#{ weirdly enough i could actually fit so much symbolism into these } | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeyinde · 1 year ago

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Godddddd, the way you write is insanely mesmerising. Not only do you craft such rich and immersive stories, but FFYC. Your prose, your plot, your characterisation, the romance, the smut, the drama, the angst, the mutual pining - it all reads in such a perfectly engrossing cadence that I often forget I'm not reading an actual novel I picked up from the bookstore.

As always, this was nothing short of perfection!

He tucks you away, hides you—keeps you purely for the times he can spare a second to truly think and consider you. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet—in the calm. A welcomed retreat, a safe haven. A person who populates a carved space in his mind, one you had barely needed to hack at to make. Because, in truth, he made it for you, found a place that he could store you in for when he felt safe enough to let you out, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

This was absolutely gorgeous and I felt it in my bones. The slow release of his walls, dropping and falling as he lets her in (not that he has much of a choice because Luna is without a doubt a battering ram in her own right) is so perfectly articulated here.

Javi thinks you’re something more akin to a rain cloud—all set to burst and let whatever it is you hold close fall like raindrops. Maybe they’d be acidic, maybe they’d burn those unfortunate to be underneath, but he’d only care for the relief on your face.

AND AGAIN!!! Another immediate punch to my gut!! YOU GOTTA STOP RIPPING MY HEART INTO PIECES AND THEN MENDING IT WITH LINES LIKE THESE 😭

I love that he's aware of how everyone sees her—a looming thunderstorm, full of kinetic energy and ready to overtake the landscape; something meant to be admired from afar—and, admittedly, it's how he saw her initially, too, but now we get this. Approachable. And, like—sorry. This might just be me kinda weirdly obsessed with biblical imagery but the idea of him seeing her as a raincloud, as rainfall, reminds me so much of a baptism, of sorts. Not in the traditional sense, but more so in the symbolism. Baptism is a newness, a sense of change. It's meant to purge and clear and IDK. It fits where Javi is in his life, and I'm wondering if maybe he's unconsciously pushing her into that direction—as someone who can absolve him, cleanse him—because it's what he desperately needs.

And Luna does, too. ANYWAY. Feel free to tear this into pieces but I just love the idea of rain. Everything feels so new and clean to me!

AND!!! This whole exchange!!!!!

You let your words wash over him, before dropping your hand close to your mug, slowly pushing it toward him. A gesture, a bold one in a sea of eyes. Voice dropping, you flick your eyes up to his, “You can have one sip.” “And, if I take one more, cariño?” Your lips scrunch, a real smile—all teeth and lines in your cheek—so desperate to break out. “You wouldn’t want to know, sir.”

My love language is coffee and banter so this hit me so hard. It's this amazing blend of romance and flirting and AHHHHHHHH HOW DO YOU DO IT??? How do you make the little moments feel so elevated and enlarged?? Loved this!!!

I also adored the little trickle of jealousy flowing in when Luna was speaking to another man — the way Javi immediately gravitated toward her, prodding her for information under the cadence of just making teasing conversation. It bleeds through the lines as something that Javi, from the beginning, would not have done. He'd probably just watch, smoke, and pretend he wasn't thinking about it all day. Of course, that's just my musings, but I love the growth. The way they both unfurl in the relationship—Luna with the coffee (OFFERING HER CUP IN FRONT OF EVERYONE?? HER COVETED COFFEE?? STOP IT!!!!!!) and Javi with inserting himself into her orbit instead of remaining on the fringes.

The smut was incredible—as always!! I love that Luna is already so attuned to him, just knowing he needs comfort.

AHH, these two make me so mushy and gross and I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!

a new day - part v of nowhere to run

Javier Peña x DEA!F!Reader

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. no use of y/n. smut. oral sex (man receiving), angst. bit of emotions are coming outttttt. Wordcount: 6.3k AN: apologies for the lateness, my personal life has just been throwing things at me and I didn't want the emotions to bleed in when i was editing. also, if there's errors, i'm so sorry, i have had no sleep. pls forgive me. as always, huge thank you to @yeyinde who allows me to ramble continuously and to @guyfieriii who is on her way to get me a magazine and send it to me. I adore you both.

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“I can’t believe you caught him?”

“Me neither.”

You lean back, eyes wide, twisting the cord around your finger.

“I did call you—last night. After we’d seen him. Rang your place, work...”

Swallowing, you smile. “I, um—“

Looking up as Peña steps out of his office, sliding his tie through the loop, eyes staring over you. Drinking you in. Making every part of you burn up under his gaze.

“—had a date.”

“Oh. How did it go?”

Biting your lip, you watch him. How his brows furrowed, letting your eyes descend down before noticing his tie. How it sat off-centre—all threaded in a rush.

You suspect he’s been ordered to attend a meeting. One likely about the day's events, one with a lot of Colombians, officials and higher-ups. So, you gesture.

The corners of your lips slightly rise, watching his smile slowly grow.

“It was good. Nice.”

Van Ness snorts. “You going to see them aga—actually, fuck this, I don’t think I wanna hear anymore.”

“Wasn’t about to tell you, Van Ness. Hey—I have to go, please be safe.”

“Always am.”

“Says the man catching Narcos—anyway, Stoddard is here, speak soon.”

“He best not be making you drinks…”

“Promise he isn’t.”

You place the phone down, standing up as Peña comes to a halt barely an inch away from you.

“That my name now? Stoddard.”

“Well, you’re struggling to sort your own tie, does seem a Stoddard thing to do, sir.”

He twitches his fingers at his side. Has been doing so since he guided Gilberto out to the flashing lights and clicks of cameras.

The significance of what they’d done—what he had done—crashed into him. Not knocking him off his feet, not even knocking him off his axis. But it kickstarted something.

It truthfully only slid over him when he slid into the seat of a car.

They’d done it. Proved that surrender wasn’t the only option—that they could be caught. Because they had caught one of them. The ones they all said were untouchable. Right in his fucking home, hiding away.

A new lease of life spreads as Javi swallows. A thrum of energy, one which has been missing since before he was sent back to the States, rippling through him as though it had never gone. Disturbing the regret he’d been feeling since…

They’d done it. The thought rolls around, his finger occasionally stroking his bottom lip—sometimes pinching his thigh as the streets flash past the window. Doing so even as his knee hits the door, needing to, just to be certain he’s awake, and not dreaming.

The truth it’s all a reality weaves into his muscles, the adrenaline bursting into his bloodstream—beautifully blending with the newly rejuvenated oxygenated cells that swim to his heart.

He knows there's a shitstorm waiting for him at the embassy. For what he’d done—but, then, they hadn’t really wanted him here for the accolades.

Stechner hadn’t vouched for him because he’d been a rule-follower. More someone to blame, to use.

And now, he’d shown them the sheer proof that it could be done—the surrender could be nil and void. They could get more.

That’s what he’d thought as he had hammered his knuckles into Martinez’s door, pulling on a string marked ‘do not touch’. Hoping he’d be forthcoming—that he’d trust him to work alongside him.

Javi hadn’t been sure if a speech on how much he wanted to do right would make up for what had already transpired. Less excuses spoken, and more acknowledged errors that he’d been determined—foolishly so. Blinded and only seeing through tunnel vision. Focused on the wrong thing; determined, but for what? None of it became clear even when he’d sat in his childhood home—or stood out in the field. The more he looked for answers, the less weight his reasonings had—the fewer excuses he could grasp at why he’d let things poison and ruin.

In the end, he was grateful he hadn’t needed to spout any of that. The sheer opportunity that Javi had brought it to him, had been enough.

Not sure any of his truthful ramblings would have made sense, anyway.

It was a true second chance. A hope which had been living in some recess, brushed off and placed front and centre at his feet. His hand outstretched, watching as Martinez shook his—a truce, of some sort, a promise. Maybe, in the smallest way, an element of forgiveness—not that Javi would allow it. It didn’t mean he’d squander or wreck it either, using it to stand a little taller and ensure his shoulders were a little more square.

It’s why he takes a moment when the car pulls up outside the building. Sitting, spreading his palms in long strokes over his thighs. Catching his breath.

He can already feel how things have changed. Already knows there will be faces turning when he steps inside, the burden of it meeting his shoulders again. Having temporarily moved it, placed it on the floor while he focused on what needed to be done. Now, the music was playing, and the true heaviness of what a second chance meant began to rest on his bones. The true power of doing good didn't just provide accolades, but gifted in moon-eyed agents and hopefulness he felt guilty squashing.

It begins when he steps down the embassy stairs, bodies stopping, turning. His cheeks warming, ears burning as they murmur and mutter. Focusing on it, while another part blindly wants to ignore it as he enters the office. It’s why the first clap doesn’t register.

It takes a moment, the applause slowly raining around him, covering him. Layering in thick noise that soaks into his skin and makes him feel cold, rather than joyous.

The worst thing is, deep down, he knows there’s an old version of him who would have smirked at all of this. Who’d have relished in it. Likely lifted his chin, and shook each hand—man or woman—rather than sinking his chin to his chest like he’s currently doing. Trying to shy from it, get through them all as they begin to move closer, ready to congratulate him—shake his hand.

A part of him knows he should be glad. Should be proud he has somewhat earned the notoriety he walks around with now. A slither of it, anyway.

Finding Stoddard’s hand, he’s the only one he shakes. Not sure what to do with the rest of his body as he lets his eyes move across the room, seeing the closing circle of those wanting to thank him, celebrate and pat him on the back. But, his eyes land only on the pair which pulls him to shore.

Yours.

The one person not clapping—leaning against your desk, head tilted to the side, doing your trademark smirk. The one Javi likes to think is just for him because he pulls it from you so frequently. The one which hits your eyes and shines like the sun on a cloudless day and warms him, even if he keeps trying not to let it.

His heart sinks, just a touch. It’s still floating on the surface of the day and is the only explanation for why it doesn’t fall to his feet. Because as he lets his eyes fall over you he realises it’s the first opportunity he’s had to think of you. To allow himself to think of you.

How he hadn’t had a chance to make sure you got home okay. The last sight of you had been in his office, lips swollen, eyes shimmering with post-lust bliss and your clothes a little off-pristine. Your hand on his wrist, sliding circles into his pulse—all thought-out and considered. You’re gonna get him, Javi. Your teeth chewed the skin of your lip as the words washed over him, a nervousness to you he rarely ever noticed—a slight discomfort in your forced expression.

But he hadn’t asked.

Swallowing, he releases the hand in his.

“–Where you going? C’mon, we want to toast you…”

Hearing Stoddard, but watching you. “Start without me.”

He never questioned the tight expression when you released his wrist, his hand grabbing at things from his desk—all set to walk out, to leave. Be safe, Javi.

It echoes through his ears as he crosses the room, watching as you take a deep breath as the gap between the two of you closes.

Javi could let himself feel it now—the spark and the concern. Could question it—let it fill him. He could find the words to ask why Cali undoes a part of you, why you always place one particular type of mask up when it's mentioned—when someone goes. Unpicking it all, seeing it all as though someone was showing it to him all on video.

Having been so laser-focused before, he’d missed it. Placed them all to the side, noticing the other things—the ones inflicted by others' words and actions, and not the looming one hovering over you as you worked.

Something had happened to you in Cali. Something that was left from the reports.

Now just watching in slow motion as you try to hide what he assumes is relief.

It’s a gift, how you keep people out. One he would admire if he wasn’t on the other side of it and wasn’t able to recognise how quickly and smoothly you were able to slide up the veil which isn’t breachable. While he doesn’t know what monsters live in your wardrobe or which ghosts haunt you, he knows there’s a reason why you can’t tell him too.

A reason why you talk in riddles whenever bureaucracy is mentioned.

A discomfort which ebbs and flows, but never truly meets the two of you, even if it tries to. It did so before he fucked you on his desk. A look so similar to the one you gave him in his office, all soft eyes he wasn’t sure if he could ever earn deserving.

He knows people consider you to be a storm. A restless bundle of anger and lightning—thunder rumbling with every step of your heel.

But, as he comes to a stop in front of you, Javi realises he hadn't seen you like that, not since the first day when you'd tried to convince him you were. Not even as you slide around your desk, using the wooden furniture as a barrier between the two of you.

Ironic, really. When the two of you used one similar as a surface for relief, hours and hours ago.

The one he’s sure is hiding behind the smile he’s being presented with.

“Congratulations, sir.”

He slides his shades from his shirt, nodding at you. Thanking you.

Continuing, you clear your throat, “I think the Ambassador would like to see you.”

You let your words wash over him, before dropping your hand close to your mug, slowly pushing it toward him. A gesture, a bold one in a sea of eyes.

Voice dropping, you flick your eyes up to his, “You can have one sip.”

“And, if I take one more, cariño?”

Your lips scrunch, a real smile—all teeth and lines in your cheek—so desperate to break out. “You wouldn’t want to know, sir.”

Each time he swallows, he tastes your coffee.

Desperate to find a mug, to enjoy one more sip in some silence—even light up a cigarette, if he could be spared. But, it’s one thing, then another. Almost feeling the flutter of anxiety and adrenaline merging into something unheard of.

From the meeting to the note in his file, right to the press conference he had needed to lead.

As soon as it ended, he was led to the staircase—practically shoved off. His feet all heavy, legs like lead as he steps down, ready to hide in his office and release many heavy, simmering breaths.

That had been his plan. His only focus—until he finds you waiting.

Then he thinks of the file room, his place, his desk…

It knots all inside of him—that thrum of disbelief that blends so disastrously with the sudden acknowledgement he doesn’t deserve you. Something he thinks a lot, yet is finding it harder to fight off under tiredness and waning adrenaline.

It isn’t just whatever it is between you—the fun, non-committal thing neither of you are likely to acknowledge—but your mere attendance in his life.

The way you make things brighter, shine something that makes the edges a bit more colourful and meaningful. Not quite ready to allow it closer to the centre, to let it touch the parts of him still tainted in darkness and regret. He doesn’t think even your shine can do that alone.

Wiping a hand over his face, he moves towards you. Absently wondering when you’ve snuck in, having not seen you arrive or between his meeting finishing and arriving here. He’d looked for you, met Stoddard’s eyes and nodded for him to come.

Yet, here you are, shaking someone’s hand as Javi moves past another person, noticing that you’ve removed your jacket, so that he can see the outlines of your bra straps through the back of your blouse. He spots the clipboard pressed to your chest, hand wrapped around another mug—one he soon realises is the one you always give him.

It diminishes, the part of him which wants to protect you from him. From the disappointment he tends to bring and the fact he’s so thoughtless. That even under your occasional frostiness and many secrets, you’re kind… sweet.

It’s why he should blink, and turn away—not that he can tear his eyes away enough to solidify his thought of walking away. Your presence practically demands his attention, even if you’re talking to someone else. Your leg crossed in front of the other, a white pen tucked away behind your ear and hearing, as he moves closer, the Spanish flowing from your tongue. It’s crisp, and clear—rolling beautifully to his ear as the conversation nears an end. The man’s hand in yours, another placed on your arm—squeezing—bidding you farewell.

Something unfurls, and stretches its legs inside of him. Only settling when the man’s hand leaves your arm, leaves the close proximity and is walking away.

“You making friends?”

Shrugging, you smirk. “Apparently so. You looked good by the way.”

“I did?”

Nodding, you hand him the mug. “Yeah. Like you were supposed to be up there. You know, before you get into your head, it should have been someone else.”

He nods, taking a sip, wincing at the strong taste of alcohol—frowning at you as you smile wistfully.

“Thought you could do with something stronger. Also, you doing the conference is smart, I like it—takes the heat off Chris and Dan.”

He nods again, taking another sip. More prepared this time to coat his throat in amber, staring, wondering how you managed to sneak a mug of bourbon to him. Not that he should be surprised. You seemed to manage to do a lot, keep things turning, keep things organised.

“So, sir. How do you plan on celebrating?”

He takes a long drag, raising his brows that hopefully says, I think you already know, and from the smirk, you shoot him back, you do. The two of you fall into a walk, one where your strides match, where your eyes can be on the other but not walk into a thing or soul. Not speaking, not for a minute, your eyes taking him in—raking over him, assessing him for something (or nothing) he can’t be sure.

“Are you waiting for an invite for that or…”

Shrugging, he watches you take the mug back as he narrows his eyes. “Never been one to wait to be asked to be somewhere, cariño.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” you comment, sliding closer as you press the button for the elevator. “So, what? You want to take me home and fuck the day away?”

He looks at you, flicking from your eyes to your lips. Watching as you swipe the tip of your tongue against your lower lip. Your body heat is almost smothering his skin—even through his shirt and jacket. “If I ever say no to doing that, cariño. I’ve got brain damage.”

Smirking, you nudge him, the ding of the elevator's arrival making you step back. “If we have a choice, I choose yours. It's fancier.”

“I don't know, I bet you have candles and decorative pillows.”

“That what makes a place fancy in your eyes? The amount of candles someone has.”

“I have no candles.”

Snorting, you shake your head as he presses the button for your floor.

As the doors close, he glances at you, how your expression is fixed on the metal doors.

“I’m glad you came back, Peña.”

He hears it, and conjures another set of words. Ones he heard, ones he had been meaning to acknowledge—until the phone rang. Until life hurtled a thousand things, and then he was flying to Cali.

Javi… I was worried. I was worried about you.

You turn your head, flicking your eyes over him. “Another night, I’d show you how unfancy my place is. Tonight, though…”

He knows. Knew even before the teasing had begun about his place or yours. His thumb strokes over his middle and index finger as he chews his cheek.

“Plus, someone must have come in and knocked all your files on the floor,” you say, a lightness to your tone, “Left your office in a right mess.”

The doors pinged open, only able to watch as you step out—not waiting for him, just leaving him behind, chewing his smirk.

The moment Martinez left his office, he just remained sat on the edge of his desk.

It had taken longer than it should to sink in. The power people had, the corruption, how it bled and rotted in every corner of the place. The enormity of it all, how without his sacrifice and him handing his notice in, it would have all been undone.

Martinez was the good one. The one who hadn't toed the line, hadn't stepped into the grey, hadn't even been selfish. Not like him.

He drained the glass, finished his cigarette—staring at a patch on the floor until his fingers wrapped around the edge, feeling marks along the wood. For a solid minute, he traces them, feels the lines, the deepness to them, until his mind wonders if they’re from you.

No, Javi. Just you. Only you.

It’s instant, the way he darts to his bottom drawer, rummaging through until he retrieves the file—the one marked with your name. The one he’d sourced before, now paying attention to the parts he had ignored then.

From the look on your face, you’re as surprised to see him, as he is that he knocked. A wine glass in hand, the red of it sloshing from side to side as he observes you process his arrival. That he even got out of the car.

“You… know where I live?”

He drops his hand from leaning on the door frame, wiping his mouth. “I know where you live.”

Opening the door, you step aside—hands tugging at your cardigan to wrap it around yourself. “Some could call that stalking, sir.”

“Y’gotta stop with the sirs.”

“Do I?”

You smirk—it spreads up your cheeks until it hits your eyes, before your hand pushes the door closed behind him, keeping your eyes on him.

All he can think is how pretty you are. How beautiful you look, even if you’re all undone—nothing on your face, a baggy t-shirt and some shorts, the thickest socks on your feet.

“Drinking alone, cariño?”

It’s slow, how you lean against the door. Not letting the two of them head further into your place. “Some days justify it. Don’t you think?”

He does.

More than he wants to say—not wanting to spoil your evening. Taint your home with talks of work and bureaucracy. Things he suspects you know more than you’re likely to share. The thick lines through your file are all an indication of it.

You take a sip, and then another.

Adding nothing, just letting him stand there, and he half wonders if you expect him to plead his case here—or whether you’re assessing whether to eject him out of your place as quickly as you left his prior.

Mainly, he focuses on the fact it smells like you. Floral with a hint of darkness—your decor not all that different from his, just with additional touches. Some candles, some colour—some attempt at making the place feel like a home and not somewhere to rest your head.

It’s only in the growing silence does he hear the faint sound of music, something low, involving a guitar thrumming in the background.

“Are you lonely, Agent Peña?”

He places his hand in his pocket, leaning against the wall opposite you.

“No.”

You nod, rolling your lips. “Just in the neighbourhood then?”

He wipes his mouth as his other hand rubs his palm against his index finger in his pocket. Suddenly unsure why he was here—why he’d found your address and come.

Javi wasn’t lonely. Didn’t have the time to be. A sea of paperwork on his desk, the guilt weighing down on him, hearing the colonel's voice over and over—the once pleasant taste of liquor now turning bitter in the back of his throat.

“You forget I know where you live, so I know you’ve come out of your way.”

A laugh escapes and falls from his lips as he dips his head.

It all of a sudden catches up with him, how the day has been a range of emotions. The delicate way things had needed to happen, the thrum of adrenaline—the joy, the meeting, the conference…

Lifting his chin, he finds you still watching him.

No smirk. No smile. All soft edges and a comforting presence—waiting. For what, he can’t be sure, but he kicks off the wall all the same. Sliding his hand from his pocket, softly wrapping it around your hip as he places his forehead against yours, walking you backwards, taking the glass from your hand and placing it down.

He tells himself he needs a moment. A stolen one that doesn’t bleed and change into others. A break in from everything, for a second.

It only shifts when he wraps each finger on your hip, pulling you close. He keeps your shoulder blades against the wall, the guitar strumming increasing as much as his heart is beating. It’s all rhythmic, a remix of a song he isn’t sure of—but one he is tuned into all the same.

It takes his breath away how you look at him. How it’s harder to stop himself from falling into them, worsening as your hand cups his elbow. At first, it’s all shared breath and waiting. Neither moving, his forehead just remaining against yours.

“Are you okay?”

It’s so soft. Barely audible if his body wasn’t pressed against you, as he shakes his head, feeling your fingers slowly sliding in gentle circles around his elbow. Cupping him, keeping him as close as his hands keep you.

“What do you need?”

He says nothing. Afraid that saying ‘you’ is too much. Having hoped the action would speak louder than the words as he stares into you—mixing brown with yours to make a colour artists dream of.

“Hey,” you say again. More demanding, assertive. “Javi, what do you need?”

He doesn’t think, doesn’t attempt to. Embodies the former version of him—the one which had gone to the Colonel’s home, to begin with—the one who takes and takes and takes.

“You drunk, baby?”

He hears you swallow, before slowly shaking your head.

