiFi network. But once we leave on Saturday... what then?

Okay so Saturday night through Sunday morning we’re good at Kimmer’s cousin’s place with its own strong WiFi network. Sunday’s Easter so we’re not gonna need one.

But what about Monday morning?

The answer, of course, depends on where we end up Sunday night.

Now Sunday’s a bit of planning. We start in Irvine and we wanna visit Kimmer’s aunt in San Jacinto and we need to have the car back to the rental place in Medford, Oregon, by 1PM Monday. Okay so Tuesday because when we said “Monday” that first time we were both, like, yeah. That’s not gonna happen.

So Medford, Oregon, by 1PM Tuesday.

We begin our planning, then, with a bit of reverse planning. As in, back when we were coming down here in the first place and we were in Medford, Linzy suggested San Jose as a halfway stop for the night. Which still seems like a good idea going back up to Medford.

So Sunday night we wanna be in San Jose between 8 and 10. The drive from San Jacinto, courtesy Google Maps, will take 6-7 hours. That makes us leaving San Jacinto between 1 and 130. Ish.

To have an hour or two with Kimmer’s aunt and uncle has us leaving Irvine about 930AM.

Et voila!

That’s Sunday.

As for Monday night, we settle on Yreka, also a 6-7 hour drive starting from San Jose... which leaves us an hour and a half shy of Medford. All we’ve gotta do is leave Yreka between 10 and 11 in the morning and we’re good.

Not a bad plan, I must say.

We also talked at length with Kimmer’s cousin about our experience with the hotel in Sacramento and how to avoid hideous choices like that in the future.

Prolly should’ve had that talk preemptively before we ever left Seattle

:-|

And so, having settled on a plan, armed with good advice, Kimmer ‘n I head over to Trader Joe’s and then back again for some lovely sunset beach walking together. Then dinner around the campfire with family... followed by two rounds of Uno the first of which I won, the second of which Kimmer won but then the rest of us decided to continue playing to determine “First Loser”.

You see Linzy’s cousin figured for sure he’d beat his dad who was holding the most cards ever. It’s a condition we’ve come to identify as “Super Uno” where the winner’s the first person to hold a hundred cards instead of, you know, none.

That’s just something we say to make someone who’s actively collecting cards feel better, by the way.

You really can only win with no cards in your hand.

But. As I said before, Linzy’s cousin figured for sure he’d beat his dad so all he had to do was beat me.

Of course of course of course what happened is that his dad smoked both of us. Thus attaining the crown and the title, “First Loser”.

It was very definitely a teachable moment for the young lad who thought he knew for certain what was gonna happen. You see at some point (much to his chagrin) I drew a Nuclear Option card, played it, and basically leveled the playing field. At which point his dad gained the upper hand with a new and much smaller set of cards until he called “Uno” and then won.

That wasn’t the “teachable” thing, though.

The teachable thing was that if we hadn’t continued to play for “First Loser”, it was very obvious who was the big loser: the guy on his way to Super Uno. By comparison, the rest of us looked pretty good and woulda walked away whoohoo... not as bad as that guy.

But instead of that... we managed our fortunes in such a way as to look worse than the guy who was on his way to a hundred cards.

Dang it.

#California road trip #Rialta #camp #Moro Campground #Uno #Pirate Fluxx #Shake Shack

[hetahetascena]

May I please ask how the Axis, Romano, Prussia, England, and Russia would react to their (female) s/o giving them the stuffed animal that she won in a crane game?

Italy/Feliciano Vargas: 

He’d have been supporting you to get the stuffed animal the whole game through, screaming about how you can totally do this and how he totally believes in you! Then he’d be so extremely happy when you finally won, clapping his hands and laughing, “you did it~ I knew you could~!” Then, after you told him you were giving it to him, he’d be overjoyed! The stuffed animal would then become a treasured item to him.