“Good,” he whispers.

Closing his eyes, he lifts his forehead before dipping his head, his mouth captures yours. Javi merges the taste of sweet wine, whiskey and his cigarettes together, creating a taste so intoxicating and delicious he’s not sure he ever wants to come up for air.

Just need you, he thinks as his tongue slips past your parted lips.

Only want you, he urges as he feels your other hand sliding around his neck, deepening the kiss, his tongue able to taste that small whimper you do when he squeezes your hip.

It’s different—but then each time he kisses you is. It has been needy, and passionate. Another, it has been soft, almost meaningful. Now, this time, he’s able to feel how warmth consumes him as you kiss him more purposefully. He deepens it in search of more, kissing you more hungrily, full of need and want.

It’s only when he feels your hand skate over the back of his neck, fingers teasing the bottom of his hair, does he slow. In time, pulling back, pressing his forehead against yours—bruising your hip with his fingers as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Whatever it is…”

“We can’t fix it, cariño.”

It’s cold—the way he says it. Wishing he could retract it the moment he sees your brows scrunch. Instead, he shows no sign of letting up his grip on you. Hoping it’s enough to wordlessly explain that he needs you close, wants you—in fact. Needed to just be around you. Even if he shouldn’t, couldn’t…

He presses two fingers to the side of your cheek, curling them. Your mouth parts, words—likely reassuring ones, knowing what he knows about you—are all desperate to fall and heal over the cracks. But, he shakes his head, watching your lips close as quickly as they had opened, your fingers continuing to draw shapes at the base of his hairline, studying him—searching his eyes.

Then, like a light in a dark room, understanding spreads across your gaze. Illuminating everything, likely connecting the dots in that beautiful—but deeply fascinating—way you do.

“Martinez…”

“Cariño… not, not right now.”

Slowly, you smile, spreading your fingers in his hair—tugging on him, pulling him with far too much ease until his forehead presses back against yours.

“You did this… before.”

A breath escapes his lips. “Yeah…”

“Why’d you come, Javi?”

I needed you.

It wasn’t a lie. If anything, it was more truthful than he cared to admit or accept. Which is why he didn’t say it—didn’t let on that the moment the walls began to tremble, he thought of you. Looked through the blinds, bitterly disappointed you weren’t there to be witty and sarcastic, smirk in that way that gets under his skin and make some flirtatious comment that makes it hard not to kiss you.

He could tell you that. Be honest.

Instead, he says nothing, staring into your eyes until he feels your other hand, the one which has been continuing to grip his elbow, squeeze.

“Okay. Lemme look after you,” you whisper, before kissing him.

Brushing your lips against him, before pulling away and then kissing him again. Testing the waters, looking for some form of permission as he grips your hips, giving it to you. He doesn’t protest when you begin trailing kisses down his jaw. Your fingers sliding around his arm, to his waist, to the belt holding his trousers up.

Holding the base of your neck, he stares into your eyes, feeling your palm brush suddenly over his cock. “You don’t have to, car—“

“Shh,” you whisper.

Slowly, he watches as you lower yourself to your knees, his throat going dry at the mere sight of you. Watching as you grip his cock. All teasingly slow, dragging it out—your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip as you continue to stroke him.

Eyes closing, he lets his head meet the wall. Needing more—almost asking for it.

It’s what you want, he assumes. Because as soon as he reaches the point where he’s going to ask, you wrap your pretty lips around him. Taking note of the way you run your tongue around the head of him before licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. Finding that your eyes don’t leave his—watching what you do to him, enjoying it.

It’s endearing.

A desire building, suddenly wanting nothing more than to watch—how he wants an unrestricted view of such beauty—of you taking him down your throat, of your cheeks hollowing, even if your actions are compelling him to close his eyes.

You’re always pretty—but this is something else. You are on your knees for him.

Taking as much of him as you can, your hand working what you can't fit—his own hand tightening around your head as you wrap his cock in warmth.

He feels you smirking, your mouth pulling back as you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, a hand grasping the back of his thigh as you hum around him.

“So fuckin’ pretty, cariño.”

The tip of your tongue slides over his slit, making him hiss again—making your name tumble freely from his tongue as he leans himself against the wall for leverage.

“I know,” you whisper, tracing your lips with his slick head, “Come down my throat, Javi.”

He grunts, nails digging into his palm as you take him down your throat. His other hand bites into your head as you take him deeper, his hips spluttering, thrusting against your tongue.

Your eyes have closed.

The window into your need to please him vanishes, and he wants to ask you to open them. To let him see. His finger strokes the top of your cheek, feeling the dampness from a tear at how deep you’re taking him.

How deep you want him down your throat.

His hand aids you, fucking into you as you hollow and moan—it vibrates all around him. It covers and smothers his own grunts and groans. The one you pull from him with ease, because everything with you he is slowly learning is easy. Not complicated—even if the situation is.

All he can think is you’re a fucking goddess, an angel—something he’s now one hundred per cent sure he doesn’t deserve.

He hisses out your name, feeling your hands clutch at him for balance, his moans filling the hallway of your place until he’s coating your throat in his pleasure. You lap up every drop of it, swallowing it—swallowing all of what he’s given you.

You don’t move, not for a minute. Him slowly pulling himself from your mouth, your hand wiping any spend from your lips to your tongue.

“You’re… fucking—”

“Something?”

He snorts, arranging himself before he fastens his trousers, shaking his head. His hand offers out to you, pulling you up from your knees as he adjusts your cardigan—as he places his lips against yours.

“I didn’t… this wasn’t why I came around.”

“Why did you… come round?”

His muscles tighten, swallowing as he stares at you.

Then you smile, placing a hand over his chest, palm flat, fingers spread. “You got anywhere to be, sir?”

Javi is frowning, before the rest of your words sink in. His hand captures yours, holding it flat against him as he shakes his head.

“Because you’re here, may as well let me toast you.”

Some mornings greet him loudly—sweat clinging to his skin, head hammering, and the world chirping.

The morning, it greets him gently, softly. The sun slides through open curtains, a calmer sound of occasional passing cars greeting his ears.

It’s only then that he registers he’s waking beside you. Your warm, soft skin curled against him—his own arm holding you close, keeping you close.

It takes a second for the sleep to flutter past his eyes, glancing at the clock on your bedside table—the one which ticks ever so loudly now he’s awake. It’s obvious the two of you have managed to catch a few hours, remembering how he’d brought you in here—thrown your decorative pillows to the floor with a smirk that you kissed immediately from his mouth.

He had told you he wouldn’t stay.

But, here he is. Now, though, he should move—even if he’s unsure if he wants to.

It’s never been his favourite thing, waking up outside of his own space. Never mind besides someone else. There were occasions and exceptions. He’s not prepared or currently capable of assessing whether you’ve slotted yourself there, either.

All he knows is… he likes it, being here.

Enjoying the fact he’s been allowed to steal a moment of this—of you. Letting himself enjoy it, the sound of your soft inhales and exhales, the way you fit against him—not in a way that looks perfect but simply feels it.

And it scares him. Just a little bit.

That thought returning, the one which bellows and beats the drum that you deserve better: than him, than what he can give you and the life you’d have being around him.

Pinching his nose, he knows he should go to the office. Should begin to unravel the highs and lows of the day prior. Make a start on the paperwork that is already mounting higher than he expected.

Instead, he turns his head. Selfishly admiring the way you sleep so peacefully, how he’d somewhat expected to find a creased forehead or a tightened jaw. A part had also expected to hear nightmares plague you, knowing there’s something there—living in your mind. A bad memory, a past which hammers at you to get out.

He’d half expected to have his own rear its head too.

Instead, he’s sure none had greeted the night air.

If anything, he slept peacefully, soundly. Almost oddly, for the most consecutive hours since way before Escobar was caught. He shuffles against the pillow, eyes widening when he realises and feels your head rolling ever so slightly on his chest. The smallest of movements that had rippled out into hearing you murmur.

Freezing, it dawns on him that he doesn’t want the bubble to burst. Studying, secretly praying he hasn’t woken you, as your lashes flutter and your lips don’t press back together. He’s a passenger, unable to stop the undoing as your brows dip, your fingers spread over his chest—

“J-Javi?”

It’s full of sleep, his name. And fuck, it has never sounded so nice.

He thought it bellowed or screamed as he fucked someone was good, but this… is something else. It takes a chunk from him, snatches it, and renders him thoughtless as you turn your head on his chest, looking up at him, blinking.

“Morning,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “I’m… I should go, cariño…”

You frown, not like normal—smothered in sleepiness that it doesn’t quite form.

A string is plucked in his chest when your fingers slide over his chest, watching them rub at your face. A desperation rises in him to kiss you, to taste what morning and goodness is like—even if it's coated in unbrushed teeth and last night.

But, it’s his moment to move—his chance. To relieve you of his presence.

Not that he takes it. Instead, he absorbs the moment he was robbed of the first night he took you to his—of seeing you without armour or walls.

“If y’give me…”

“—cariño—“

“… like fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” you say, words monotone and low as your hand slowly drops from your face to his chest. “I need… really need a shower. Then can come wit’you.”

As soon as you sit up, cool air brushes over the places you’d been against him—goosebumps appearing over his skin as you stretch. His hand lightly grasps your forearm, keeping you from sliding out the sheets completely as he whispers your name.

Lets it slide into the air of your home, around the two of you—the room he secretly wishes could pause time so neither of you had to leave.

Not ready to face the fallout from Martinez, the look of ‘what’s next’ on everyone’s face. Never mind the note clearly from Stechner.

“You don’t… you don’t have to, I need…”

His fingers move to your cheek, sliding over your jaw, only managing a half-breath as you flick your eyes to look over him—stunning him in a shade, he’s not sure truly has a name.

“W-what?”

“Nothing,” he lies.

Following your suit, he sits up, your sheet falling to his waist as he marries his lips back to yours. Fingers finding your chin, keeping you there, stealing another moment, and another. Doing so until your hand wraps around his wrist, thumb stroking a line up and down his wrist.

“I need a shower…”

He snorts. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m normally in an hour or two later anyway—plus…”

“Plus?”

Your lips slide, less of a smirk but more than a smile. “I have to come and ensure you don’t fuck with my organisational system. No other reason.”

“Not one?”

“No.”

He tuts. “I can keep things organised.”

You scoff, light and airy. “Peña, you’ve been here five minutes, and your desk already looks like it’s amassed ten years of files, so—I’m gonna call bullshit. Respectfully.”

“Respectfully?”

“Yes.”

He allows a laugh to escape, light and airy, it falling from him with far too much ease. Pulled from some depths he hasn’t allowed himself to explore.

Sliding from him, you stand, grasping at a t-shirt that begins to mist over your body—hiding your skin, your curves and the marks he’s left from view.

“I… I should say, I don’t mind that you showed up at my place, Javi.”

He traces his mouth with his thumb, looking at you. “Javi, huh?”

You smile, rolling your lips as you sigh. “You wore me down.”

“Go shower, I’ll wait for you.”

Pausing at the door frame, you glance at him, half your body framed in shadow and the other in the morning light. He’s not sure he’s ever seen someone look more beautiful in the earliest hours of a new day.

chapter six ->

#AMAZING #as always!!#javier peña x reader

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adobe-outdesign · 3 years ago

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What are your thoughts on hisuian arcanine?

I have a lot of thoughts about Hisuian Arcanine, but I'll start off by saying that I like it a lot. In fact, I actually like it better than the original Arcanine (which I already liked), if for no other reason that the prominent lion dog theme is much more visually interesting than just a large regular dog.

There's also some really nice things going on in the design in general. The bright red looks great and really shows off the fire-typing, the way the fur looks like curled smoke is perfect, and even the way the fur on the front paws is drawn seems to be a reference to Arcanine's beta design, (which was just known as "wing", because you know, it had wings on its legs):

Admittedly, I did expect it to gain a few more lion dog features--lip markings, longer fangs, ect--but that's not a big deal, and what we got still looks solid. The artwork has also been improved on, with a much more dynamic pose. Overall, good stuff.

With that said however, there are a few things visually that don’t gel with me, the biggest thing being the colors.

Don't get me wrong; the red looks great against the dark grey and it really helps the design pop. However, the thing about regionals is that there's a careful balancing act between not making it look to similar to the original (Alolan Meowth) and not making it look completely unrelated (Galarian Meowth). Now don't get me wrong: sometimes different colors can help make regionals more visually distinct, and there are some Hisuian designs that I think could actually use a palette change.

However, Hisian Growlithe already has a different palette than regular Growlithe, being more red and white instead of orange and cream. Because H. Arcanine already changes a ton about the design, this palette would've been enough on its own. By making the mane--the part of the design that changed most--dark, it pushes the design a bit too far away from the original line. To show what I mean, here's a quick mockup of it with the red and white palette next to OG Arcanine:

It's still very visually distinct, but now doesn't look quite so disconnected.

And speaking of which, it also looks disconnected from Hisuian Growlithe because of this. Why does the mane suddenly change colors instead of just staying consistent? If you're going to make the mane dark, at least do so across the board (original on left):

Also, if you must keep the grey, at least make it darker, both to match the stripes and to add contrast. Like this (original on left):

The muzzle also feels like it should've been red and the inside of the ears should've been pink like the mouth, but that's not as big of a deal.

Like I said, the grey looks great, and symbolically fits with statues, the rock typing, volcanic ash, ect. But it could've been kept in a different way: just make the white the default and the grey the shiny. Have your cake and eat it too.

Anyway, aside from the colors, the horns look weirdly tacked on. I thought that they would get bigger and more craggy at this stage to reflect the rock-typing, but instead it just... adds two very small ones. Either do something with them or drop them, but this isn't quite working as-is.

Additionally, the eyebrows have a weird shape to them. I think they were referencing lion dogs' eyebrows, but the diamond shape of the forehead creates some unpleasant negative space compared to the original, which had the shape around the eyes reflected by the ear shape. Just make the entire forehead grey.

And finally, considering that lion dogs have curly manes, H. Growlithe has a curly mane, and half of H. Arcanine's mane is curly, it feels like the mane should've had more curls to it instead of mostly being straight "petals". You can have large curls and still retain the layered look and red inside marks, so I don't know why they felt the need to change the style there. Not to mention the same diamond shape shows up again in the front fur in a way that looks very unnatural and doesn't quite flow right.

As a whole, Hisuian Arcanine has a really striking and elegant design with a lot of good thematic elements and thought put into it; it's just the colors that aren't quite working. But even with that said, I'd still consider it a worthy successor to the original.

#arcanine #growlithe #hisuian arcanine #pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pla #pokemon reviews #outdesign attempts to edit

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luimagines · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! I have a request, but first i wanna say your writing is absolutely amazing! The length + amount of time you put into these prompts is insanely good. Now! Onto the request, how would the boys react to a reader from a more modern era? Maybe a more modernized hyrule or our current point in time?

Masterlist

Thank you so much for the compliment! I'm happy to see the response even if this blog is still relatively new.

I hope I do your prompt justice.

I probably could have done a headcanon list but I was hit with inspiration.

I also might have given Reader some backstory.

Scenario below the cut! It’s long, take caution.

It was a cool night, but you didn't mind. Your bed was warm, the WiFi was fast and even if it was three AM on a school night, you managed to keep yourself giggling with cat videos and blursed memes until the words and colors merged.

A night well spent.

But it led to questionable decisions.

Even if the shredded cheese in the fridge was beginning to seem a more and more enticing snack, your body was tempted to succumb to slumber.

Until a large purple light encompassed the entirety of your window.

Something was in your backyard.

Aliens. Your tired brain supplies and you sprint to the glass and push away the curtains. Is this it? Is this where I'm kidnapped and never seen or heard from again?

You pull out your phone and open up the camera.

"Pics or it didn't happen." You remind yourself and snap a few before showing your face.

What you see isn't what you're expecting. Instead of a flying saucer in the sky beaming down a laser or a weird pear shaped space craft on top of the grass, there's a single panel of glowing light, swirling with black accents that creeps in a circular motion.

"Cheese and crackers...." You gasp and begin to blatantly stare at it with no regard to whether something may be coming out of it.

You wait and nothing happens.

You wait some more and nothing happens.

You spend an hour watching this portal that has appeared out of nowhere, waiting for something to happen, willing for something to happen. But you get nothing.

The unknown stares right back at you, unblinking and unchanged.

Go through it. A voice tells you. What if there's something on the other side?

"I'm going to die." You gulp and take a deep breath.

Who else gets a chance like this? The voice talks again. This could be a grand step towards a more modern society. A whole new world could be on the other side, waiting, reaching out, calling to humanity!

You think you a see a shadow move behind the portal and out of sight but it’s gone before you can even process it.

"Should I call the police?" You step away from the window, ignoring the thoughts, the voice- you're too tired to know if it's your own any more. What's the plan? How does one go about something like this?

Where’s your sense of adventure? Pack a bag and go! What if it goes away?

That last thought seems to get through to your tired brain and for a reason beyond your understanding, it latches onto it.

Now you’re excited.

You run to the closet and take out your old backpack. It used to be for school but it was fancier since it was the only one you could get. The bag had a replaceable water bag with a plastic straw connected through the back of it and the straps have just worn down enough to where they’re actually comfortable. It doubled as a hiking backpack and came with its own insulated lunch box that clasped on the back of it.

It’ll finally serve its purpose.

You quickly roll up your favorite blanket and strap it in tightly beneath the lunch box. You’re quick to take out two extra outfits and pack them as well as change out of your pajamas.

Ok. What would you need? You don’t know where you’d be going so this has to a catch all kind of deal.

You pack away your swiss army knife first for good measure. A solar powered charger for your phone and an extra pair of socks follow suit even after you’ve picked out the extra clothes.

You take out the water bag and run to fill it all the way to max capacity as you think of any other necessities.

You’d need food. You have a small jar of peanut butter and granola bars that can fit in the lunch box. You can bring your extra water bottle and put in the side pockets of the backpack, and maybe bring some of those powered flavor packets your brother loves so much. You think he has lemonade and some green tea ones.

Those would be great. He won’t mind, hopefully.

You let the bag overfill momentarily before running back to shove it in your bag. with the lid screwed tight.

Next you run to the kitchen, grabbing the first things that you thought of already and begin to look around for more.

You grab an unopened pack of beef jerky, a bag of veggie sticks and a half eaten bag of dried mangos.

During your search you grab the water bottle and fill that too.

You return to your room with your bounty and begin to carefully put everything in the box. With some more deliberation, you run back to the kitchen and make yourself a quick sandwich, eat it, make another one and pack that as well.

You look out side the window and the portal is still there.

The sun is beginning to rise now so you’re trying to go as fast as you can, unless you want to neighbors to think something is going on.

Even if it is.

You’re about to leave but in a stroke of brilliance, you run to pack sunscreen and bug spray as well. You see a small first aid pack that was bought recently for when you would take your family vacation but you reason that it might one of the most important things you’d have if you got hurt.

Into the bag it goes.

You grab your hoodie before you leave the door, wrap it around your waist and pocket your phone, your headphones and your wallet.

You feel immediately under packed when you step outside and see the portal up close.

It’s weirdly triangle shaped, you think and step closer.

You reach your hand out and try to touch it. It feels as if you put your hand through a humidifier but it’s not wet. It’s misty and cold but not necessarily unpleasant.

An idea hits you right before you take your first step through.

You pull up one of the earlier photo’s you took and send it to your friend’s group chat. It showed up in my backyard. I decided to make a bad late night decision and I’m going through. If you never hear from me again, I want you all to fight over my electronics. Winner takes all. Godspeed.

And you step through.

You had first assumed that it would merely take you tot he other side but very quickly realize that you have to walk through it.

The first part still had a little light but with time, it got darker. So dark that you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.

You kept walking.

As fast as the light disappeared, it came back and you stepped into the light of an open field, right in front of one, two, three, four, nine males that had appeared to be traveling towards you or rather, towards the portal.

The portal disappears in the process.

“Oh so we didn’t have to go through it! We had to gain another member!” One of them yells. “Would have been nice to know before we packed everything up!”

“Ho boy, where am I?” You ask and tighten your grip on your backpack. Why didn’t I bring a weapon?

They all had long tunics and swords on their backs. Old fashioned leather boots and hand bracers were the norm in this group and you realized very quickly that your jeans and t-shirt had wildly missed the memo.

“Dang, I didn’t think I’d walk into a LARP group. Sorry about that.” You sheepishly smile. “I had no idea where the portal was going to take me. But if you would be so kind-”

“Wait, what’s LARP?” One of them speaks up. He was a dirty blond and somewhere in the middle of the group height wise. He wore a white cape like thing with blue designs on the back but you didn’t recognize the symbol.

“Live Action Role Play?” You tilt your head. “It’s why you’re all dressed like that? Right?”

“This is just our clothes.” What appears to be the youngest bounces up to you. “What are you wearing?”

“First I could grab in my closet.” You admit and look down on it. It’s one of your comfiest shirts and best looking pants. You’re a little proud of yourself for finding those in the dark.

“Weird.”

“We’re heroes. We’re all named Link.” Cape guy speaks up again. “Is it safe to assume that you’re in the same boat?”

“Heroes?” Your eyebrows furrow together. “I’m not a hero and my name’s not Link.”

You’re quick to tell them your name and you watch as the confusion covers their faces. “My brother’s name is Link though if that helps anything.”

“Oh we needed him!” The youngest groans and it instantly irks you.

“What would you need with a five year old?” You deadpan and cross your arms.

The information stuns the group.

“The portal showed up in the middle of the night and I’m the one that went through it. I’m pretty sure I was the only awake to even see it. Are you telling me that it was for my little brother?” You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little pissed. “My baby brother was supposed to go through it? He was asleep! He’s five. What kind of logic is that?!”

“Well...” The biggest and oldest of them runs a hand over his face. You think he has some cool tattoos and sick scar going across his eye but he looks about as angry as you feel, so you don’t say anything. “It appears the gods truly do not care for the hero’s maturity, only his existence.”

“Ok...What’s with all this hero talk?” You bite back. “What did... Where am I?”

“Hyrule.” The second with cool face tattoos speaks up. He’s got a large fur pelt around his shoulders and you have to tighten your grip against your backpack again to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Even so you feel yourself deadpan even more. “Hyrule? Like the ancient empire? The one that collapsed more than two thousand years ago? That Hyrule?”

You’re inclined to not believe them and write all of them off as crazy... but you also walked through a portal. And your grandma did say that magic existed in the strangest forms.

They all share looks of concern and some begin to murmur quietly amongst themselves but you’re too far gone to even notice.

“Did I time travel?” The idea hits you like a bus and you feel your eyes widen as you stare beyond the group. You quickly take our your phone and unlock it.

No signal.

“Is that a type of Sheikah slate?” Someone asks you.

“I don’t know what that is.” You reply automatically. “Wait, hold on, what year is it?”

“Why don’t you tell us what year you’re from and we can start from there?” The darkest brunette of the group speaks up.

“202x PC” You say robotically, not really processing the world around you anymore.

“That’s...” The blond with a long blue scarf speaks up with a slight hiss. “...Beyond any of our timelines. You see, we all come from different worlds and eras of Hyrule’s history.”

“I don’t think you’re the farthest down anymore, Wild.”

“This would then make them my successor, right?”

“It would make their brother your successor.” Someone amends. “I think they just jumped in his place.”

“Leave my brother alone.” You snap back into the present, pocketing your [hone again. “Ok, you know what, screw it. I don’t know what you’d want my brother for but I’m here now. I’d gladly take his place if it means he gets to stay home!”

“Hey.” A boy with pink hair stalks up to you looking a little more serious than you’d like.

“Nice hair dude, way to defy the gender norms.” You smirk a little before genuinely grinning, hoping to quell the tension. “What product do you use? It looks like Artic Fox but not every place sells their brand.”

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about but what happened to Ganon in your world? How have you been handling it?” He snaps and places his hands on his hips.

“Ganon? Like my old principle? That’s a name I haven’t heard in forever.” You’re confused again. “Last I heard he joined the police force only to be reassigned out of state. I don’t know what’s happening with him. Kinda hope he gets fired though. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not someone you’d want in that kind of position of power, you know.”

“Police force?”

You blinked and look them all over. They look very medieval. “Oh... You don’t have that...”

You begin to think about your history lessons and what they might be familiar with if they’re telling the truth about being from Hyrule.

“Ya’ll got knights?”

Many, almost all of them nod, a few with face of despair already on them before you finish speaking.

“It’s kind of like that. Mixed with a towns guard position... kinda. They enforce laws... at least they’re supposed to but the whole system is flawed and racist and really needs to be dismantled for the abuse of power that they have-”

“Abuse? Of power?” You have their attention again.

“It’s stupid and it won’t really make any sense if I try to explain because I doubt you have anything similar but it’s basically a group of people given the right to treat the public in anyway they like for their own benefit because they have no one telling them that they can’t.” You groan and slowly begin to feel your lack of sleep catch up to you.

You slowly reach to behind you and sit down on the dirt, looking at all of them. “Mr. Dragmire wasn’t like...Demise or anything but he was a huge jerk. No one liked him. He liked me though. I remember that. I was the envy of the whole school because I somehow got on his good side while everyone else wants to strangle him. I think he was transferred for some misdemeanor or something like that... like he might have been throwing hands with someone he wasn’t supposed to. I never heard all the details. I didn’t really care for it when it happened either. I’m pretty sure he lost that fight though. The dude looked like a blast of wind could have knocked him over let alone someone’s knuckle sandwich.”

“I would love to hear more about this.” The youngest sits next to you with a large grin on his face. His eyes are bright and his body language reminds you of your cousin Zelda. You instantly think they’d get along like a house on fire. “What are your monsters like?”

“Monsters?” You tilt your head. “Be a little more specific bud, it depends on where you’re from.”

“You have that many?!”

“It depends on if you believe they’re real or not.”

“Speaking of monsters, can you fight?” The shortest walks up to you. You like that his tunic is stitched up with multiple colors and designs. It gives it personality, you think. “Do you have a weapon you’re more comfortable with?”

The question throws you off your rhythm and you don’t fight your wince. “What would happen if I say that I do not, in fact, have any sort of weapon on me?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” Pink guy speaks up again. “That pack is huge, there has to be something in there.”

“It’s food, water and extra clothes my guy.” You lean back against said backpack since it won’t let you lay down with it still on. “Not a lot of space for anything else. I’m pretty good at hand to hand combat though. Karate’s a good way to fight out stress.”

“Your bag’s not magic?”

“Why the hell would it be magic? ...Are you trying to tell me magic actually exists?” You raise an eyebrow as your eyes begin to close against your will. “I know my grandma said it does but I thought she meant like fairies and shadow demons.. and bigfoot. Can’t forget him, he’s the real MVP... You know...Children’s bedtime stories and stuff like that, it’s not real. But like magic magic? Magic items and the like? Find me Tinkerbell and I’ll show you Neverland, that’s what I say.”

“Are you serious?”

“Second star to the right, straight on till morning.” You respond.

There’s a moment of silence as the group in front of you processes your words. It’s hard to tell their reaction since you’re not looking at them but you no longer have the energy to do anything else.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” It’s the one they called Wild.

“I...” You try to open your eyes. They don’t budge. “I haven’t slept in nearly 20 hours... I think. I might have past 24 hours a while ago actually. Portal showed up at like four in the morning... I had to get up at six and I didn’t sleep at all before then.”

More silence.

“Great another one.” Someone scoffs.

You snort.

“Why did we pack up camp again?”

“No one kill me.” You say right before you lose consciousness. “Please and thank you.”

“They’re doomed.”

“Have some faith Vet. They stepped in for their little brother. That has to mean something?”

“They’re in for a rude awakening, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #is this readers origin story #maybe?#i got a little carried away with this one #had to stop myself before i went even further beyond #i don't know if I want to continue with this as a story or just throw out some headcanons with modern reader #i like to think that everything i write takes place in a separate universe #especially the ones where they catch feelings #might throw out what they think of reader #might not #depends on you guys!#let me know what you think!

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demonologistfucker · 3 years ago

Text

In Love with an Artist💛✨

Obey me! Boys x gn! Mc who is a professional artist. I try to be vague about what sort of art you make so that anyone can fit in. As well as what your goals are as a professional artist. This could be someone who just posts art online, does commissions, whatever. I put in some gallery shows cuz those are fun to think about.

this is SFW Fluff💛 rest of the brothers under the cut

Lucifer

- he saw on your file that you did art, but wasn’t really thinking too much about it. Though when you arrived to your dorm you were greeted with a set of art supplies. A nice sketchbook, a couple pencils and pens. As well as rather high end paint set and brushes. He will never bring it up.

- if you do art out where others can see he’ll try to get a look as what you do, but if you’re private about it he would be respectful. Lucifer doesn’t enjoy when people step over his boundaries, and wouldn’t want to do that he you. He knows enough about artists to understand that ones work is personal.

- when he does get to see what you make he will be internally blown away, but outwardly just ask questions about your process. Trying to figure out if there is symbolism you are drawn to, or what you were trying to capture. There is always a little more to art than just the subject.

- if you want to continue being a professional artist in the Devildom he would be a great support. Would give you advice on who to contact and what venues would be best for your work. He seems to have had the information all prepared. He wouldn’t flex his power too much because he wants this to be your own effort, but is happy to help if you want it.

- At shows he’s a an easy presence besides you. Though he likes to be admired. he knows when to step back at let you shine. If nerves catch your tongue or the social work becomes to much. Lucifer will step in with smooth answers. He knows your work backwards and forwards. So can easily answer any question a patron might have.

Mammon

- “oh you should draw me!” It’s up to you if you actually do, but that’s one of the first things out of his mouth when he learns you do art. He does have a pretty face, and would make a good life model....

- Doesn’t verbalize that he thinks your art is cool, but he does want to see every little thing you make. Finds even your doodles to be mesmerizing. So if you’re do art while he’s around be prepared for him leaning over your shoulder to get a good look.

- If you’re trying to make money off of your art Mammon is extremely helpful. his sway over people’s spending could magically get people to be interested in you, but he’s also just good at setting prices. He will not stand for you setting your prices too low, and will come after people who try to skip out on paying.

- Will try to get your art hung up in every establishment he has a connection too. Not every place will be your vibe though so you get to choose where your art actually ends up.

- Though his room style is more modern minimalism. He has several of your pieces framed around his room. A couple you were sure had been sold...

Leviathan

- as a proud otaku he knows how to treat artists right 👏🏻👏🏻 if he wants you to draw something for him he’s gunna tip out of his ass. Leviathan has definitely worked with artists before. Commissioning cosplay, or fanart, and each time he tips outrageously. So be prepared for what he might do to try and impress you.

- Initially gets a little over eager with the commissions, but is able to figure out that.. you might want to do some art just for fun. Or enjoy other things too. Talk to him and he’ll relax. He just wants to support your beautiful art!

- really loves it when you show him what your working on. Especially when you show sketches or work in progresses. It makes him feel really special to see the unfinished product. Being trusted with your genuine ideas and imperfect thoughts means a lot to him.

- if your art is story based at all. He will want to hear All about it. Might say it reminds him of anime’s he’s watched but he means that as the highest compliment. Your idea are just as good as his beloved shows. Your ideas might even be better because he gets to love the person who made them.

- If you have an art show... He will leave his room for you. He will look so dashing, but so uncomfortable. There with you as long as you need him, but if you are fine on your own he might hang out in a corner. Or go home early.

-When you get home he will make it up to you✨

Satan

- He isn’t going to push you to show off your art if you don’t want too. Even if you are drawing in the same room as him. He just can’t see himself being able to interrupt you. Your focused expression is delightful. Though curiosity will eventually get the better of him if you don’t show him yourself.

- Once you do he is captivated. His face is still calm and collected. Expect for his eyes which are wide and sparkling. If you let him he’ll spend a full hour looking at just one of your pieces. Satan will try to spot every little detail, and see how it all comes together. Both as a reflection of what your are trying to capture but also you. What he see’s only makes him more captivated.

- Asks good questions about what you’re working on, as well as complimenting by comparing to other artists in the realms. You had no idea what he meant when he said your worked reminded him of the great Venia the Dark Slayer. So he showed you his books on Devildom artists. You were surprised that Venia the Dark Slayer really did have something in common with your work. Weirdly enough. He also has sections for earth and the celestial realm artists. You are more then welcome to look through them whenever you like.

- When you’re not around he talks about your art a lot. Always so proud of the latest piece he saw you working on. Satan conveniently forgets that some of his friends are gallery owners. He won’t sign you up for any shows without your informed consent, but he definitely help you get shows much easier.

- Whether he helps you get the show or not. He wants to help set up. His eye for detail makes hanging all the frames easier, as well as making good labels for the work. Whenever you can’t come up with a name for a piece. he’s pretty good at coming up with something clever.

Asmodeus

- Also going to lean over your shoulder to see what you’re making. Then is absolutely captivated by what you’re able to make.

- ART DAY! Asmo wants to be creative with you as much as you’re willing for. So you’ll both take up a table and have your art supplies shared in the middle. Asmo is planning his never dress design, or possibly a make up look he’d want to try. Stops to talks to you a lot. Wanders the room and ends up against you to peak at what you’re working on again.

- He’ll ask for your opinion on his outfits and make up, as well as any other creative project they’ve gotten involved with. See’s you as a creative equal.

- Thinks everything you made is brilliant, but also gives good constructive criticism when you want it.

- When you get your first Devildom Galley. It’s going to be the biggest event that whole week. Asmo will not stand for anyone not going to this wonderful event. Takes over most of the party planning. Which makes you worried it’s going to be a big flirty party with Asmo at the center of attention. When you get there it is beautiful. Asmo has decorated the place to fit the theme or your art. There is catering and drinks. All of which again are themed to your art or just your favorite foods.

- He’s so proud of you of course he had to make this event special.

Beelzebub

- :OOOO

- Really blown away by what you’re capable off. Asks you to send him photos as you work on pieces. Very quietly supportive. When you do art with him around he feels so happy. There will be a small smile on his face the whole time. Which breaks out into a beam whenever you show him what you’re working on.

- If you need a life model👀👀👀 Beel wouldn’t mind posing for you.

- Very used to you coming up and asking him to hold something, or do something with his hands. So that you can reference it. Either holds the pose or asks you to take a picture if busy.

- Commissions you to do art for his brother’s birthdays. Not only does he get to support your work, but he knows his brothers will be thrilled to have one of your pieces.

- If you give him any art it will be treasured till the end of time. Neatly framed and kept somewhere he can see everyday.

- Makes sure you stretch before and after doing arts. Making art requires a lot of fine motor skills that can put serious strain on your body. It’s important to take breaks and stretch.

Belphegor

- His face makes a good desk when he falls asleep on your lap

- Might want to do art with you from time to time. He’s got a lot of thoughts in that brain and getting them out on paper feels really nice. If he can’t come up with something to make. he still gets to watch you make art which is always nice.

- Wants to know the meaning behind your artwork. Even if he doesn’t particularly like an art piece. He wants to know what it meant to you, and its importance. Or lack there of. Some art is just shits and giggles. Belphegor just wants to know the intent of what you’re doing.

- Has never gone to a gallery before, but for you?? He will be there on time. Hair brushed, face washed, and freshly shaved. Maybe even wearing a suit.

- “How many commissions have you been doing? no get your ass to bed.”

- Very good at reminding you to take breaks. Or getting in your way so much you can’t work and Have to rest.

#this is my first time doing something like this aaa #Obey me!#Obey me! Headcanons #Obey me! gn mc #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeous #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! belphegor #artist mc #headcanons #demon brothers

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shizukateal · 4 years ago

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The Holy Quintet: The BEST DRESSED Magical Girl Team EVER. Part 2: Characters made of symbols and shapes.

Part 1 here.

Mami Tomoe

Mami Tomoe’s outfit is a work of genius that really humbles me as an aspiring character designer. Watching the perfection in its simplicity only boggles my mind trying to reverse engineer the thought process behind it. Even if they already had decided on the huntress theme before they finished her, how did Ume Aoki came up with cutting the sleeves like that? Or with the perfect skirt shape that allows the corset to show all of her curves while puffing at just the right height to not make the hipline transition awkward and giving the shape of a flower? How long did it take her to find this particular color scheme? Did she immediately know where to put the purple to balance the outfit without feeling artificial? How did she realize that the stripes on the socks would add the ideal touch to the whole setup? Or the perfect way to turn the soulgem into a hair accessory? I would have gone the easy way and put it in the chest ribbon like the amateur I am! Did she have doubts about it while she was figuring out the exact design of the boots?!

This outfit does everything. It’s sexy without being unnecessarily tasteless, it’s girly and fancy but battle-ready, it even passes the silhouette test, it’s nuanced, almost realistic. Even Mami’s hairstyle, which in a lesser design would look too childish, is perfect for her. Mami’s whole theme is that she’s a little girl desperately trying to convince herself that she’s an adult. Her low drill-tails are doll-like, which is to say a little girl’s idea of what a fancy adult woman looks like. The side-swept bangs also give a youthful roundness to her face while being elegant, and the way the hat and hairpin complements the whole thing is just * cheff’s kiss *.

Kyouko Sakura

Kyouko is a fire gal, and as such her shape is a triangle, so her outfit is a halter top coat that widens into the frilled overskirt. Her ponytail also feeds into this theme, with hair bits sticking wildly on the top like the fire sparks of a candle, and the ribbon is just scrappy but cute enough to compliment her personality. Haha, ponytail, get it? Like a horse? Or in her case a de-horned unicorn, ergo her spear. Her look also gives us the impression of an outlaw with her pirate/rider boots, long coat and gloves, fitting her lifestyle, and her soulgem is on her chest, indicating her more emotional nature. I think the boldest decision was to leave her hands ungloved, or at least I know I wouldn’t have done that, but that’s why I’m glad I wasn’t in Ume Aoki’s position when Madoka was in production. The white details on her undershirt and boots also put an elegant touch of complexity that completes the whole thing. What I’m trying to say here is that Kyoko has the ““easiest”” design of the other puellas, but it’s still top notch.

Sayaka Miki

Sayaka’s outfit is a balancing act, trying to keep it’s knight aesthetic clear without relying on heavy armor to do so and thus allowing Sayaka’s more romantic, femenine side to show, not to mention her water + music/mermaid theme. Her whole getup is very ingenious. Her short hair allows the cape to flow without seeming excessive and heavy or an inconvenience, her hairpin prevents the cut from being bland, but still keeping a somewhat tomboyish look, and her skirt has a distinct asymmetrical cut that, with its white outline, gives the idea of a wave. Her boots are short, comfy, practical, and their shade is just different enough that they avoid the look from feeling kinda boring within its color pallet, without straying away from it. I’m honestly amazed at how well they pulled of her belly-button soulgem as well, especially without taking away from the knight theme, hell they even used that in their favor! That is ingenuity. It was also a genius idea to hold the cape on a choker to make it all fit better with a sweetheart neckline.

Homura Akemi

As I mentioned before when I talked about Senjougahara, Homura is a rhombus, not just in her soul gem but in the rest of her body: she is pointy, slim, and long. She is the tallest and lankiest amongst the Holy Quintet, her outfit primarily highlighting her legs and her hair ending in jagged points. What impresses me the most about it is that the shirt is very weirdly cut for a concept as straightforward as “school uniform”, but it works. I can imagine a much easier version of it without the undersleeves or the collar. Speaking of which, the shape of them draws attention to her soul gem on her hand, which is placed there to symbolize how she’s the most “hands on” magical girl. Her time motif is present in her back ribbon, which looks like clock hands, same with Moemura’s braids, and in her shield, which is small and attached to her wrist and also is actually a sand clock. That shield is a really neat, concise, and smart way to tie up the entirety of her wish, huh? Speaking of Moemura, it’s really interesting to see the conflict between the two versions of this character in their differences. First we have the hair, of course, then the red glasses. I sense that there’s more to those than what I’m interpreting here, but the best I can do is conclude that aside that Homura tosses them out because they represent her weakness the fact that they’re red means they also represent her emotionality, which Madoka returns to her when she gives her her red ribbons (which also represent the string of fate, of course, and also confidence in oneself). But the part that interests me the most is her heels. Moemura doesn’t fit them, she trips on them constantly, but for Homura they are a symbol of her maturity and composure. Naturally, the first time we see Homura break down after narrowly killing Kyubey before they could do a contract with Madoka, she trips on them.

@leafbladie also pointed out to me that the reason it looks like a school uniform might be because school is the only place where she could make genuine human connections.

Madoka Kaname

Kyouko is a triangle, Homura is a rhombus, and Madoka is, fittingly, a Star, aka. a cluster of points shooting out from a center, which also blends well as a flower motif. Or to put it even more eloquently, she’s the flower from the ground that will eventually become the star in the sky. It’s in her skirt, gloves, socks and ponytails. And the rest of her? Is a deception in its simplicity. After all, this is what you expect from the leader of a magical girl team, right? Pink! Ribbons! Frills! Come on, you’ve seen this outfit before, it’s practically the same as Cure Peach’s! But Madoka is aiming for something more specific: she is both a fairy AND a witch, the two faces of the Magical Girl, creatures of fairytales often related to either nature or to the stars, and it works precisely because she uses that shape. Madoka is a balance of roundness and pointiness, it’s just that those points are softened by the pastel coloring. Her balance in ribbons and frills is excellent as well. I should probably write a separate post on how those 2 elements work in general, but suffice to say that we all know way too many magical girls that just put those things everywhere. Two on her ponytails to highlight them, one behind her neck, two on her hips to smooth the hipline transition, two behind her shoes. Huh, speaking of those, Madoka has surprisingly tall heels, right? Taller than Mami’s and only matched by Homura’s. Really tells you who the 2 most emotionally resilient members are in the team.

The last piece I’d like to highlight is her weapon, which I’m jealous of because I did that concept for an OC of mine and now if I do it everyone is going to think that I got it from her. But in any case, yeah combining a druidic staff into an also druidic bow whose arrows are also shooting star analogues is the perfect choice for this particular character, the Goddess of Magical Girls.

And this, everyone, has been my reasoning and analysis of the genius of the Holy Quintet’s character designs. Follow me if you want more magical girl outfit analysis.

#puella magi madoka magica #magical girl fashion #madoka kaname #kyoko sakura #homura akemi #sayaka miki #tomoe mami

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idiotic-genius · 4 years ago

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How to write an immersive scene

requested by @noa-i - check out their blog, they have amazing lists of helpful links to writing guides!

As a writer, it is mostly inevitable to get to the point in writing where you are questioning whether anyone will actually want to read what they have created. A question greatly important to writing something the reader gets hooked up with is: How do I lure them in and make them feel like they are part of something? Sometimes, writing immersive makes THE difference between a scene quick to skip over and a scene you can't take your eyes off. But how do you create immersion?

In this post: 1. Worldbuilding 2. Narrators 3. Writing visually 4. Setting the scene 5. Example to summarize

Step 1: Learn your own facts

It might be banal, since you are the author, to re-read your own notes and think about what you have written so far. However, to get the reader hooked up, make them INTERESTED. This is easily accomplished by creating a detailed fictional world that doesn't seem flat. It might be a tiring process, but it always pays off! Knowing exactly what kind of world your character finds themself in makes it a lot easier to fill in details that subconsciously make the reader believe they are dealing with an actual real-world instead of "just" a fictional one. But even though it may seem harsh, cutting out some details and facts might make the reader feel much more comfortable. Their mind wants to insert them into the universe they're reading about, so overloading them with too many unnecessary details can be just as defeating as giving them too little info. Here is a link to a great beginners-guide on worldbuilding.

Step 2: Know your narrator

As we all know, there are a bunch of different narrator types to pick from when starting a new story, and each of them is good for a different thing- reaching from the typical first-person narrator (The Hunger Games, Percy Jackson) over personal third-person (Warrior Cats, Harry Potter) to omniscient third-person (Anne of Green Gables) and biased third-person (A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). If you are writing an unbiased third-person narrator in your WIP, you can just skip this step. However, if you have any indication at all in your story as to who the narrator is, you might want to think about this more closely. The narrator is the bridge that connects the reader to the fictional world. To immerse the reader in a book, it's usually easiest to use the first-person narrator or the personal third-person narrator, because that way the reader will either imagine themself as the narrator or as a friend of the main character, which keeps them interested. If your narrator is an actual character in the story, it is necessary to keep their speech and description patterns consistent with themselves and the events of the story. For example, a character narrating that has never visited a school or similar should not use highly scientific words to describe what's going on, etc, because it will interrupt the reader's reading flow and disturb the immersion just as much as time skips do.