Germany/Ludwig Beilschmidt:

Ludwig would watch you silently, giving silent encouragement to you from afar. Every time you got so close to getting it, his heart would race in excitement for you- until the crane dropped the toy and you had to start over again. This would go on forever, his hopes getting up for you only for them to be completely dashed. Until… Finally! He’d openly smile and congratulate you on your hard work. After you told him you were giving the animal to him, his whole face would turn red and he’d sputter, “y-you’re sure? You worked so hard on it, I-” after a little insisting, he’d nod and take the item. “A-alright, thank you, ______.:

Japan/Kiku Honda:

The tension of you fighting the crane game to get the stuffed animal would make him weak. He’d watch you for a good 5 minutes before opting to sit somewhere else and wait for you to finish. A decent amount of time would pass again, and he, worried at this point, would walk over to you slumped over the machine. “… _____, you don’t have to try so hard-” 

“No! I really wanna get this!”

Shocked, he’d nod and stutter, “w-well…” Nodding, he’d smile, “you can do it!”

Some more time would pass, and finally you’d stand before him with the stuffed animal, handing it out to him happily. He’d appreciate your hard work and would happily accept the toy- probably sleeping with it every night.

Romano/Lovino Vargas:

Lovino isn’t leaving your side the whole time you’re there against the machine. He’s actually fired up with you, screaming out “COME ON!!” or “NOOO! SO CLOSE!!” and insulting the offending machine with some hilarious insults just to make you laugh (or, well, sort of to make you laugh. The machine would probably tick him off big time and he’d end up hating crane games forever) However, once you finally conquered the dang thing, he’d be thrilled. “That’s my ______! Of course you could do it, ragazza!” Realizing you were giving it to him, he’d immediately hug it close and laugh at the machine. “Take that, you metal bastard!” Then he’d stare at the stuffed animal and call it “Not-so Bastard,” and hug you with a cheeky smile on his face.

Prussia/Gilbert Beilschmidt:

Gil would, at first, totally be supporting you. But after a while, he’d get a bit bored of watching you struggle. He’d be sneezing to himself and sitting down while watching you go at it, but just couldn’t find himself to watch you struggle any longer with enthusiasm. Eventually, he’d probably accidentally end up insulting you, “c’mon~ it’s not that hard, ______…” Of course, this would fuel you to obtain the object with even more vigor! Finally snatching that thing in clutch, you’d thrust the object in his face with an angry pout. 

“I got it for you, jerk…”

Surprised, he’d get this cheeky smirk on his face and grab the stuffed animal before hugging you. “Kesesesese, I knew you could get it!” 

Which was sort of half of a lie… Any longer waiting, and I feel he’d probably die from boredom.

England/Arthur Kirkland:

“Oh, how immature!” He’d very quickly grow tired of this little game and storm off, looking around by himself. Then getting lost and quickly attempting to make his way back to you. It would take him forever to find the crane machine, but when he’d finally get there, he’d be surprised to find you not there. “______?” He’d murmer, his eyebrows furrowing. He’d start looking for you again and sigh, feeling guilty about calling your determination to nab up a stuffed animal immature. 

“Arthur, hey!!” He’d hear you call and turn around in relief. 

“There you a- oh?” Your happy expression would melt his heart, and he’d squeeze the stuffed animal in his hands before smiling at you. “Thank you- I’m… Well, I’m sorry about earlier. Let’s go grab a bite now, shall we?”

Russia/Ivan Braginsky:

Ivan’s blood is pumping, his palms are sweaty, his smile is nervously shifting. 

“_____, you don’t have to work so hard to get this toy, all right? Just walk aw-”

“No!”

He’d meekly step back and continue watching you from afar. Time would pass, he’d be on the verge of a nap, until you finally screamed in joy and ran over to him holding the toy out to him. 

“Oh?” His purple eyes would widen and a gentle smile would come to his face. “Thank you, _____…” He’d treasure the stuffed animal forever, sleeping with it every night and then putting it on a pedestal somewhere to preserve it.

#hetalia #hetalia scenario blogs #aph russia #aph axis #aph prussia #aph italy #aph romano #aph germany #aph england