Step 3: Writing visually

After making sure you have the narrator and the world they're in all set, it's time to choose a writing style, more specifically, to decide the visuality of it. What I mean by that is that having a fictional world so flat it's boring is just as bad as not describing it in a way that delivers it in the way it deserves to be delivered. Picture it like this: Every scene starts in a white room, with neither windows nor doors. If you as the writer don't describe what is going on in that room and what it looks like, at best while keeping the narrator's character in mind while doing so (to make it "3D"), the reader will never know what is actually happening. This also includes adapting the length and complexity of sentences to the scene: In a combat scene, you will usually find short and cut-throat sentences to represent the intensity and living-in-the-moment mindset of a fight, however, in a meaningful conversation between two characters about a heavy subject, it's more likely that longer and more complex sentences are of use to mirror the narrator's deep thinking of the subject and their concentration on the conversation.

Step 4: Setting the scene

By setting the scene, you fill in this white room in the reader's mind, adding characters, sounds, furniture, windows, and scenery in general, while still leaving space for the reader to fill in the blanks. To find a middle between these two extremes is up to every individual writer and depends on the writing style. If you over-describe the room, the reader will know every detail about it, but it will take away their focus from what is actually happening in the scene. However, if you don't set the scene at all, the reader automatically makes up what the room might look like based on what they imagine, and then breaks out of the immersion as soon as you mention something, later on, to be in the room that they did not picture. For example, if you just say that A enters B's bedroom, the reader might quite as well imagine there to be small windows, some bookshelves, a standard bed, etc. If you don't set that up right in the beginning and later on mention that B has small windows, the books stacked on the floor, a bunch of plants, an aquarium, and a bunk bed, the reader will get confused because it doesn't fit what they had pictured before. So ask yourself: What is so important that the reader should know it before the scene actually starts? Context also matters in that case.

5. Example

In the following, I will write the same scene multiple times in different styles to illustrate what makes a difference in writing immersion. The scene goes as following: Jae falls into a dark room underground with a hooded, mysterious person waiting for him. The hooded person greets him and lights a candle, and in the emitting light, Jae realizes who he is talking to. Remember: These are more caricatures of the different writing styles than actual representation and are very overexaggerated, but you get the idea.

1. first-person narrator (Jae), scene not set properly, no visual writing, no consistency in speech pattern

After three seconds, I landed on something soft and realized I had landed in a chamber underground, slightly lit by the moonlight above me. I walked through the only doorway and found myself in a second room. A hooded figure in the middle of the dark lifted their arm. From the table beside them, they picked up a candle and lit it using a lighter. "Hello, Jae", they said, and in the newly emitting light, I recognized them in front of the fireplace.

-> feels flat and jumpy, gives no significance to the change of scenery

2. biased third-person narrator, scene set properly, overly descriptive visual writing, consistency in speech pattern

After falling for what felt like an hour, even though it was probably just a few seconds, Jae finally landed on something soft. Before even attempting to get up, he shivered at the fresh memory of what slimy, earthy, suddenly appearing tunnels felt like. He stared up through the hole at the moon and the stars, and immediately recognized the constellation of Cassiopeia, high up above him. Cassiopeia is said to have angered the Gods, so they gave her the gift of divination, but made it so that nobody would ever believe her prophecies, finally banning her into the sky as this constellation. Weirdly enough, the stars' pattern doesn't look like a woman, or a human, at all. Jae slowly stood up from where he landed and realized he had fallen onto a rather big cushion with a print of primroses in yellow, pink, red, and blue. He looked around in my new location and found himself stuck in a small portico with no windows at all and only one doorway. The walls seemed just as dirty and muddy as the tunnel he had fallen through, and as he looked closer, he spotted about a dozen small, pink worms slithering through the soil. The floor on the other hand was made out of dark wooden panels- if you wanted to call it a "floor". The pieces were just loosely stuck onto the earth underneath, and mud squeezed out from the gaps in between. Jae slowly walked over them and reached the doorway after just four steps. He saw a hooded figure standing in the center of the next room. The room had two sources of lighting: One, the moonlight shining through the disgusting tunnel, and two, a crackling fireplace. It looked like it belonged in a small cottage, being made out of red bricks and looking a little old with the small black-and-white pictures put on top of it. The flickering orange glim of the fire met the silvery-white shine of the moon in the middle of the room. On the right side, Jae saw a big old round table made out of similar wood as the floorboards outside. There were obvious scratches on it, some made by smaller knives, others bigger and maybe made by swords, with splinters on their edges. Apart from two, the fours chairs around it seemed just as maltreated, but the two others were polished and reflected the two light sources, with no scratch marks at all. On top of the table rested a metal candlestick with one slightly burned-down candle stuck inside it. The candlestick had a few scratches as well, on the side and at the bottom. "Hello, Jae", the figure said snarkily, with a voice deep and rough like sandpaper. They wore a black cape, smooth on what Jae could see of the inside and rough on the outside, with a big hood covering their hair and most of their face. A few of the blue buttons with a golden pentagram engraved on them were missing from the coat, and it was slightly ripped in a few places. One strand of dark hair fell into the person's eyes as they reached out for the candlestick, lighting the candle inside with a silver zippo-lighter. The lighter had small scratches as well as a few symbols on it. Slowly, the flame grew bigger and bigger, until the shine from below reached the figure's face. Jae's eyes went big as he realized who he was talking to.

-> little place for the reader's fantasy, but details make scenery deeper and less flat. This kind of description does make sense if the narrator/the character the narrator fixates on (Jae in this case) is very observant and/or intelligent because they will notice details that others don't. The question is whether those details are important enough to keep in the story.

3. first-person narrator (Jae), scene set properly, visual writing, consistent speech pattern

After what felt like an eternity of falling and silently begging not to die from the impact, I finally landed with my eyes squeezed shut. Okay, legs, arms, and head still in place... I slowly opened my eyes again, realizing I had landed on a soft pillow with a flower print. Cautiously, I got up, gazing up at the tunnel through which I had fallen. The view of the slimy earth made me shiver involuntarily as I blinked against the bright moonlight far above me. The sky was clear enough to see stars, which could have been far more enjoyable if it hadn't been for my miserable situation. I had landed in a small chamber underground, with a single doorway leading into a bigger room. The walls were just pure earth and seemed to swallow all noise, but when I took the first step, the sounds of my shoes on the dark wooden floorboards and of the mud squishing out from beneath them was louder than I had anticipated. I could hear the crackling of fire from the next room and see the orange glow as I made my way over to the doorway and took a glimpse into it. The room was not very big, but also not as small as the one I had landed in. There wasn't much space because of a wooden round table and four chairs, which all seemed very old and maltreated, judging from the scratches on them. I could make out a few pictures on the fireplace, and in front of that- "Hello, Jae." I had to suppress a gasp as I realized that I was not alone. In the middle of the room, right where the silvery moonlight and the orange glow of the fire met, stood a hooded figure. Their coat looked as old as the few pieces of furniture, with missing buttons and rips. I couldn't make out much of their face, even though I squinted my eyes, but the flickering light made it hard to see anything, let alone recognize. But that voice... Before I could come to a conclusion, the figure reached for a metal candlestick standing on the table and lit the candle inside with a silver lighter. As the flame grew bigger, they dispelled the shadows below the hood that had disguised the person's features before. I could feel my eyes get big as I finally realized who was standing before me.

-> Gives enough information to "fill the white room" without dwelling on details too much, shows the context of the story, gives Jae a consistent personality

So that's it for this post! I hope I managed to pass on a thing or two that I learned while researching and that this post will help you with your writing. Please acknowledge, I am not trying to attack anyone's style of writing!! If you write the way I wrote a "non-immersive" scene, it does NOT mean that your writing style is bad, let alone wrong, because the existence of many different writing styles is what keeps it individual and interesting! Find your own way and let nobody get you down :)

#writing #writing prompts #writing tips #writing advice #story prompt #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #writing inspiration #immersion #writing immersion #immersive writing #story tips #how to write #tutorial #tips #request

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restapesta · 4 years ago

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gossip never ends

Mickey Milkovich simply just showed up one day at the Old Army, tattoos on his knuckles and a scowl on his face. Lola couldn't help but be intrigued -- nobody lasts here long enough to pique her interest, but there was something special about this guy. The gossip spreads like wildfire, but Mickey's something else altogether -- it's just a matter of time before Lola and her friends figured out why.

OR: How Mickey's coworkers found out about who Mickey really was back in season 10 -- this is more of an outlook on Mickey and his feelings throughout season 10 and how it reflected on his job and altogether his demeanor.

This is based on a prompt by @whatwouldmickeydo which was also even more explored by one of my favorite Gallavich accounts on Tumblr @ianandmickeygallavich -- so, I simply just worked through what they had already created. I hope they don't mind I used their prompt and this is dedicated to both of them! Enjoy!

words: 5.3k

The gossip began almost the exact moment Mickey was introduced to the three workers by the manager.

The Old Army staff was not a stranger to new workers coming and going, some people sticking around longer, working for a couple of months without stop, maybe even sticking around for a full-time position; some just passing through while on trial-basis, failing to meet the manager's demands and simply moving on to find better or more fitting employment -- but the sight of Mickey Milkovich was definitely not something, Lola thought, anybody, not just the curious employees, was used to.

Lola fell into the group of people who had been working at the store for ages now, starting years ago and still sticking around now, subsequently being present for all the biggest changes made to and within the popular store. She saw the interior change, the managers shift, the employees getting hired and fired -- she saw it all. It couldn't be said for many people. Honestly, only three members of the Old Army staff had actually been working full-time here, while everybody else was just a passing face.

She was so used to seeing new faces that it simply did not phase her anymore -- Lola had her own stable position in the store; she had her colleagues which she got along with, and she never paid much attention to the newbies once they came into the store. She knew it was almost always just for a short while, basically until they made a mistake while working and got politely declined for the position, so she usually just remained civil, not engaging in much mingling or bonding -- it wouldn't last anyway.

The staff change happened way too often, especially with security. The store management had no idea how to pick the right person for the job -- they either always chose the gangly, skinny types; the ones who couldn't defend others or themselves from a burglar if their life depended on it, or they chose the fatties who had a donut too many during their break and couldn't chase ten feet after the culprit.

Still, this guy -- this new, weirdly interesting guy -- seemed promising.

Lola had no idea where they managed to find him -- he was kinda hot, and definitely in really good shape with thighs and calves that could probably kill if they wanted to. He seemed crude and unapproachable, and the brooding, mysterious attitude definitely didn't quench anybody's curiosity as to where the hell he came from and how the hell they managed to find him of all the people in the world. A scowl was constantly etched on the newcomer's face -- not just when he was being introduced to the staff by the manager, as Lola thought would be the case -- but literally at every single given moment of the workday.

There were only rare moments Lola and the others saw him smile -- usually every single one of those moments being when he was texting someone during his break, or when he was coming back from having lunch with someone at the food court. Not that anyone would dare ask who, although they definitely speculated.

Mickey was the type of guy Lola was interested in making friends with. She approached him once during their shared shift -- usually, she wouldn't even bother, seeing how these guards come and go, but this one really piqued her interest -- trying to figure out who he was, where he came from, what he was doing here. Was he single? She needed to know for her lady friend considering how he was most definitely a sight for sore eyes.

It came as somewhat a surprise when he gave off clipped answers to her questions, most of them not even answering.

"Did you always work security?" She'd ask with a bright smile.

"You could say that."

Silence.

"How long are you planning on staying with us?" Trial-basis or undefined employment? Lola wondered silently.

"Until Larry finds me a better job."

Silence.

"Who?"

Silence. And then a quick, "Never mind."

Lola had officially given up on her efforts to befriend and find out more about the man once Mickey gave her a sharp, pointed stare after she pointed out he didn't have a ring on his finger, hoping he would reveal his relationship status to her.

She most certainly wasn't that lucky, and she almost shat her pants at the murderous expression on his face. She didn't ask again.

The others tried to pry information out of Mickey too, but they certainly lacked the subtlety Lola had. She honestly couldn't say she was the most discreet person in the world, but she was in the Old Army, considering how she found herself working with the two most non-discreet people in the world. Lola was upfront too -- let's not get that wrong.

But at least she didn't outright ask him if he was in a gang like Jeremy did.

"I wanted to know if the tattoos were gang symbols! They freaked me out!" The skinny twenty-year-old replied when the other workers gaped at him with wide eyes.

Jenna shook her head. "Dude, you can't just ask a guy if he was in a gang."

He wouldn't reveal his age, let alone his gang status if he had one, Lola scolded Jeremy mentally. The guy was as open as a seashell -- you could try and pry it open to see if it had a pearl inside, but you'll most likely fail and, to be honest, probably get pinched in the process, if not careful. It was perhaps best not to even try or, if you did, to proceed with extreme caution. A bunch of seashells didn't even have pearls in them anyway, so it'd all be useless in the end.

It only took a week for the staff to find out how Mickey managed to find himself here at Old Army out of all the possible places in the world. It was a shock, to say the least.

One morning, the revelation came when Larry Seaver showed up to the store, dressed in a nice suit and tie, wearing his casual, perky smile. He asked for the manager and had greeted Mickey immediately once he laid eyes on the man. Larry approached him as Jeremy went to get the manager, placing a firm hand on Mickey's shoulder, smiling widely at him.

Lola and Jenna weren't snooping, but they did manage to overhear Larry asking Mickey if he enjoyed working here; if everything was going well; if he was staying out of trouble -- a question that certainly didn't help stop the gossip -- and if he settled in home nicely.

Mickey responded to most of his questions with short, non-descriptive answers, but not with any malice or disdain. He answered them as if he had to, putting an emphasis on the "I'm not getting into any trouble, don't worry Mr. Cheery," making Lola wonder why the question even needed to be posed.

When the manager finally showed up, greeting the man happily, Larry followed him to his office, leaving the others to get back to the customers -- and some to get back to stopping crime. It was only when Larry Seaver left that Jenna shouted, "Oh my God, he's a parole officer!" at the other two workers while drinking coffee in the break room.

"He's a what?" Jeremy asked, slightly confused.

"A parole officer! I heard him talking to the manager about Mickey and how he's settling in. Mickey is a parolee!"

"Jesus Christ, I knew it! And you told me I shouldn't be scared." Jeremy answered with a sullen look, exaggerating a shudder.

Lola quirked an eyebrow at her friend. "Were you eavesdropping?" She was more amused than surprised if she was honest.

Jenna shook her head at Lola in exasperation. "So not the point. Lola, the guy went to prison!"

"We should all just quit now," Jeremy added.

"Come on, you big baby. The guy keeps to himself. You have literally nothing to be scared of." Lola was rolling her eyes at the man, slightly annoyed at the comments.

It didn't surprise her Mickey was here on parole -- it didn't surprise her he was in prison at all. He seemed like the type, not just because of his sullen look and crude knuckle tattoos. It also had a lot to do with the way he carried himself as if the entire world was against him and he needed to protect himself from the inevitable upcoming battle. It was probably why he never spoke to anybody, why he never had coffee with them, and why he seemed to avoid human contact at all possible times. It was also, now, very much obvious why he was so good at guarding the store -- it takes a criminal to catch a criminal, she guessed.

Honestly, it all just made him more interesting.

"I kind of think it's hot," Jenna admitted sheepishly.

Jeremy's eyes bulged out. "You're kidding me."

She shook her head, smiling like a teenage girl. "He's dark, brooding, mysterious. And he's got a really nice ass."

Lola laughed at her friend and at Jeremy's horrified expression. "You should go flirt with him. Maybe you'll be able to figure out if he's single or not." She was only partly joking. Jenna probably didn't need a repeat of what Lola had gone through.

She sighed sadly. "A guy like that is not single."

"Yeah, sure. An ex-con definitely isn't single and is probably in an extremely committed relationship with somebody who loves him for who he is. And that same ex-con guy totally loves somebody back with his whole, entire heart." Jeremy quipped sarcastically and Jenna pinched his bicep in response.

"Love is love, asshole. People murder for love."

Jeremy nodded in response. "Exactly. That's probably why he was in prison."

Jenna rolled her eyes. "You know what? Unlike Jeremy here, I'm not a pussy. I'm gonna go talk to him."

Lola's eyes widened in response and she smiled widely. If anyone would take the bullet for the team, it'd be Jenna. "You go, girl! Get him. Just make sure to be subtle about it"

Jeremy and Lola watched as Jenna went up to Mickey who was standing next to the Old Army store entrance, looking as bored and uninterested as ever. When he saw Jenna approaching, he grimaced, obviously preparing himself for the confrontation.

Jeremy and Lola locked eyes as Jenna began to audibly flirt with Mickey. They couldn't hear everything she was saying from where they were eavesdropping but they didn't hear Mickey even speak. Based on the disappointed look on Jenna's face when she walked into the break room again, they didn't think it went that well.

"So?" Lola inquired hopefully.

Jenna shook her head. "Completely uninterested. I even made my boobs look bigger in this shirt. Didn't work, obviously."

"What'd he say?" Lola probed deeper.

"Well, I asked where he lived, where he used to work, if he was settling in nicely -- and he just kind of hummed."

"Hummed?"

"He barely even answered the questions."

"Maybe he's gay and in a committed relationship with a dude," Jeremy added sarcastically, once again. "Maybe I should go up and flirt with him instead. See if it works for me."

Jenna rolled her eyes at Jeremy's sarcasm. "You're too big of a pussy to do it. Plus he's probably not gay."

Jeremy didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he just smiled. "Whatever you say, Jenny. Oh, by the way -- I totally am."

Mickey never spent his break with the others. In fact, he was either sitting outside the store, drinking Pinkberry and messing around with his phone, or he was at the food court, presumably meeting somebody for lunch. Lola was dying to know who, but she never dared to ask or to check, although it would have been so easy.

The curiosity extended out of the workplace as well -- Jenna, Lola, and Jeremy had a group chat. It was, at first, formed as a work chat, purely for announcements and work hours, but as time passed -- and as the employees and employers changed -- it evolved into something much more. Now, it was their main gossiping media.

--- old army besties ---

LOLA (9:56 PM): I can't find him anywhere on social media.

JEREMY (9:58 PM): You're obsessed.

LOLA (9:58 PM): Fuck off, Jeremy.

JENNA (10:03 PM): There are a bunch of articles about him escaping prison!!!!!!!!!

LOLA (10:04 PM): NO SHIT

LOLA (10:04 PM): LINK NOW

LOLA (10:04 PM): !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

JENNA (10:06 PM): https://images.app.goo.gl/rzDzCogf1H84QD78A

JENNA (10:06 PM): HEHAGDJADGAIGDAJFGAJFGAJFGA

LOLA (10:08 PM): oh my god

JENNA (10:08 PM): I KNOW

JEREMY (10:07 PM): ya'll are crazy

JENNA (10:08 PM): Is it bad it just makes me even more attracted to him??????

JEREMY (10:09 PM): yes.

LOLA (10:09 PM): NO!

LOLA (10:10 PM): Jenna, same.

JEREMY (10:11 PM): I have a psych ward to recommend you to. Hold up.

JENNA (10:11 PM): Jeremy, stfu

*JEREMY has left the chat*

LOLA (10:12 PM): You wanna add him back in or should I?

JENNA (10:12 PM): Neither.

JENNA (10:12 PM): Let him suffer.

The gossiping continued for a while. It didn't honestly seem like it would stop at all, and nobody really seemed inclined to put an end to the wildfire gossip that spread through the entire Old Army staff. Not that anyone cared much, either, if they were being completely honest.

One day, though, the Mickey who was always grumpy and never without a scowl seemed particularly furious.

He spoke to no one, he didn't check his phone at all, which was a rare occurrence and almost never happened -- he was usually glued to the thing, always texting someone -- and he basically looked like he was ready to kill the next person who dared steal something from the store.

"Anyone wanna ask what crawled up his ass and died?" Jenna asked lowly, observing Mickey from where she and Lola stood behind the cash register. Jeremy hung around in the back, angry that they still hadn't added him back to the group chat.

Lola simply grimaced. "I guess we've been dealing with happy Mickey all this time."

Jeremy pretended not to pay much attention to them, very much bitter. He just muttered, as a side note, loud enough to get even Mickey's attention, "Yo, I guess they found who killed that parole officer."

That piqued Lola's interest. The murder was all over the news the day before -- a parole officer named Paula had been thrown out the window -- and Lola didn't expect them to have found the killer so soon.

"Already?" She wondered, out loud.

"Who is it?" Jenna asked.

"Some ex of hers -- Shelly, I think. They arrested her yesterday."

Lola released a sigh. "That's some good news. Now she can't hurt anybody else." She mentally applauded the police for the good and quick work.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mickey was listening in to their conversation. She could have sworn she heard him snort when she muttered the last part, the one about it being good news. She saw an opening, and when Lola began to open her mouth and try and include him in the conversation, he had already turned around and left to stand back at his regular spot, expression sullen, pretending as if he never even cared to listen in after all.

Mickey was gone all of a sudden one day -- as the manager had told them briefly, on paid leave. He didn't reveal why or when he'd be coming back, only saying how Mickey had something important come up, and that he'd eventually be back. He didn't seem to be aggravated while talking about Mickey, so Lola guessed he didn't get fired, nor that he was being tested again for his position -- he had honestly been doing great. Better than the ones before him, at least.

Lola was actually somewhat shocked. She was also slightly disappointed he didn't tell her.

Mickey had actually started opening up a little -- not much (when she said little she meant very little) -- but he was finally communicating with them during their shift together, something he most certainly hadn't even tried to do, no matter how hard they tried to push. He also seemed happier, coming in one morning looking the happiest Lola had ever seen him.

It was the first day Mickey made actual conversation with her -- about the ugly clothes in the store, nevertheless -- and she genuinely was starting to like him.

"Maybe he likes you," Jenna told her after noticing them talking.

Lola blushed. "Probably not."

Jeremy snorted and both women turned towards him. "He's probably more attracted to me than you." He muttered absentmindedly while scrolling through his phone.

"Still sticking to the gay theory?" Jenna asked pointedly.

"I may not be dark, brooding, and mysterious, but my gaydar is on point. At first, I was skeptical, but he rocks that pink pastel shirt a little too well." He said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Jenna and Lola shared a look before both rolling their eyes.

"Let's hope he asks you out." Jenna finished and Lola blushed even more. Stupid crush. Jeremy snorted.

She was a little disappointed he was gone but his step-in was a cute guy and the gossip between her, Jeremy, and Jenna was endless -- Jenna and Lola came up with different theories as to where he was which all ranged from family emergencies to crazy prison breaks -- Jeremy would simply roll their eyes at them whenever a new theory came up.

When Mickey came back a couple of days later, it seemed as if he had a spring in his step. For the first time in all the time Lola had known him, instead of a scowl, there was a smile present on his face.

"Holy shit, he's smiling." Jenna pointed out incredulously, and Lola simply nodded shell-shocked. He had a beautiful smile.

It was even weirder when he greeted them when he walked into the store, uttering a simple, "Hey" which neither woman expected.

"So, that's happy Mickey," Lola said under her breath. "Good to know."

The sudden chirpiness didn't disappear throughout his entire shift and Lola began to wonder what type of vacation he had gone on to be this happy. She needed to ask him -- if it could take the stick out of his ass, then it could definitely make her feel like she was in heaven.

The answer came shortly after.

"He's got a ring on his finger."

"What?" Lola and Jenna exclaimed simultaneously, looking at Jeremy like he was crazy.

"The hell are you talking about?" Jenna asked, glancing between Jeremy and Mickey, inconspicuously trying to catch a glimpse of Mickey's hand.

"He's married, guys. He probably got married while he was away. There is a golden band on his ring finger."

Lola and Jenna were surprised they missed it. The ring shone brightly on his left hand, reflecting the shitty lighting of the Old Army store. It looked beautiful and, somehow, it made him look complete. She didn't even realize something was missing until it was there, staring straight at them. That's what the wedding ring seemed like -- a piece of Mickey they were all simply missing. Something that let them know that there was somebody in his life, a single person, who had his heart -- a person who managed to pry open the shell and find the pearl. Perhaps the process was painless; perhaps it wasn't -- Lola supposed there were only two people in the universe who truly knew the answer to that question.

"Well, I didn't see that coming."

Lola chuckled, letting the genuine happiness she felt for him consume her. "Me either."

The next time she passed him, she smiled at the ring widely. "Congratulations! I see the ring." She pointed at his hand.

Mickey smiled softly, gazing at it with a look in his eye Lola could only describe as love. "Yeah, thanks."He seemed a little uncomfortable, so Lola refrained from asking about his wife, and if he had any pictures to show her. She was learning new things about this man every day. The woman who tied him down must have been patient, but also extremely lucky.

"Ugh, I wish he was single," Jenna muttered again later on in the day, gazing longingly at Mickey's ass. "That butt makes the whole ex-con, escaping prison thing worth it."

Lola laughed at her friend, agreeing silently.

It was nearing the end of their shift, and the four people had changed out of their uniforms, getting rid of the ugly pastel pink color, exchanging it with something that was actually fashionable -- Mickey had an especially good fashion sense, in Lola's opinion (he could rock ripped jeans). Mickey had still been in the staff changing room when Lola noticed a guy hanging around the store. A tall, extremely hot redheaded guy, with one of the best bodies she'd seen on a man in a while.

She shook Jenna's arm so she could point out the guy to her, aware that Jenna deserved to gaze at a man this good-looking. He was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt along with skinny jeans that accentuated all of his muscles, from the ones in his arms to his leg ones -- he was ripped, and Lola could only assume there were chiseled abs hiding underneath the shirt. He was drop-dead gorgeous.

Jenna turned around to see what the fuss was about, but her mouth fell open when her eyes landed in the ginger.

"Oh my God, I think just came."

"Me too," Lola admitted. She was genuinely concerned for her wellbeing. "I think we need to get laid."

"Definitely." Jenna's eyes were glued to the man. His hair was perfect too -- slicked back, and just... it was a sort of, ' you simply had to see it to believe it' type of situation. He was beautiful. "Man, how the fuck does God create these men?"

Jenna didn't tear her eyes away. "He must be either really bad in bed or a total douchebag. There's no way he's that hot and nice too."

They suddenly heard Mickey's voice behind them. "Trust me, he's neither."

Lola and Jenna jumped in surprise, but she didn't even have a moment to think about what Mickey said. She was still looking at the ginger, but his green eyes were locked on somebody else though, and he didn't even seem to notice the two women gaping openly at him.

When Lola turned to follow his gaze she was surprised to see it land on Mickey.

"Oh my dear Lord, he's totally eye-fucking Mickey!" She whisper-shouted at Jenna, Mickey being far away not to hear her. Jenna whipped her head around towards where Mickey stood, seemingly unaware.

"Oh my God, he totally is!"

Mickey noticed them staring. He raised an eyebrow at the two women and then as if on a whim, approached them. "You need anything?" He asked, seemingly uncomfortable, but he still paid no attention to the fact a guy was blatantly letting it show on his face that he was imagining all of the things he could probably be doing to Mickey, right now. The redhead had the biggest case of bed-eyes she'd seen in a while.

Lola blinked herself out of her daze. "Um, no. Uh, we just-- we, uh--" She was at a loss for words and Jenna didn't seem to even think about helping.

"Ugh, God." They suddenly heard Jeremy exclaim. All eyes turned to him. "There's a really hot guy outside the store, and he's staring at you." He made a gesture as if saying, 'See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?'. "That's what they're trying to say."

Mickey turned to look forward outside and when his gaze fell on the guy -- the guy he had most certainly already noticed -- his face lit up even more, and his lip curled into a smirk. He turned towards Jeremy and nodded at him. "Glad to see you toughening up."

Jeremy smiled at Mickey as if they were sharing an inside joke, and both Lola and Jenna had no idea what it was. They shared a disbelieving look. "Learned from the best, man," Jeremy replied as they fist-bumped and Lola knew her and Jenna's eyes had to be unnaturally wide.

"So um, so you know the guy outside? He's totally checking you out." Jenna nodded at the hot guy who was still watching them -- watching Mickey, specifically. Lola guessed he was waiting for him, for whatever reason. She guessed hot guys stuck together. If he wasn't a ginger, Lola would have assumed they were brothers and that the good looks simply ran in the gene pool. Lola watched as Mickey locked eyes with the man and smiled. The guy raised his eyebrows in question and Mickey just kept the grin on his face.

"That's Ian, my husband."

Shock couldn't even begin to describe what Lola was currently feeling. If somebody had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water down her back, she would have probably been less surprised. As she was contemplating everything she knew and had been learning about Mickey, the man in question waved towards Ian to join them. Ian made his way inside and Lola could lie and say she didn't swoon.

"Hi." He greeted sheepishly with a smile, previously observing the commotion.

Mickey seemed unnaturally relaxed as he stood close to Ian, wrapping a hand behind his back subconsciously. Lola wondered who the man in front of her was -- it most certainly wasn't the grump Lola had been working with all this time.

"Ian, meet Lola, Jenna, and Jeremy."

Ian smiled politely at all three of them, leaving Lola in a daze -- God, he was gorgeous. She was just about to reply when he nodded at Jeremy specifically. "Sup, Jeremy. Heard a lot about you."

Jeremy smiled back at Ian. "Same, dude. Your husband just can't seem to shut up about you."

Ian smirked, and then turned to look at Mickey, "Is that so?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Fuck you both. I got married. What am I supposed to do? Just shut up about it? Hell no."

Ian laughed and draped an arm around Mickey's shoulder. "Don't worry, baby. I don't mind."

Ian and Mickey shared a quick look, and Lola wondered if she would ever find a person who would look at her the way these two men looked at each other. She suddenly felt bad for thinking Mickey was straight -- everything about this simple interaction screamed gay.

"We should head home, I know you've been waiting for ages outside."

Ian nodded. "Yeah okay, let's go." He then smiled at the three people in front of them widely. "It was nice meeting you guys."

Jeremy was the only one capable of responding. "You too."

"See ya'," Mickey muttered lamely as a goodbye and the couple was out of the store in the blink of an eye, arms wrapped around each other, talking quietly, their expressions pure happiness.

Lola and Jenna turned around to stare at their friend.

"What the fuck was that?" Lola asked, incredulous.

The traitor in front of them shrugged. "What? While you guys were coming up with conspiracies and weird theories, I actually talked to the guy. He's pretty cool. He was raised and lives on the Southside where he met Ian. He first spent some time in juvie. Got shot twice. Went to prison, escaped from prison, went to Mexico, worked for a cartel, rolled on said cartel be with Ian. They were in prison together and they decided to get married when they got out. He's actually been giving me tips to boost my street cred. We've been working on that shit for some time now."

Lola shook her head in thought. "When did you guys become so close?"

Jeremy snorted. "When you decided not 5o add me back to the group chat, bitches." He smirked. "Revenge is a dish best served cold." As an afterthought, he added, "I'm not dark and brooding, but I guess I can add mysterious to my list of charms."

Lola and Jenna watched him as he turned around.

"Is it just me or did he suddenly get hot?"

Lola sighed loudly. "I think we've been tricked."

Jenna groaned, suddenly. "I can't believe it. Two men that hot -- and they end up with each other. Like, what the fuck? Why can't there be one for me?"

Lola laughed, but, as always, silently agreed.

Everybody lost their jobs when the pandemic hit, and when the Old Army finally went back into business, Mickey Milkovich wasn't there. The gossip moved on to different topics and different employees -- the hot security guard was nothing but a distant memory.

The next time Lola saw them was years later. She was much older, much more experienced, and much more in love. She had met somebody, had fallen deep, and it had changed her life for the better.

Love was an interesting thing.

Mickey was standing at the corner of a street. The sun was shining brightly above him, and Lola realized he still looked as beautiful as ever -- his face was much more relaxed though as if the walls he had spent years putting up were suddenly all down, letting his pearl shine through, and glint in the sun. He was waiting for somebody outside of a store, and somehow, Lola knew it was his husband.

She couldn't remember his name, but she could never forget the look.

So many years had passed, and Lola had gone through so many relationships -- but the look was what always had her looking for more, never settling for anything short of what she knew she could have. What they showed her she could have.

Once she found someone who looked at her the way Ian -- Lola would only remember his name sometime later in the day -- looked at Mickey, and somebody she would look at the way Mickey looked at Ian -- that was when she'd know she had found the one.

Ian exited the store, much to Lola's expectation, his red hair, slightly grown out, fiery red in the Sun. The boy holding his hand was smiling widely, and the smile only grew once he saw Mickey.

The boy dropped Ian's hand and ran towards -- Lola simply knew -- his father, jumping into his arms. Mickey picked the small boy up effortlessly -- he was no older than five -- laughing along with him as the boy dove into, what Lola presumed, a story.

Ian and Mickey shared a look, so akin to the one they had shared that day, years ago, in the store, filled with so much love, adoration and happiness before focusing their gazes on their child. It wasn't just between them anymore -- the love they had was now for the little boy as well, nurturing and taking care of him, allowing him to bask in it. They probably didn't even realize they were doing it.

Lola felt tears in her eyes.

She had once searched for the look.

Now, she hoped she would one day be able to share this look with her own husband and her own child.

Lola patted her swollen belly.

One day.

She watched as the two men and boy pulled away, still listening to the story the boy was telling. Lola pulled her phone out as she watched their retreating forms.

Lola opened the group chat, typing excitedly.

--- old army besties ---

LOLA (12:33 PM): You'll never guess who I just saw.

She was thankful for many things Mickey Milkovich showed her, but the one thing she was grateful for the most was that thanks to him, the gossip never ended.

#gallavich #ian and mickey #Ian Gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #fanfic #based on a prompt #shameless #ian gallagher #ianxmickey #shameless us

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letsunity · 3 years ago

Text

Not Afraid - Chapter 1

Summery -

The Bad Batch go to Tatooine to resupply and avoid the Empire. As per the usual, Omega gets separated from the group. Fortunately for her, Krayt's Claw just so happens to be nearby. Bossk and Embo guide her to Boba Fett, who takes interest in why the Kaminoans want her. It's a reluctant partnership, with the Bad Batch having to rely on Krayt's Claw to navigate non-military life.

Tatooine is hot, dry and bright, the opposite of Kamino. She stayed by Hunter's side, inquisitively looking at everything around her. Everything was new and interesting; she wanted to learn everything. The heat emanating from the suns above bore down, drying out her mouth and cracking her lips.

The market was bustling with aliens of all kinds, from giants to dwarves, each with their own story. Everybody had their own experiences, which fascinated Omega, as she had none. She hadn't even experienced dirt until recently.

"I don't think credits are enough here," Echo sighed, irked by the constant rise in temperature. "Not to mention the place is infested with lowlifes."

"Considering how Pantora went, we fit right in," Tech continued blankly, earning an eye-roll from the cyborg. "It's possible we'll have to do a job in exchange for supplies."

"As much as I don't want to agree, it looks that way," Hunter said, nodding slightly. "It's not like we can go to Jabba the Hutt for a job, though. There aren't a lot of people who won't turn on us in a second."

Although it was important, she struggled to pay attention.

The crowd became thick like an ocean, slamming against the group. Something was going on, and whatever it was, Omega wanted to see. Wrecker picked her up, sitting her on his shoulder so she could see above the rest. From the looks of it, a man was duelling someone else, the fight brutal and lawless.

Whoever they were, they must be important, given the crowd. Several people bumped into Wrecker, betting on who'd win. One shoved him hard enough to cause Omega to fall off, angering the hulking clone. Unsurprisingly, this led to another fight, which Hunter and Echo tried dragging him away from.

She wasn't sure why, but he'd been a little more aggressive as of late. Maybe it was because they're hungry? That would make sense. Hunger made people act weird.

People from the first fight got involved in Wrecker's, creating a cacophony of chaos and excitement. As people hurried to surround them, they shoved Omega away, pushing her from side to side. Before she could try fighting back, somebody else shoved her down, sand seeping into her clothes and hair.

She pulled her hand, avoiding it being crushed by someone's boots. Anytime she tried to move, someone walked over her or into her. They didn't have a care in the world that she was in their way, so she stayed put, waiting for it to dissipate.

The moment it seemed safe enough to get up, a Rodian sneered in disgust, thinking she was some slave. Revolted by her, the Rodian kicked the humanoid thing, wanting it away from him.

"Big mistake," hissed someone behind him.

As Omega rubbed her eye, trying to remove the sand, she could make out a hand.

Embo helped the child stand, asking if she was alright. She didn't understand him, so he helped wipe some sand from her eye, looking to Bossk.

The Trandoshan licked blood from his claws, finished with the Rodian pest. With Marrok grunting beside him, Embo requested that he talk to her.

Bossk knelt, looking over the girl. Her condition and clothing meant she wasn't from here and couldn't be more than around ten. The kick would bruise, but he didn't feel any broken bones.

"Where's your family?" Bossk hissed, looking around for someone like her.

She wouldn't say, closing up. A wise decision, given how hostile Tatooine is to foreigners.

"Alright. We'll give you a place to stay while we look for your family or friends. You look dehydrated, and you could get sunburnt. I'm Bossk, and that's Embo, plus his mutt Marrok."

Embo protested to the insult of his fuzzy son. Bossk rolled his eyes, not understanding his attachment to the oversized Massiff.

Omega hadn't met a Trandoshan before, although she was aware of them. She didn't know what Embo was, nor his animal companion. She didn't want to follow them, but she didn't know what else to do. Unlike the orange helmet lady, they actually helped her. Her eye hurt, but Embo's assistance made it tolerable.

They waited patiently for her to decide, their presence scaring off some people. The Trandoshan offered a hand, his arm creepily long. Though hesitant, she just wanted to go home, and they were all she had. Hesitantly, Omega took the reptile's hand. Instead of clasping back, his hand was relaxed, giving her control.

Gently, they walked beside her, Marrok walking behind them. They were purposefully slow, doing it for her sake. So far, they were nicer than the mean lady.

Embo spoke to Bossk in a language she didn't know, the Trandoshan making several expressions she didn't understand. She wanted to understand, but that would take a while.

They led her to a house-like location, opening the door for her. Embo mumbled something to Bossk and left, presumably to find her friends.

The reptilian motioned for her to sit, pointing to a large table belonging to a cantina. As Omega sat down, she examined the location, understanding it to be a home base of sorts. There were locker-like contraptions in the walls with symbols etched into each one. Bossk opened one, likely his, and tossed a bottle to her.

As Omega opened it, a funny smell ran through her nose and assaulted her tongue. Instead of waiting for her, he took one himself and drank it, a long tongue licking his scaled lips afterwards.

She took a sip, feeling cold water trickle down her oesophagus. She didn't realise how thirsty she was.

"What's your name, kid?" Bossk asked, sitting across from her.

"I'm Omega. Thanks for the water, mister."

"My nephew and I have a strict code about children. If there's one in need, it'd be wrong to turn them away. Embo's adopted the same code since working with us," he said casually, looking at her clothing. "You aren't from around here. What brings your pals to the sandy rectum of the galaxy?"

"We needed to get supplies. We were meant to get them on Pantora, but a mean lady with an orange helmet got in the way. She had red strings in her hair, too."

He nodded, aware of the woman Omega described.

"Fennec Shand. She's fairly new to the Bounty Hunting game, more of the assassin type. Someone must want you bad if they hired her. You don't have to worry about me, though; I don't do bounties with kids."

The door opened as two more entered. There was a man with cloth around his head and C-Assassination Droid. They stared at the girl, surprise on the man's face, and they slowly looked at Bossk. Apparently, this wasn't the first time he'd brought a kid back.

Bossk introduced her to Dengar and Highslinger, part of his group. Dengar sat down, shoving the Trandoshan to make more room. The reptile hissed, but Dengar waved it off, seemingly afraid of nothing.

"What is it with you lot and adopting kids, huh?" Dengar joked, getting a growl from the reptile. "Don't give me that, grumpy. Don't urate yourself or whatever you do."

The droid spoke up, essentially calling Dengar a moron. Bossk nodded in agreement, pushing Dengar off his seat. The man casually got up, used to the Trandoshan's friendliness, or lack thereof.

They reminded her of Hunter and the others.

"Be a good moron and look for her friends. What're their names?"

"Hunter, Echo, Wrecker and Tech. They've got an Omicron shuttle, Havoc Marauder," she named, eager to reunite with them.

"Omicron, huh? That'll be an easy find. You don't see a lot of those hovering around these days," Dengar assured, walking back outside. Highslinger provided a robotic wave, following the tanned cyborg.

"It's a big place. In the meantime, have a nap while I make some food. You look like you could do with some."

They weren't anything like the mean 'Fennec'.

Bossk watched over the girl, pausing as she fell into a deeper sleep than either anticipated. Slowly, he lifted her, holding her against his warm body. She was underweight, having near to no muscle on her at all. Poor thing was exhausted.

Her clothes were old and tattered, having seen far better days, and her boot soles were near non-existent from wear. Not just that, but her clothes were Kaminoan, which worried Bossk.

Slowly, the Trandoshan walked out the back, stepping into the Slave-1. The smell of saltwater seared his nostrils, but it helped Bo sleep. Since Jango died, he couldn't sleep without the smell of Kaminoan oceans, even though he hated the planet. He felt her breathing changing like she was more comfortable.

That confirmed that she was from Kamino. It was good that she wasn't there anymore, but still.

Carefully, Bossk pulled out a makeshift bunk, having set it up for Jango many times. The man overworked himself, often falling asleep in the cockpit. It was something that Bo inherited, the little scamp, so much like his dad.

Every day, Bossk missed that asshole more and more. Even the grump of Cad Bane missed Jango's enthusiastic crazy, and weirdly, Jabba took it worse than Bossk, and Jango was his brother. Not even as a close friend, he was raised by Jango's adoptive parents.

He couldn't imagine how mom was doing. She struggled with Jaster died, but with Jango gone as well? He couldn't fathom it.

As Bossk placed the sleeping girl into the makeshift bunk, several questions clouded his mind. What did Fennec want with this kid? She was as normal as Bossk had ever seen, just a plain child. For the likes of Fennec to be sent after her, things were serious. Before leaving her, he made sure to tuck a blanket over her, keeping her secure.

Concerned, Bossk checked her bounty, and unsurprisingly, the Kaminoans issued it. When it came to those lunatics, he loved the idea of getting in their way. Helping her meant upsetting them, which was good.

In the meantime, they'd have to find her friends. They were probably worried sick for her.

When Bossk exited the Slave-1, he found Embo waiting for him.

"She's asleep. She'll have a black eye, but nothing too severe. What've you found?"

"Someone saw the kid with four men in altered clone trooper armour, all with skulls painted on. Apparently, similarly-armoured hooligans were sighted on Pantora recently. Think they're clones?"

"We shouldn't rule it out. Get Derrown or Black Krrsantan to find their ship; I'm sure Dengar's getting pissed somewhere. Do what you do, Em."

Embo nodded, whistling for Marrok. As they set off, Bossk wondered what the Kaminoans could be up to. From Ventress' info, before she died, they were out of fresh Jango Juice. There's no telling what the hell they're thinking.

#the bad batch #omega bad batch #bossk #embo #dengar #clone force 99 #hunter #echo #wrecker #tech #marrok #kaminoans be dickheads #fanfic #Not Afraid fic

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marrys-dream-world · 3 years ago

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if we’re bound to be something, why not together? (chapter seven)

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Notes: I know I'm late, family things. Don't worry, I'm not gonna abandon this story or anything, I swear. Even after ladynoir july ends, I'm still gonna post. Day 7: Height Difference. @ladynoirjuly

Ladybug knew she was short.

As soon as she started growing, the doctors had warned her parents that she might not do much more of that. After all, she inherited her mother’s body type, so she would never get to a height even close to her father’s towering frame. That’s why Marinette was static when she grew taller than her mother, at least she knew she would not stay that short. There was hope for her, still, so maybe the doctors could be wrong, it wasn’t an exact science, anyway. It's not like her friends remind her of it, not since she kicked Kim in the stomach when he called her shorty at the age of seven. They were mature enough, now, to not need to fall back on jabs at her height.

Unless you were, of course, Chat Noir.

It all started on a relatively grumpy day. Adrien Agreste, the love of her life, had gotten a very noticeable growth spurt. As she had gotten to class surprisingly early (five minutes before the bell rang!!), she was putting her stuff away on the desk when he came in and was alerted by Nino's loud gasp.

"Dude!" He shouted, attracting the attention of their entire class. "You shot up!"

"Haha, yeah, a little." Adrien said, rubbing the back of his neck and turning slightly red. "Happened over the weekend."

Everyone started to congratulate him good-naturedly, Lila suddenly materializing by his side and clinging to his arm in a way that made Marinette's blood boil. Fortunately, Ms. Bustier showed up and sent them to their respective seats. Marinette wondered if she imagined the relieved slump of Adrien's shoulders. During class, she had been unable to fully pay attention, this new development eating her up inside. Before, she had been perfectly positioned to stare into his green eyes furtively, but now? Her crammed up neck would call too much attention to her. So she spent the rest of the day grumpy, deprived of her daily dose of Agreste’s big greens.

However, when she arrived at their patrol site with a strained “hey, Chat” and got no response, curiosity overwhelmed her annoyance.

“Chat?” She tried again, shaking his shoulder. He glanced at her, stance casual.

“Oh, sorry, my lady.” He said nonchalant and she would have almost believed him if not for the mischievous glint in his green eyes. “Didn’t see you down there.”

Her face matched the color of her suit. “Excuse me?!”

“Having a bad day, bugaboo?” Chat Noir asked, a full smirk now blossoming on his face. “The weather too bad down there?”

She growls at him and he, wisely, jumps away, starting patrol.

Since then, Chat Noir didn’t miss a chance to take a shot at her. Resting his arm on her head, pretending he didn’t see her coming, ruffling her hair and many more. When they fought Sole Crusher, Chloé’s akumatized sister (being akumatized was a side effect of meeting her, unfortunately, at least that was the most parisian experience she could get on her first day), he would joke about how much harder it would be for the akuma catch her instead of the “normal-sized people”.

Everytime she would punch him in the closest place she could hit, just a symbolic one (she wouldn’t ever hut him), and then she had to mask the wave of fondness that washed over her as he pretended it was painful and said a “geez, bugaboo, not even Shadow Moth hits this hard, working out too much?”. At school, though, she had other problems.

“Is everything okay, Marinette?” Adrien asked her, looking down at her during the break between math and chemistry.

“You’re more than okay- I mean, I'm not okay, no, argh. I’m fine, why?” Marinette stammered, trying to not think about how she was at the perfect height to hide her blushing face in his chest.

“You keep looking up at me. Is your neck hurting? Or is something in my hair?”

“Yeah! That's it!”

He frowned. "It 's what?”

“It’s, er, there’s something in your hair!” She lifted her hand to his hair (so! soft!) and ran through it a few times before taking it out. “There, now it’s fine.”

“Thanks, Marinette.” Adrien smiled genuinely and she bit back a gooey sigh. “What was it? In my hair?”

“Just a bug.” She squeaked out, pathetically, but Adrien’s eyes were still soft (fond?), so maybe she didn’t make a complete fool of herself.

Between the two of them, there was no way she could get more distracted, was what she was thinking. Famous last words.

It was a Sentimonster with, weirdly enough, no akuma. She hated when he surprised her like that, a new dog learning old tricks. Shadow Moth was usually someone very simple-minded, throwing akumas and sentimonster duos at them with glaring exceptions like Heroes Day. Having a sentimonster with no akuma implied him using new strategies and she didn't appreciate it at all. The Sentimonster, which Chat Noir named Mr. Octi, was a purple giant octopus had sticky tentacles which were impossible to escape.

I'm sorry. Ladybug thought to the civilians caught up in him. Mr. Octi's creepy smile didn't change no matter how much they screamed.

Distracted as she was, she would have been caught in a purple tentacle if not for the black-clad body that slammed into her and brought her down to a rooftop. Chat Noir turned them around as they hit the concrete, leaving her on top of him.

"Be careful, Ladybug!" He said, carefully cradling her to his chest.

Even if the suit absorbs most of the impact, she would have winced in sympathy, normally. However, Ladybug had her face pressed into a strong chest as her frantic partner asked if she was okay and stroked her hair. They were strangely aligned, their feet touching and his arms wrapped around her. He smelled fresh (kinda like Adrien the fragrance, actually) and felt warm.

This is nice. She thought, dazed. Maybe Chat Noir wasn't freakishly tall. Maybe… I fit nice here, I think.

"Ladybug?!" His desperate voice broke her out of her trance and she pulled off him like a lightning bolt struck her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Great. Dandy." She threw him finger guns and he looked even less convinced. "It's not important! We need to stop the Sentimonster."

When they defeated Mr. Octi and he insisted on checking on her head, it took all her self control to not hide her face on his chest.

It was unfair that Chat Noir of all people was the perfect height for hugging.

#ladynoir #ladynoirjuly #ladynoirjuly2021 #ladybug #chat noir #ml fic #my stuff #if we're bound to be something why not together

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chrisrainicorn · 5 years ago

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Fair Game Week Day 4: Birds/Soulmates

A classic tattoo AU. Qrow realizes almost immediately Clover could be his soulmate because it’s obvious af, Clover isn’t sure right away because people named after birds are relatively common in Remnant so he needs more proof than that.

One day he rescues a bird from the snow thinking the poor thing is probably lost and freezing after flying so high to Atlas and Qrow is freaking out internally after seeing his mark because it’s totally him!

So... my original plan was to try to write a fic for this. Tho I knew I wouldn’t be able to complete it on time, and I would need more time to just stop and figure how the story was going to go exactly cuz I’m the kind of person that likes to plan a lot before putting stuff on paper.

I still have a little prologue tho, but I decided not to go further until I’m more sure about the plot so it doesn’t end up forced. Hopefully, I can one day I can go back to it and complete it!! Still, you can take a peek at what would probs be the first 2k under the cut:

Qrow was born with a bond mark.

He was still a rascal of a kid, who ran barefoot and chewed with his mouth open, tripped on the ropes that held up the tents of their current campsite, and liked to try to peek at the new shiny items the tribe people had stolen from their most recent raid only to be caught at the same second - though he still didn’t know they were stolen, or understand what a raid was - when someone finally explained to him the weirdly shaped spot on his abdomen he kept scratching wasn’t just a normal birthmark.

They explained to his sister too. He actually was intrigued enough by the story to settle down on the tent’s floor to hear about it, though she brushed all of that talk off with a “yeah, whatever”, rolling her eyes at the existence of magic symbols that would appear on your skin, connecting you to a person who, at some point of you life, you would realize they mean a lot to you.

“It’s like a guaranteed best friend!” He had grinned with a mouth that missed a few teeth as the explanation was concluded.

The explainer only smiled at him, letting out a pensive hum before shrugging and deciding on “Yeah, you could say that kid.”

He didn’t understand why his sister was so grumpy after that. How the premise of a friend didn’t get her excited - they barely had kids their age to hang with on the camp, the younger ones were annoying and the older boring, he could get behind the idea of some company besides his moody twin. And when he had asked, “Hey, what does your bond mark look like anyway?” She flicked at his direction one of the pebbles they had been throwing at the river to see them skip, and stormed off without a word.

He was still a restless kid, yet now one that had learned to avoid the ropes before he could get his foot caught on them, when he found out a bit more about the marks. How they could appear at any time of your life, or not at all, how you could get a new tattoo before actually meeting the person, or after years of knowing them. How his sister didn’t have one yet, how she didn’t like the idea of her lame brother having something she didn’t.

How some people would consider lucky he was born with one, how many would give everything to have a mark appear that early.

That would be the last time someone thought of him that way - lucky. Because soon he was tripping over the ropes again and taking tents down with him, and that was just one of the minor consequences of what they later would classify as his semblance.

The people of their tribe had thought it had been a funny inside joke naming the kid born with a mark shaped like that after a bird that was popularly known as a bad omen. Now it was just rightfully fitting. And not even the permanent tattoo on his skin of a four-leafed clover could serve as a good luck charm against the misfortune that now followed him wherever he went.

***

As he grew up as an outcast teen, the novelty of the marks went away together with the childhood wonder. Maybe because at his tribe, there weren’t many bonded people - they also weren’t really open about talking about this mushy stuff, so maybe he never knew about them. Or the ones who talked about it, did that because it came together with an almost-always tragic tale about how they were betrayed, backstabbed or straight-up stabbed by their match, or how they perished in some gruesome way, so he didn’t have a lot of positive examples to work with - perks of growing up around bandits.

Guaranteed best friend was now just some naive though he scoffed at. He was so stupid as a kid, maybe his sister was wise to just go “whatever” since the beginning - he would never admit that to her in his lifetime, of course. (In the future though, there would be a point his sister wouldn't make a face to the mention of bond marks anymore, and then a good while later he would stop to really think about how her semblance worked. And he would connect the two dots - he still never saw the marks, but they had to be there, right?)

Who decided those things were a good idea? They could pop up on you any second, without a warning, with just a random shape to tell you about this random person you were supposed to meet one random day. People would talk about letting fate run its course until you would meet them, and how there would be a moment when you would just know. It sounded so unreliable, and too much for him to bother worrying about when he needed to survive frequenting - or infiltrating as his people would have put - a Huntsman Academy.

Yeah, they would have some impact on your life. But that could mean anything apparently. You could be bonded to your parents, to your siblings, to any relative, you could be bonded to someone you looked up to or who would look up to you, you could be bonded to someone who you would only interact for a few months, days, minutes, or less. Or, the most coveted of all, you could be bonded to someone you would fall in love with. Those cases even had a specific name - soulmates. How special.

You could even have more than one. If you thought having to worry about a single unknown individual could make someone paranoid, just imagine having multiple marks! Thankfully, he just had one.

That was good. Because it would be just one person that would have to put up with him. He wasn't exactly the person someone would dream to meet, much less be bonded with. Who would want a bad luck magnet connected to them anyway? Just unfortunate, how the unsuspected match would have to deal with it. At least it was no one from the tribe, that would only hinder them down - those were the kind of things people talked about him at the camp, on the rare times they dared to make the cursed kid a conversation topic anyway, and he was just unlucky enough to eavesdrop it.

He also didn’t want more because he despised the one he already had - he would say he had never liked it, but it was just his sour mindset clouding the childhood memories about him happily imagining how his friend would be like. It had to be a sick joke. A small symbol that represented everything he couldn’t have. Years and years went by with it just there, mocking him constantly.

He had met many people he would have said they had influenced his life, yet apparently none of them were the one. Unlikely his sister, he wasn't bonded with anyone from his team - he assumed her semblance only worked on him because they were related. He wasn't bonded to the man who mentored him and gave a purpose in life - though after finding out the truth, he supposed that was a good thing. He wasn't bonded to his nieces, who were more family to him than his own blood, girls he had watched grow up from hyperactive, sweet-toothed brats to strong, independent young warriors - they were still a bit of a brat though.

So, at his age, he assumed that his semblance affected him in such a way he would never have the luck of finding the person. Fine by him. He stopped caring about that long ago anyway.

And that meant that, at his age, at this place, in the middle of what he could only call the beginning of a war, he should have not been thinking about any of this.

But here he was. Halfway through undressing to take a much needed shower to relax and warm him up after the mission at the dust mines. Feet planted in front of the bathroom mirror. The mark still just there, right at the end of the scar he got from a scorpion tail as if, by some stroke of luck, it had barely avoided being slashed in half. He instinctively grimaced at the sight.

Even if he strongly didn’t want to think about it, it felt as if there was a force preventing him from shoving the thoughts to the back of his mind, not allowing him to ignore the signs.

He had seen the pin when they were captured on the first day. Heck, he even did a double-take at the shape that was unfortunately too familiar. But there were other more important things on his mind at the moment - like how they were being arrested.

Later he found out that was literally that guy’s name! And he didn't like how the information made a cold settle on the bottom of his stomach.

And then James partnered them up. He didn't like the idea, it had been too long since he had worked with other huntsmen on the field - and that happened for a reason. The company made him feel weirdly numb. Or that was him not being used to the cold of Atlas anymore, being in a mine with ice-covered walls certainly didn't help - how he just strutted along without sleeves?

Yet, he did his best to focus on the mission. Ignoring how Clover made sure to match his pace and walk by his side as they scanned the tunnels for any sign of the Grimm that had been wrecking the place. The silence would only be broken from time to time with inputs coming from his earpiece, and it had been just a step away from being uncomfortable. So he decided to not make this situation more unbearable for himself, taking a breath, he took a risk at the grueling task that was small talk.

“Gotta say, I’m still not really used to working with other huntsmen in the field.” He was surprised with how casual he made himself sound.

“But you were on a team before, weren’t you?” How Clover seamlessly encouraged the conversation with a question also surprised him for some reason.

“Long time ago.” He sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. “I just found working alone tends to be for the best.” Great. With just a second into their talk, he had managed to bring its mood down. Not an unusual occurrence for any kind of interaction he was involved though. So why this time did he feel so… bothered?

It was just this entire situation bothering him - he rationalized with himself.

"Well, I think that’s a shame." Of course you would.

He didn't know how to respond, yet he didn't even have the chance. One misstep, and his foot left the ground with a slip. What prevented him from making more of a fool of himself by crashing his face on the icy floor was a quick strong grip on his arm, catching him mid-fall and pulling him back up without seemingly any effort whatsoever.

Clover patted his shoulder as he regained his balance and he didn't hold back the frown on his face. He just walked forward as he responded to the voice coming from his communicator, and it took him a second to realize he was glaring at his confident walk on the grounds he had just proved to be extremely slippery.

Who does this guy think he is?

Of course, they found the Grimm first, of course, it made himself stronger right in front of their eyes, of course, it ran away, and of course, there was now a gigantic hole on their path. One his partner there could have been at the bottom of it if he wasn't used to his semblance playing tricks just at the right time.

And when he dismissed his thanks for the head ups with a brief explanation about his semblance, his reaction was like no other he experienced before. No weird glances, no steps back, no awkward ‘that sucks’, just a nonchalant "that so?"

"Well, hey, don’t beat yourself up about it." He continued, and with a swing of his weapon, he made a new path for them to continue down the tunnel. "My Semblance is good fortune. Lucky you, huh?"

He punctuated his sentence with a wink before walking forward, completely unaware of how that revelation had shaken him to his core. He was still frozen on his tracks as if the ice from the floor had risen to his shoes and stuck him in place.

Good fortune. That guy was a walking luck charm!

Everything he couldn’t have…

His eyes were downcast, flickering everywhere as his mind processed the events. Yet now he wasn’t staring down at the icy ground, but the smooth tiles of the bathroom of his room provided by the Atlas academy. Though his expression was the same from when the words had just reached his ears hours ago.

Looking up by a fraction, the ink of his mark seemed more lively than ever against his skin. He hadn’t truly looked at it for a good while, avoiding it like he avoided the eyes of strangers, and doing so now, he found out he was unable to divert his gaze off it as quickly as he used to do before.

A pin. A name. My semblance is good fortune. A wink.

You would just know.

He let out a dry chuckle, the sound devoid of any emotion. That couldn’t be right. He barely knew the guy. And he didn’t need any of that cluttering his mind right now.

Lucky you, huh?

#fair game #fairgameweek2020 #clover ebi #qrow branwen #rwby #my art #apparently the writing part of my brain only works if the ship has been obliterated by canon #this my life now #and im fine with that

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stupid-damn-harp · 4 years ago

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Notes for “Rural Boys Watch the Apocalypse”

“Your hand’s in mine”

This poem doesn’t explicitly state the relationship between the two boys, and this adds to it. The two characters could be in a romantic relationship, and this choice comes with a variety of implications given the traditional christian liturgy that’s repeated throughout the poem. If this is the end of the world, where will these two gay boys end up? Are they thinking about their afterlife? Are they wondering if they can stay together? Whether they’ll be with their family? There’s so many questions that these boys might be thinking of if they’re in this sort of relationship. They could also just be very close neighbors. Later in the poem he specifies his “doomsday neighbors,” which might be a sign that the other boy and his family might be the other neighbors, or it might have just been explaining the neighbor’s behavior. Another option could be that they’re best friends that are so comfortable with each other that holding hands feels comforting, but not completely natural because the narrator thought it was important to point it out.

“waters turnin' to blood”

The two boys obviously share the same or similar religious views, and are probably at least somewhat learned or devout in their faith. I grew up reading the scriptures and I can’t say off the top of my head what a biblical apocalypse looks like - but this boy can, and relates it to the other boy, expecting him to also understand.

“But there are only the fallin’ stars”

I’m struck that the “only” thing is the falling stars. It’s almost as if he’s saying that the rest of the world has already ended, already vanished from his view and his mind. All he can see is the stars falling, and it doesn’t matter anymore if the rest of the world or the people around him still exist. He’s somehow writing himself and the other boy off as unimportant in the face of this global catastrophe. This line also stands outside of any stanza, forcing us to pay attention to the entire phrase and inviting a degree of separation from the stanzas before and after. There are only the falling stars, and that’s important. More important than what this boy thought would happen, more important than telling where the initial warning came from. The present events hold more weight.

"'Least the weather channel warned us about it,"

I wonder why the weather channel is the one that predicted this apocalypse? He mentions falling stars, which might be under their jurisdiction, but I feel like higher-up governmental agencies would be in charge of announcing and predicting the literal end of the world.

“are loadin' the back”

If the stars are falling, and this is the end of the world, where do these neighbors think they’re going? Where do they think that they’ll be safe?

“under large whitewashed crosses”

This line is especially striking given the religious imagery throughout the entire poem. Jesus was a middle eastern Jewish man, and that’s something that many Christians in America conveniently forget. Many people in this religion spread around views that those with darker skin are children of ham (as we see in the Poisonwood Bible) or suggest that the native american people are really the descendants of the Lamanites, so their darker skin was a curse from God. These crosses that the neighbors are taking with them embody all of these harmful beliefs. The religion itself is whitewashed. The crosses are described as large, and I’m having trouble modulating that size within my own thoughts. On one hand, they have to be small enough to fit within the back of a pickup truck. But, are these crosses large as in “human sized and could be used for their original purpose”? Large as in “larger than handheld so they seem giant, but they’re best suited for yard decorations”? Either way, I’m taking it as a symbol of how contemporary christians take up the most space in religious discussions in America and quite often interpret anything different from their blatantly obvious beliefs as an attack on their faith. Think Boomers yelling about the “war on christmas” type. These crosses are not only whitewashed but they’re large too, visibly screaming to anyone looking in their direction that the drivers of the truck belong to the Christian faith and that they’re going to be confrontational about it. Everything else is stacked under the crosses, giving them the most significance and the most visibility.

“I wanna see ‘em”

Honestly, this line slightly confused me. These women seem quite knowledgeable about the events foretold in the bible. But it’s also stated in the bible that human beings never see angels or God’s true form because we wouldn’t be able to handle it. Surely they must know that? Do they think that these rules will be lifted simply because the world is ending? Are they hoping to see these wonders even though it would have untold consequences on her own mortal form? Don’t get me wrong, I would also love to see an angel in their full and confusing glory, but I don’t have enough of a death wish to actually follow through with that.

“their calloused hands”

Interesting imagery here. Typically angels are described using delicate and ethereal words, or sometimes words that just remind us that angels are spirits and don’t have physical bodies. But the word “calloused.” Calluses imply hard work. Calluses mean rough hands, dirty feet, and tough love. Calluses mean a physical body that is growing stronger. There’s nothing delicate about calluses. There’s nothing inherently holy about calluses. The working class has calluses, and the so-called “perfect” bodies of models and influencersnever have calluses. But here these heavenly beings are, rough hands and all. Perhaps he’s envisioning someone he knows as an angel, and thus opted for the more human-feeling approach. Perhaps he’s hoping that the people of earth are fighting to stay here, fighting to continue living, and the mere act of carrying these writhing and fiery people causes so much work for the angels that they develop these human characteristics of calluses. Perhaps he’s hoping that he’ll become an angel over some darker fate. I’m not sure what implications were intended with this line, but it feels beautiful and wholly human to me, and I love it for that.

“stupid damn harp”

This is the first of two instances where the narrator uses the phrase “stupid dumb” to describe something of the archangel Gabriel’s. Both times he isn’t describing Gabriel himself, just things that he possesses in traditional stories. This could be a nervous boy making jokes in an unsure time as a coping mechanism, but it also could be the author showing his own disillusionment with the traditional christian stories and traditions.

Additionally, the combination of “stupid” and “damn” here is pretty interesting. In Christian mythology, any deity in heaven (e.g. God, angels, Jesus, etc) possesses all the knowledge in the universe. This boy referring to the archangel’s belongings as “stupid” doesn’t reflect this. It almost feels like he wants to criticize the angel himself but he knows there might be consequences, so he settles for calling his iconic harp and tunic the words he wants to call the angel himself. He’s also using the word “damn,” which in biblical contexts typically has hellish connotations. If someone is damned, then they’ve been condemned to hell. The archangel Gabriel is the literal antithesis of that idea, so it’s interesting to see this word applied to anything involving him at all.

“moanin’ like a sinner in hell”

This comparison continues the interesting dichotomy between heaven/hell that we find throughout the poem. The doomsday neighbors’ truck not only holds large whitewashed crosses, but also sounds like someone suffering in hell. Weirdly enough, it seems to give us a view at the sort of Christians that think they’re doing God’s work (holding the whitewashed crosses), but once they get started towards their destination, it becomes more and more obvious that they’re not being entirely truthful (sounding like a sinner in hell).

I’m also struck by the mildness and neutrality in this sentence. Usually when someone’s talking about those in hell, the verb used is “screaming,” not “moaning.” Is this wishful thinking on the narrator’s part, or just a description of the truck’s engine using terminology he already knows? The narrator doesn’t seem to be passing judgement with this comparison either, it comes across as an observation rather than a condemnation of the neighbors’ actions. His family chose not to leave, their family is leaving right now, and those two actions aren’t compared or judged here.

This poem was chosen for the anthology because of the twisted biblical themes tempered by a slight homoerotic vibe. From the beginning of the Abrahamic religions to today, LGBt+ individuals have been left out of religious contexts at best and damned to hell at worst. Given the author’s experience as a gay trans man, I’m reading the narrator and the other “rural boy” as lovers. The poem contains many instances where the narrator invokes sacred and profane imagery in reference to the same objects or beings, and gives a new sort of “hot take’ on the biblical apocalypse - contributing perfectly to the theme of altered religion.

Bibliographical Information:

This poem was posted on Tumblr, and the original source is reblogged below.

#boykeats #rural boys watch the apocalypse #poetry analysis

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crowstan · 4 years ago

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Sanders Sides post except I haven't seen it before

Ok this post is inspired by an absolute flood of Patton and Logan in a skirt, on my Instagram, which was not anything related to any of the dnd or homestuck tags but whatever. That whole mess that happened yesterday inspired this, because as y'all know: I love analyzing things weirdly and what is blogging but analyzing your own thoughts in an odd way? Anyway, spoilers ahead because this is what I've unfortunately been leaked, which means I got this stuff via spoilers.

What is Sanders Sides? So, I actually have no idea and I want to go in bare bones because. I never get to go in with little info. All i know is that it's by Thomas Sanders (he apparently does have a tumblr, I did not look up what it was because, once again, trying to get the barest and best experience I can and I worry that may taint it in some way). All I know about Thomas is that he did vines that I really like and that he has his pronouns in all of his bio's, which so far makes him very ok in my books because I have not met one person who is in any way harmful to others who has their pronouns in their bio. Then again i don't see it often anyway but regardless. And that's literally all I know about him and Sanders Sides, so. Stuff that I have worked together with the unhealthy amount of spoilers I didn't willing get that made me want to make this. -They are all symbolic or are humanoid versions of like, different parts of someone? They're also color coded which my little color coding heart loves sm! There's morality, creativity, creativity #2: electric boogaloo, logic, anxiety, and deciet which may also be denial? not sure about the last bit. -Morality's (moralities?) name is Patton, and his color is light blue. He is the dad character and is bad with any "negative" feelings, which, mood. He is one of the sides i saw in a skirt and may be my favorite possibly, simply bc I Do Not Have Good Male Figures and he's a dad character. Name a better duo than good dad characters and my lack of any positive guys in my life that aren't my age. He's part of the "core four", whatever that means. Really likes animals? I mean that does make sense bc, morality, but also that's different for each person. overall conclusion: now my dad. (/j) -Next up: Anxiety. Name is Virgil (?), color is a shade of purple. Don't know what one bc purple is one of those colors i can't remember too well. Seems like how I imagine my anxiety but a little less focused on death. I would befriend him were in not for the fact I Cannot approach people unless I'm actually dying and even then I can't. Apparently was a "dark side" at some point but now isn't? Redemption ark ig, idk what a dark side is or if it would be equivalent enough with "evil" to have that be a redemption ark. Final conclusion: wait, is that me but cis and let loose in a hot topic? -Creativity #1. Name is Roman, color is red I think. A prince character, and I'm not sure what else to add. I think he is a theatre fan, amd also I would avoid him at all costs because as friendly as he is, we don't have the same vibes and i would panic. Definitely drinks his "respect women" juice, and it's actually "respect women" juice n not whatever the hecc it is that people who /say/ the drink "respect women" juice drinks. he'd go out of his way to make sure your drink doesn't get spiked. this man is hella good, 10/10, would trust but not talk to. -Creativity #2, apparently the brother of Roman? His name is Remus, color is green, and i say this with my full heart: I love him. he seems like the kind of person who barked at people in middle school bc he thought he was a werewolf. who drank an entire bottle of glue in kindergarten at had to go to the hospital and did it again. he's the kind of person who would offer you up a worm and tell you disturbing facts about animals and then go off and play his little games he made up with twisted scenarios. and you know what? that's amazing and i absolutely love that so much. I know nothing about him except he eats deodorant and is the embodiment of intrusive thoughts and "oh god /why/" scenarios you thought of for some reason. -Logic. Name is Logan, ah, really similar to what he represents but I mean, still a very good name. His color is dark blue, aka my favorite color besides dark grey. Really likes jam? I feel like this man has read the dictionary and has "different vocabularies" he uses for different events and people, which may be a self projection but. Def Ravenclaw vibes bc!! hear me out!! not stereotypes!! I feel this man, the literal *embodiment* of logic, would value learning and knowledge which is part of what makes a ravenclaw! so it is not self projection, it is *knowledge* (/hj). that's it, i would absolutely love to debate him sm but i feel like that would be similar to that time i talked about Quadrants with a friend for an hour and they had no idea what was going on at all.

-Last one, deceit/denial. I don't know if he's denial as i got that from a little comic that i thought was funny because it had a pun. His name is Janus (don't know how to pronounce it, been saying it like Jay-Nuhss), and his color is yellow. apparently part snake or something and!! I love snakes. Apparently was in a courtroom at one point, and we all know those are fae territory, so possibly a fae (hj). apparently has multiple arms!! which does not fit in with the snake bit, as snakes have zero arms, but regardless still cool! I know the least about him, and I'm definitely looking forward to watching him!! i love snakes sm.-

moving on from the sides slightly, apparently there's another one, who's color is orange! from someone who vaguely knows about colors but knows enough that each side more or less relates to their color, i have no idea what this side could be! best guess is it's just Thomas in a top hat. I never learned about orange because orange, yellow, some reds, and some blues are very stabby to my eyes and i will get a headache so I just. never learned it. why would i learn about a color i literally can't look at without my eyes hurting? I do know orange is a caution color, and in nature it cam be found on dangerous stuff as a "stay away!" color, and pared with black it doesn't kill my eyes and those are the Halloween colors. So maybe caution? Or some dangerous thing? It doesn't make sense, as those aren't really "sides" in the traditional sense, nor with anxiety being a sort of "caution" thing. Anyway, I would need more info on orange and, depending on how the orange color is, i may react more negatively. Like with blue Christmas lights.

-there are lots of puns!! i love puns!! i don't take the opportunity to make many, but i love them sm. just like snakes! and cats! in fact i actually know a lot about cat behavior

lmao that's literally all i have, I'll go watch the whole series and also talk about that later in smaller posts, each post being one or two episodes depending on how long it is

(ah jeez it got all messed up again, under maintenance!! sorry about that!! the tags got all mixed around too!!)

(update #2: still messed up but I'll need to not use my tablet to fix it, which i can't do rn! sorry y'all :(!! )

#oh yeah my brain makes the wrong soup a lot!! yeah I've kinda adapted to it no worries!#oh ok! i hope you... brain makes better soup.#and then you get a feeling of #sanders sides #ts spoilers #i dont know if im tagging these right?#i sure hope i am #spoilers are not good for your soul unless you want them!#also format is funky #that's because i had to write it in note #on my tablet #and post this using the desktop version of tumbler #also on my tablet #which is really buggy and likes to mess things up a lot #date is December first 2020 #to be fair about sanders sides i have never actually watched it but I've seen a lot of it and seeing patton in a skirt?#listen #*everyone* looks good in a skirt ok #it just clicked that it was thomas sanders #and i loved his vines #and imo that is hella quality content and so? i had to watch #weird ass logic but i mean. pretending my anxiety is just my a humanoid version of my brain and it keeps making soup #but the bad kind of soup #helps me somehow #and them i immediately panic and have a small lock down about the interaction #did they understand what i meant?? did i confuse them?? am i faking it?? isn't it more of a gravy?? what if they hate me?? oh no they're pr #n then oh n o" for the next five hours #or until something like that happens again #which it will #because it simply *will not* shut up

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fanfics4all · 5 years ago

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Painless

Request: Yes / No

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3200

Warnings: SCHOOL BOMBING, CURSING, it’s criminal minds so read at your own risk!

Y/N: Your Name

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you!

Masterlist

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Another day at work. Another day of someone dead. I thought as I walked into the office. I saw everyone was already in the round table room and sighed. Another case. I put my stuff down at my desk and walked into the room. I took my seat next to my boyfriend Spencer and gave a smile at everyone.

“Does anyone remember this picture?” Garcia asked, bringing up a picture of a man and a girl looking distressed.

“Hotch and I were there. That’s Principal Doug Gavens. We had to drag him to safety.” Rossi said, making everyone look at him.

“High school bombing in Boise, right?” Emily asked.

“School shooter and school bomber.” JJ said and it triggered my memory.

“A kid named Randy Slade shot three students and then set off an I.E.D. in the cafeteria via cell phone, killing himself and thirteen kids total, but not before posting all his plans online.” I said and Garcia nodded.

“It was one of those “Where were you?” events. My whole campus was glued to the T.V..” JJ said.

“Last night, Principal Givens was killed by a bomb modeled exactly like the old one.” Garcia said.

“It feels like the unsub wants to attack the man who kept the school together after the bombing. It’s a pretty symbolic target.” Morgan said.

“And this week is the tenth anniversary of the massacre.” Hotch said.

“And today is the first day of a four day event to commemorate the bombing at the school.” Garcia said.

“Except commemorating it isn’t enough for this unsub.” Emily said.

“No. He wants to relive it.” Hotch said. We gathered our things and got on the plane. We were all sitting down and going over the case files.

“Perpetrators of school violence are often sophisticated with their weapons. Randy Slade carried his bomb in his backpack. This guy hid his in Givens’ clock radio.” Spencer said.

“Yeah, and progressive. Each one tries to top the body count of the one previous.”

“And they’re loners by default, not by choice. They try to join various social groups, but they get shut out.” JJ said.

“Randy Slade wasn’t a loner at all.” Hotch said.

“The family cooperated fully with us. He was a high-functioning psychopath, straight-A student, varsity wrestler, lots of girlfriends.” Rossi said.

“With an above-average intelligence that made him incredibly resourceful. His explosive of choice was Semtex.” I said looking at the files.

“It’s found at demolition sites, but it’s held under lock and key.” Spencer said.

“Which made us consider the possibility of a partner. Never found one.” Rossi said.

“Slade was too much of a narcissist to share credit. But he was also an impulsive teen, which is what bothers me about this unsub.” Hotch said.

“His sense of control?” Emily asked.

“And the end game that he’s working toward.” Hotch answered with a nod.

“Slade’s pathology revolved around the big kill. This unsub could have done the same if he’d waited for the candlelight vigil.” Hotch added.

“Which means there’s no blaze of glory fantasy here. This unsub has more bombs made, and he’s savoring the anticipation of his next attack.” Rossi said. After we talked everyone moved to their own spots to think and relax before we had the hard work to do. I sat next to Spencer and smiled at him.

“This poor town.” I said and he sighed.

“I know, but the odds are against them in this situation.” He said and I nodded.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.” I said and he nodded.

“It’s a hard thing to deal with.” He said.

“Yeah…” I sighed. We tried to keep our minds on things that would help us, instead of how much people were hurting right now.

As soon as we landed we dropped our stuff off at our hotel then split up. Hotch and Rossi went to the station with Emily and Morgan. Spencer, JJ and I went to the crime scene. We walked inside and it was a mess, not shocking though considering what happened.

“Okay, so the unsub has to be tied to the school somehow, right?” JJ asked.

“Current student, alumni, family member who lost someone…” I listed off.

“It could be Slade groupies celebrating his hero. He taped nails to the exterior of the bomb, specifically to rip open flesh. That’s a sadistic detail of Slade’s the unsub copied.” Spencer said.

“Except he tricked Givens into blowing himself up. A groupie probably wouldn’t show that much self-control.” JJ said.

“But someone with an ax to grind against the principal would. Maybe he’s a surrogate for the tomenters in high school he can’t punish.” Spencer said.

“Who were yours?” He asked us.

“I don’t even remember.” JJ answered.

“You don’t even remember? Wait, were you one of those mean girls?” Spencer questioned.

“No.” JJ said.

“Valedictorian, soccer scholarship, corn-fed, but still a size zero. I think that you might have been a mean girl.” Spencer said.

“Spence.” I said.

“I was actually one of the nice girls, even to guys like you.” JJ answered and I shook my head. There was no stopping this now.

“Guys like me? I’ll have you know that my social standing increased once I started winning at basketball.” Spencer said, I always forget that he coached basketball.

“Oh yeah? You played basketball?” JJ asked.

“Actually he coached it.” I answered.

“You coached it?” She asked.

“Yeah, I broke down the opposing team’s shooting strategy.” He said.

“Is that why Morgan kicked you two out of the pool last week?” She asked.

“Yeah, it took him three rounds to realize we were hustling him.” I answered with a laugh.

“Huh.” She said and we went back to looking at the crime scene. As soon as we were done looking we got a call about another murder. So we made our way there. The three of us looked around and JJ decided to call Hotch and tell him.

“You’re on speaker JJ.” Hotch answered.

“So, we might have another one.” She said.

“Might?” He asked.

“One of the North Valley alumni was killed in her motel room.” She answered.

“No bomb or gun this time. Looks like he used his bare hands.” I added.

“You got a name?” Hotch asked.

“Chelsea Grant.” Spencer answered.

The next day Spencer and I returned to the crime scene with Hotch. It was good to come back and look at it with fresh eyes.

“The unsub crushed Chelsea’s throat so she couldn’t scream, then he pulverized her ribs, sending fragments of bone into her heart.” Spencer said.

“Principal Givens was high-profile. Chelsea wasn’t. Right now the only thing connecting them is they’re both on the kill list.” Hotch said.

“A list that Brandon kept secret for ten years, but he was in custody when this happened. So the question is, how did the unsub get the exact same list?” I asked.

“Well, we ruled out a partner, but not conclusively.” Hotch said.

“Slade made every part of his plan public. It doesn’t make sense that he would hide a partner.” Spencer said.

“He didn’t want to share the credit. And this weekend is the partner’s best chance to claim it.” Hotch said.

“Let’s go back to the station, we have a profile to deliver.” He said and we followed him.

When we got back to the station we gathered everyone up and we were ready to deliver the profile.

“Partners of dominant psychopaths are usually submissive, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be intelligent or that they’re physically weak.” Hotch said.

“This unsub laid low after the bombing and successfully evaded police and FBI. That took cunning and patience, which he’s exhibiting now with his current murders.” Morgan said.

“We think he fits the loner profile Slade debunked. He grew up in an abusive home, which kept him from forming the normal social bonds in high school.” JJ said.

“We interviewed all the outcasts from back then. How did this guy slip through?” Chief Cole asked.

“Even outcasts eventually form friendships. But this unsub was the outcast the outcasts rejected.” Spencer said.

“Exactly, he won’t stand out in any capacity, and as a matter of fact, most of his fellow students probably won’t even remember graduating with him.” I said.

“And that invisibility is what made him attractive to Slade. This partner wouldn’t steal the spotlight.” Rossi said.

“Slade targeted the cafeteria because most of the names on his list ate there together during fifth period.” Spencer said.

“So his hatred festered when the names on the list emerged from the cafeteria as media heroes. And now he wants to finish the job that Randy started.” Morgan said.

“Emotionally, this weekend is more a high school reunion to him than a memorial. We go to reunions to show who we grew up to be. Often that means changing everything about who we were.” Rossi said.

“Consciously or not, Randy Slade revealed clues as to his partner’s identity when he detonated his bomb. Agent Prentiss will be conducting cognitive interviews to see what the survivors might remember.” Hotch said. We answered a few questions the cops had then went on to try and work out who this guy could be. Emily was with the survivors now working on them.

“So, as you can see from your board there, this kill list is weirdly similar to high school.

“Group on is like the popular kids, prom court, football team, dean’s list. The Heathers, if you will.” Garcia said.

“Kids in Slade’s social circle.” Hotch said.

“What about number two?” JJ asked.

“Uh, mmhmm, that would be the kids from the other side of the tracks, 180-degree difference, kids this close to getting kicked out, Stoners, burnouts, mental cases. Chelsea Grant is on this list.” Garcia said.

“Maybe Slade targeted them because they disgusted him?” JJ asked while Spencer’s phone was ringing. We have been doing a lot of that since we got here.

“But they didn’t threaten Slade’s sense of superiority. He wouldn’t have even cared about them.” Hotch said as we ignored Spencer’s phone.

“So maybe the partner put them on the list. They’d be closer to his social status than Slade’s.” I said as Spencer’s phone stopped ringing.

“Why would the-” Spencer was cut off by his phone ringing again.

“I’m so sorry.” He said, taking his phone out and hung up.

“Why would the unsub list kids that he fit in with?” Spencer asked, putting his phone away again.

“Apparently that’s how this clique worked. The kids in it were meaner to each other than kids on the outside. Garcia, separate out all the kids who got into trouble regularly. Then eliminate the names that the partner put on the list. Now, who’s left that came to the memorial?” Hotch asked.

“Right. Whoever made the list wouldn’t put their name on it. Uh… sir, I think- I think I’ve got him. His name is Lewis Ramsey.” Garcia said.

“Where is he?” Hotch asked.

“Uhh… According to his cell phone he’s at a local bar.” She answered.

“Send it to Morgan’s phone.” Hotch ordered and called him. Morgan brought him in and him and Hotch started interviewing him. Once they were done they told the rest of us.

“You buy it?” Emily asked.

“He fits the profile, and the evidence points to him, but he seems sincere.” Hotch said.

“He’s not the unsub. He was the partner, but look at how Slade added “All the losers in this Godforsaken school.” This capitalization isn’t an accident. Look.” Spencer said and wrote it on the white board.

“L-S-R, Lewis Stuart Ramsey.” He said.

“So Slade named his own partner.” I said.

“Ironically, Lewis’ marijuana addiction saved his life.” He said with a nod.

“Well, that puts us back to our original problem. If the unsub isn’t the partner, how did he get his hands on a list that Slade and Lewis kept to themselves?” I asked.

“The only answer is that part of the profile is wrong. The unsub’s vendetta has nothing to do with the list. Did you get anything from Jerry Holtz?” Hotch asked Emily.

“Only that he mixed up the cell phones that Slade used. It felt like he was making the story up, but I only had a hunch.” Emily said.

“We need to find him now. There’s a connection to the victimology that we’re missing. Whatever he’s holding back might be the key.” Hotch said. We found Jerry, but he was dead. He was killed at the school. We made our way there and Emily met us there.

“Jerry Holtz? How long?” She asked.

“Less than an hour. Security guard heard the commotion, but the unsub was already gone.” JJ answered.

“The only people who knew we were doing the cognitive interviews were the other survivors. The unsub must be part of that group.” Emily said.

“Well, we don’t know that for a fact. He could have been lying in wait.” I said.

“Look, Hotch wants me to go through the victims’ lives and find the overlaps. We can compare their histories with the unsub’s.” JJ said.

“What else do we have to go on?” Emily asked, looking at Spencer and I.

“Spence said the unsub would have broken his hand beating Chelsea to death. Did you notice anyone with a cast on their hand, someone who seemed hurt?” JJ asked.

“No.” Emily shook her head.

“I might know why.” Spencer said and we all looked at him.

“This unsub doesn’t feel pain.” He said.

“You mean he has pain asymbolia?” I asked and he nodded.

“We need to get back to the station. Spencer told them about his theorie and no one understood what he was saying.

“In english for the other people in the room.” Morgan asked.

“There’s a medical condition called pain asymbolia, where patients register harmful stimuli without being bothered by it. They’ve been documented holding their hand over an open flame because their brain doesn’t send pain signals to the central nervous system.” Spencer explained.

“Sounds pretty rare. You sure the unsub has it?” Rossi asked.

“The crime scenes prove it. Once Spencer said it, everything clicked. He displayed an unusual level of savagery towards his victims. And consider this, he smashed through a glass display case, but there were no cuts on Jerry. That means he most likely punched through it as a show of force.” I said.

“Now, the only way the human body could withstand that level of pain is if he couldn’t feel it at all.” Spencer added.

“It must take a major toll on someone’s emotional development.” Rossi said and Spencer’s phone rang… again.

“A significant contributor to our sense of empathy is the way we personally experience pain.” Morgan said and Spencer silenced his phone again.

“And the unsub didn’t develop his sense of empathy because it was cut off. Does every person with Asymbolia have this?” Hotch asked.

“Actually, most feel empathy just fine, which makes me think the rest of our profile is still accurate. Loner, invisible, outcast, boiling rage- Son of a bitch!” Spencer said, pulling out his ringing cell phone and answered it. I notice Morgan trying to hide a smirk.

“Hi! This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is-”

“Reid.” Hotch cut him off and he hung up.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Where were we?” He asked, putting his phone away.

“I’m going to have Garcia check medical records. Uh, what causes Asymbolia?” Hotch asked.

“Ssss- Severe trauma produces lesions on the insular cortex, usually after a stroke but this unsub’s so young, it’s most likely caused by an external factor.” Spencer said looking at Morgan the whole time.

“Like a bomb going off next to him?” Rossi asked.

“Yeah, like a bomb going off next to him.” He repeated at Morgan. Morgan just smirked and Hotch walked off to talk to Garcia.

“I will crush you.” Spencer whispered.

“What?” Morgan asked.

“What?” Spencer repeated and walked off. I looked at Rossi and shook my head with a smirk.

“You two are seriously pranking each other while on a case?” I asked and Morgan just smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said and I shook my head again. I swear these two…

JJ and Emily came by a little later with some new information. JJ was rearranging some pictures on the board. We looked on with confusion.

“Recognize the top ten?” JJ asked.

“No.” Hotch answered.

“They were the students that went in front of the cameras after the bombing.” She answered.

“I thought all the surviving students were interviewed?” I asked.

“After the initial aftermath, yes, but these are the kids that went on talk shows, traveled to other schools. My guess is that they didn’t self-select who made the cut.” JJ said.

“Principal Givens did.” Hotch said.

“That’s why the unsub killed him first. He was an outcast who wanted to fit in. Being a survivor should have been his golden ticket.” She said.

“But he was excluded again, and that’s why he’s killing them.” I said.

“Yeah. The rules of high school never changed, not even after a tragedy.” JJ said. Hotch’s phone rang and he put it on speaker.

“Go ahead, Garcia.” He said.

“Hey, listen up. I crossed-referenced student files with medical records. Now, there were six kids that were knocked unconscious in that blast, but only one fit the outcast profile. His name is Robert Adams, and he just used his credit card at a local restaurant, the address of which I just sent you right now.” She said.

“I’m on my way.” Hotch said looking at us. Hotch gathered everyone up and JJ and I stayed back. When they came back Robert wasn’t with them. Hotch had to shoot him, there was no other way this was going to end. Once we got everything sorted we got on the plane to go home. I was sitting next to Spencer, who was resting his head on my shoulder while I read a book. We were sitting across from Morgan and Emily, Morgan was listening to music and Emily was reading a paper. He took his headphones off and we heard Spencer screaming from them.

“Okay, kid, that was cute. But that’s all you got?” Morgan asked him, he was very clearly pretending to be asleep. Morgan’s cell ran and he answered it.

“Hey baby girl-” He was cut off by Spencer screaming coming through his phone. Spencer had a smile on his face and Rossi held up a white napkin.

“Uh-uh. Alright, Reid, it’s on. Just know that paybacks are a bitch.” Morgan said. Spencer just responded with snoring. I shook my head at the two of them.

“You started this Morgan, it’s your own fault.” I said with a slight laugh.

“Of course you’re taking his side, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes.

“Well I am dating him, so yes I’m taking his side.” I said and Rossi chuckled.

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

Beside The Dying Fire (part ten)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Word count: 4271

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

Hot. Scorching. Sweltering. Searing. Balmy. Parching. Oven-like. Those, and so many other words could describe the desert Katherine and her companions were trekking through, Katherine just couldn’t think of anymore because her brain was being melted.

The Brazen Empire--or just “Braze”--was the desert territory on the far east side of Atlas. It was boxed in on all sides by tall, platformed plateau mesas called the Highland Cliffs, which kept the land in solitude from the rest of the continent.

Golden rolling dunes stretched out as far as the eye could see—which, to be fair, wasn’t very far because Katherine was sure she was seeing mirages everywhere. Cacti and shriveled shrubs stuck out of the ground, somehow surviving in the wasteland despite the cruel elements. The sky was an eye-bleedingly bright blue with not a single cloud in sight, letting the blisteringly hot sun rain down on the land.

And Katherine HATED IT.

“God, this is awful,” She panted, sweat burning in her eyes. Her dirty blonde hair felt like tassels of fire on her head, and her ears were like little torches attached to her skull.

Catalina laughed. “What are you talking about? This is amazing!”

Catalina had grown up in Braze, so she was used to the desert life. Katherine and Joan, however, were not as fortunate to have been raised in a scorching wasteland of dehydration and skin disease.

Katherine sluggishly wiped away a torrent of sweat from her brow. Jane had given them supplies for the journey to the different territories, but the glass bow strapped to her back felt like it was burning her alive. Joan was lucky enough to just get a simple ebony dagger, but she looked just as miserable. Her grey felt clothes and extra fur paddings for protection looked like they were roasting her like a chicken. Hints of blotchy sunburns were already starting to appear on her long, whip-thin white tail and ears.

Catalina gazed over a sand dune, looking for any signs of her home city. Behind her, Joan doubled over, heaving her breaths. Katherine could see several streams of sweat cascading through her white-blonde hair.

“We shouldn’t be far.” Catalina said, turning back to them. It was clear she was trying not to laugh at their discomfort. “Just a little longer!”

“Easy for you to say,” Joan wheezed. She lifted her tail to keep it from touching the sand.

“Trust me! We’re almost there!”

They began their trek once again.

“So, what’s this area of sand called?” Katherine asked, falling into step beside Catalina. “Wasteland Number Six?”

Catalina laughed. “This is Droughtmaster Dunes,” She said.

Katherine blinked. “That’s actually very fitting.”

Her friend laughed again. “Isn’t it?” She looked up at the bright blue sky, smiling. “I’m actually happy to be back. Nothing beats the sun here.” She stretched her arms out to catch the rays and signed happily.

“And that’s a good thing!” Joan barked from behind them. Heavily hindered by the sun, she was falling behind slightly. “The sun here SUCKS!”

Catalina tittered. “The mythical bovine, the Brazen Bull, was said to have made Braze, which is why it has that name. The Bull made everything here. It dug out the land it claimed for the territory, it lifted Highland Cliffs with its horns to protect us from other territories, it scraped its hooves through the ground to create the canyons, it stamped its feet to created pools for oases, and, after it was all done, it shook out the dust in its fur and filled Braze with sand.”

Katherine smiled as she listened to Catalina talk. Her friend rarely ever spoke about her homeland, so it was nice to see her reminiscing over her childhood territory.

However, she went quiet for a moment and fiddled with the sunstone necklace around her neck, lightly touching her belly with her other hand. There was an unreadable expression on her face.

“Just a fair warning,” Catalina said, “that my family is kinda weird.”

Katherine chuckled lightly. “Alright. I’m sure they’ll be fine, though. After all, you turned out amazing.”

Catalina smiled again, nudging her. “Aww. You softy!”

Katherine smiled back. “I speak the truth!”

“I need water,” Joan wheezed from behind them.

“We’re almost there, sweetie,” Catalina said, giving the poor Tiefling a sympathetic, but amused look.

She was right. After clambering over a particularly high sand dune, the capital city of Braze was revealed.

Aragon was a city that was smartly built around several oases. Shiny golden walls that glittered in the sunlight boxed in the civilization, and the tips of sun-dried brick houses and a particularly tall tower could be seen peeking out from over the high edges. Hints of a huge skeleton was sitting behind the furthest wall in a sunken sand pit. The clamor of people could be heard as the three of them approached the front gates where two Aasimar guards stood, wearing long, protective garbs covering every inch of skin and holding spears. They bristled as the trio approached, but their jaws weirdly dropped open after a moment.

“Princess Catalina!” The grey-skinned guard exclaimed. “Y-you’re back!”

Katherine’s and Joan’s heads whipped around to Catalina, their eyes going wide.

“Princess?!” They both yelped.

“Surprise!” Catalina said weakly. She gathered herself up regally and turned to the dumbfounded guards. “I request to see the King and Queen.”

Both guards nodded hastily. “Of course, princess!” The grey-skinned one said.

“Right this way!” Said the other.

The three of them were whisked inside the gates.

Aragon was filled with sun-dried brick houses and sturdy wooden huts. Merchant tents and carpet canopies were set up on the entrance pavilion, where shop owners hawked their wares to anyone who passed by. Fruits and fried meat, protective desert garbs and sunscreening oils, venomous scorpions to use for something and vials of antivenom--there were so many different items being sold. The smell of sizzling meat and roasting scarab beetles and brewing coffee swirled through the hot air, attacking Katherine’s nose with aromas that made her mouth water.

Small pools dotted the city, rippling softly in the heated breeze. Some of them were burbling like a fountain, while others were edged by lush greenery that seemed to be surviving much better than the plants outside the walls. Children were playing in a few of the pools, keeping cool in the midday heat, but some adults were collecting water in buckets.

A bronze statue of a giant bull sat in the center of the city, in front of the steps leading up to the palace. It was reared up on its hind legs with its fur bristled in powerful rage and horns thrown up in the air. Smoldering coals were set in its skull, and the furry tufts of its tail were crackling with orange fire.

The palace behind the statue was huge and majestic. It seemed to be made out of actual gold, glowing in the sunlight. Gemstones were inlaid across the outer walls, sparkling like colorful eyes. There were no front doors so the breeze could filter inside, so the guards led the three of them right inside.

Two thrones were sitting at the back of the wide, high-vaulted entrance room. They were made of solid gold, embedded with rubies and emeralds and cushioned by soft camel fur pillows. A curtain of water was pouring out behind the royal seats from the ceiling, collecting into a bubbling trough pool. The desert could be seen rippling behind the sheet of water.

And in the thrones sat the king and queen.

Queen Isabella was glowing like a polished garnet. The dress she wore was made of silk, in a rich dark orange shade that allowed her thick black hair to be shown to best advantage, and edged with ribbon and lace that perfectly set off her fire-like amber eyes and dark tanned skin. Golden veils wreathed her blood red wings, and yellow diamonds, topazes, sunstones, and tourmalines hung from her arms in glittering curtains of wealth. An elaborate headpiece made of gold and rubies sat on her head, with strands of gemstones dangling down into her face. Three golden medallions hung around her neck- one had a symbol of a broken rib cage etched on it, the second had what looked like small intestines forming the shape of a coiled snake, and the third had a faceless head.

King Ferdinand was less flashy than his wife, wearing simple cotton clothes with a camel fur cape around his neck and onyx wristbands on his wrists. His skin was slightly blotchy from sun damage and his hair was long and ash brown. Pale orange-salmon wings were folded neatly against his back, not nearly as big as the queen’s.

The two of them leapt to their feet from the throne when Catalina walked in.

“Catalina!!” They both cried, bustling over to their daughter. They threw their wings around Catalina, swaying her in glee, but Katherine noticed how Catalina just barely hugged them back.

“Oh, my dearest desert flower,” Ferdinand said. “You’re finally home after all these years!”

“It’s so good to see you again,” Isabella said. “You’ve been gone for so long!”

Catalina nodded reservedly. “Yes. It has been.”

The king and queen stepped back, taking in the sight of their daughter. Isabella’s joyous expression faded into a calculating one when she noticed Catalina’s pregnant belly, while Ferdinand just blinked at it.

“You’re pregnant,” Isabella said.

“Yes, I am,” Catalina said, ruffling up the feathers in her hair. “I hope that isn’t any issue, Mother.”

Isabella considered the bump, like she thought the baby was going to jump out now and steal her throne. “Who’s the father?”

“His name is Arthur.” Catalina said.

“Where is he?”

“Not here.”

“You aren’t with your baby’s own father anymore?”

“Oh my god.”

Catalina glanced back at Katherine and Joan for a moment, giving them a, “Here we go again” kind of look. She turned back to her parents with as much reserve as she could manage.

“What is he?” Ferdinand asked, glancing at Catalina’s belly every few seconds.

“A human.” Catalina answered. “I hope that isn’t an issue, Father.”

Ferdinand just cleared his throat and looked away. Katherine could tell that he didn’t have as much power as his wife, therefore making him weaker in disputes, even ones that don’t have to do with court matters.

“You shouldn’t just sleep with random strangers, Catalina.” Isabella scolded.

“I’m not!” Catalina barked, her face heating up. “Arthur is--was different! And why does it even matter to you? It’s not your body, it’s mine! And if I want to use it to sleep with people, then I should be allowed to!”

“Well, your body is holding my grandson. Or granddaughter.” There was something icy about the way Isabella said that word, and Katherine noticed how Catalina shuddered and set a hand over her belly protectively. “Plus, you’re still my daughter and I’m concerned over what you’re doing. You already ran off and disappeared for five years!”

Catalina rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t happy.”

“I wasn’t.” Isabella growled, her blood red feathers standing on end like an angry cat’s fur.

“Sure you weren’t.” Catalina challenged her.

Ferdinand quickly put himself between his wife and his father. “That’s enough, that’s enough,” He said. “The point is that Catalina is home safe. That is what matters.”

“Hm. Of course.” Isabella said, settling her expression back into stolid noble maturity.

Catalina growled softly underneath her breath, and Katherine set a comforting hand on her shoulder. Isabella glanced at her, an eyebrow twitching up.

“Introduce us to your friend, Catalina.” The queen said.

Grinding her teeth a being ordered around, Catalina said, “This is Katherine. And this over here is J--”

“TIEFLING!”

Katherine jumped at the cry. Isabella suddenly whipped out a hidden dagger from inside her right wing, her face contorting with rage and feathers ruffling up into two big red masses. Several guards around the room jumped to attention with their weapons raised, and even mellow Ferdinand growled softly and raised his wings to look more threatening. Meanwhile, Joan just blinked in frightened confusion, curling her tail in close.

“Catalina, you brought a TIEFLING into our home?!” Isabella shouted, and Katherine saw Joan wince and lower her ears.

“I didn’t recognize it at first,” Ferdinand said at her side, slightly more to himself than to the others in the room. “Why does it look like that? Aren’t they usually red or blue?”

“Her name is Joan.” Catalina said, stepping up beside Joan, exuding a protective aura. “And she’s with me. There’s no need to worry.”

“There is every reason to worry,” Isabella hissed. “You brought a Tiefling into our city! A TIEFLING!! Don’t you know what they are?” She didn’t wait for Catalina to answer her, “They’re DEMONS! Goat-faced, hell-touched, unbirthed DEMONS!”

“Mother, will you stop shouting?” Catalina said, agitation biting her words. A few people from outside were peeking in and ogling the scene with wide, curious eyes. “Joan isn’t bad. She’s my friend. And you’re not going to throw her out.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes at Joan, sizing her up several times. She sniffed. “We’re going to have to put her through decontamination.”

�� “Mother--”

“You will not fight me on this, Catalina.” Isabella said firmly, turning her knife-like gaze on her daughter. “She will be back with you soon enough. But she is a Tiefling and this needs to happen for our safety.”

Catalina clenched her fists tightly, but said, “Fine.”

Isabella smiled like a venomous snake. “Very good.”

Catalina turned to Joan and cupped one of her cheeks. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart. My family is just super paranoid over some races and feels the need to do a really stupid examination on them before they can have free reign in the city.” She brushed an unruly lock of white-blonde hair out of Joan’s face. “You’ll be out in no time, alright?”

Joan nodded quietly, and Catalina gave her a quick hug before a group of guards came to take Joan away. The young Tiefling glanced back at Katherine and Catalina, her tail slightly tucked between her legs and ears folded back, before disappearing down a hallway and out of sight. Isabella shook her head with a look of visible distaste.

“I don’t know why you would ever befriend one of those beasts,” The queen said, earning a growl from Catalina. Katherine put her hand back on Catalina’s shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort to her. “Anyway, I’ll alert the chefs. Your arrival back home needs a celebration!”

And celebrate they did.

That night, when the desert dropped to a startling cold temperature for a blisteringly hot wasteland, the Brazens of Aragon rejoiced in the return of their missing princess. Firelight emblazed then night sky, the Bull’s horns were lit with golden flames, and a band played Catalina’s favorite instruments. Cactus juice, strange alcoholic concoctions, and camel milk were passed out in tinted yellow glasses, and roasted desert fruits, grilled meat, and spicy hot foods were served on bronze trays you could see your reflection on. Aasimars danced and twirled in the main pavilion, celebrating gleefully, all while Catalina stood at the top of the steps leading to the palace, receiving guests and graciously accepting their best wishes. Everyone had a smile for her. Some of the adults looked at her appraisingly--only to be expected, Katherine supposed, as she was royalty--and many of the youngsters tried to flirt. Catalina humored them lightly solely for the entertainment of their reactions.

Katherine got lost in the festivities rather quickly. One moment she was getting her tongue melted by a painfully spicy dish, and then next she had a glass of translucent greenish juice thrust into her hands. She tasted it as she tottered up to Catalina and made a face at how bitter it was. Catalina laughed lightly.

“That’s Snake Wine,” The princess told her, “It’s made out of cactus juice that we put a dead snake in and leave out to ferment in the sun for a week.”

Katherine silently spit the mouthful of Snake Wine back into her cup. Catalina burst out into laughter so loud it rivaled the blaring music and made several people’s heads turn in curiosity.

“That is, umm,” Katherine said, covering her mouth. “Ah--”

“Horrible?” Catalina smiled and passed her a napkin. Katherine took it gratefully.

“Your words, not mine,” Katherine said, wiping her mouth. “But yes.”

Catalina giggled. “It’s better than that weird berry crap you used to have me drink.”

Katherine gasped with a wounded expression. “Berry Milk is amazing, thank you very much!”

“Berry juice and milk do not go together! You have to choose one, Kat! ONE! You can’t have both!”

They both laughed, earning even more confused stares.

“Are you happy to be back?” Katherine asked after a moment of serene silence between her and her friend.

Catalina shrugged, losing her smile. “I guess. I mean, I like seeing the city again and all my old friends, but…” She cast a frustrated expression at her parents, who were chatting animatedly with two old nobles. “Like I said before, my family is weird.”

Katherine frowned. “I’m sorry.” Hoping to get Catalina’s mind off of her family issues, she looked over at a tall orange tower in the far right corner of the city. It was made of dried clay, with several twists, points, and spires, and Katherine noticed the deep red of a Kobold snout peeking out of one of the large barred windows. “What’s that?”

Catalina looked at the tower. “Oh that’s Hotshot Hall. It’s our prison.” She said. “Mother doesn’t like having the prisoners near the palace, so they’re kept as far away as possible.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Ah,” Katherine nodded, watching the Kobold pull back inside the tower.

“Well, maybe you’ll get to see a Calf Scramble while we’re here,” Catalina mused. “So that’s something to look forward to.”

“Calf Scramble?” Katherine looked at her confusedly.

“Oh, it’s great,” Catalina said. “Five people are taken out to the sinkhole in the back of the city and have to try and catch these camel calves we release with them. It is HILARIOUS to watch them run around and slip in the sand!”

Katherine smiled. “I look forward to it!”

“Princess Catalina! Princess Catalina!” An eager young voice called.

“A princess’ work is never done,” Catalina said to Katherine, smiling. She bumped her shoulder affectionately. “Have some fun, Kat. I’ll talk to you again later.”

Once Catalina whisked off to go speak with more people, Katherine delved back into the party for a little while longer before straying away to explore.

Aragon was truly a lavish city, even for a civilization in the middle of a desert wasteland. She passed by several cozy-looking houses and lively bars decorated with desert flowers, all abandoned for the celebration.

She soon found herself in a small clearing between buildings where an oasis pool sat. Two bendy palm trees swayed lightly in the breeze, and clustered of paddle-shaped succulents hounded the edges of the pool. Katherine sat down on a smooth stone and looked up at the sky, where every single star in the entire universe seemed to be visible.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Katherine jerked around, nearly falling off of the rock and into the pool.

Queen Isabella was standing in an alleyway feeding into the clearing, darkness shrouded over her. She stepped out into the moonlight, and all her gemstones glittered like eyes around her.

“Yes,” Katherine nodded, composing herself.

“Why aren’t you celebrating?” Isabella asked, standing above Katherine.

“I’m just taking a breather, Your Majesty,” Katherine answered. “Is that alright?”

Isabella eyed Katherine suspiciously. “Of course,” She said slowly. She looked up at the sky. “When did you meet my daughter? You seem to be good friends.”

“Five years ago,” Katherine said. “She lived in a city next to my forest village and wandered in one day. After an interrogation, I was showing her out and we just started talking. She kept coming back after that and became a regular visitor in the village.”

“Hm.” Isabella said. “Well, I thank you for bringing my daughter back home safe.” She looked down at Katherine and smiled, sending chills down Katherine’s spine. “I am so, very pleased.”

————

The celebration was still going on when Katherine eventually turned in for the night. She went to her lavish guest bedroom in the palace to sleep, but not before visiting Catalina.

Catalina was in her own huge bedroom, sitting under the marigold velvet blankets in her equally giant bed. She was looking down at a painting in her hands, and didn’t look up from it when Katherine walked inside.

“I ran away because I wasn’t happy in Aragon.”

Katherine walked over and sat down next to Catalina. The painting she was holding had four girls in it, all smiling and engulfing each other in their wings.

“I was restricted from doing so many things and Mother watched my every move.” Catalina went on, her voice brimming with hate. “I couldn’t stand it.” She brushed her hands over the surface of the painting, an expression of longing in her eyes. “You probably think I’m just being selfish and snobby, but you don’t know how things happen here.”

“Then tell me,” Katherine urged softly. She set a hand on Catalina’s thigh, letting her know she was there for me.

Catalina sighed. “The queen rules in Braze. And that’s great, you know, girl power, yay!” She laughed dryly. “But the way we take the throne…” She trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “Only daughters, nieces, granddaughters, and aunts are allowed to challenge for the throne. And they do this by fighting the queen. To the death.”

Katherine frowned, quickly understanding why Catalina didn’t like the system.

“Mother’s three sisters died young, so she didn’t have any competition growing up.” Catalina went on. “She challenged my grandmother when she was twenty-two and killed her swiftly. Crushed her ribs during the fight. Then, she married Father and started having children. She said she would only humor four female heirs. No more than that.”

She pointed to the tallest girl. Her wings were dark indigo and powerful-looking, and she had glowing golden skin. Dark brown hair was cut short around her head, bordering her fiery green eyes. She was wearing the sunstone necklace that Catalina now had around her neck.

“That’s Juana, my second oldest sister. She had the wildest temper and always thought of fun stuff for us and my other sisters to do. She also LOVED to challenge the teachers she had.” A smile pulled on Catalina’s lips, then quickly disappeared. “She challenged Mother when I was ten. I swear, she nearly beat mother to death; Juana did not mess around when it came to combat. And she would have won, too. She should have won. But then Mother, bleeding, bruised, and pinned on the ground beneath her, looked up and said, ‘I’m proud of you.’ Mother doesn’t say that often. Rarely ever. Juana hesitated, smiled, and then Mother slashed her stomach open with a dagger hidden in the bends of her wings. I still remember Juana’s face. That look of realization. She had looked down at her organs now hanging out of her stomach and grabbed at them like she was going to try and put them back in, then looked at me and my sisters with the most agonized face I’ve ever seen on her before.” She dipped her head and swallowed thickly, blinking back tears. “I think--I think she thought she failed us.”

After a moment of silence, Catalina swiftly wiped her eyes, sniffled, and then pointed to the next girl. Her wings were narrow but shiny and the color of raw salmon and hibiscus flowers. Her tree bark brown eyes were calculating and calm, but her smile was bright and beaming.

“That’s Maria. My oldest sister. She was like the voice of reason for the group, but she always got dragged into mischief anyway. She was also really good at getting us out of trouble. Except that time Juana mooned our history tutor.” She laughed, tracing her fingers over Maria’s long brown hair. “After Juana died, she became a lot more protective over me and my sister. I never thought she was going to challenge Mother, but she did when I was sixteen. Because Mother gave birth to another female child. A healthy baby girl. But, three days after she was born, she just--disappeared. One night, she was there, and then the next morning she wasn’t. Nobody ever said anything about her again, but Maria was furious because she knew Mother had killed our baby sister.” She swallowed thickly. “Maria was never a fighter. She was good at non-lethal combat, not--not what the challenge for the throne was. After she was beaten senselessly, cut up and bleeding all over the sand, she begged Mother for her life, saying she forfeit the challenge and wouldn’t try to overthrow her again. And Mother decapitated her.”

With the sadness of losing her sisters came anger, and Katherine saw Catalina grip the sides of the painting tightly and grit her teeth in rage.

Catalina pointed to the last girl. Her wings were fluffy and a goldfish orange color. She was small and had large, innocent dark amber eyes and sun-kissed brown hair she kept up in a messy bun.

“That’s Isabella Jr. Pretentious of Mother to name her that, huh? We just call her Izzy.” Catalina said. “Izzy’s the youngest out of the four of us. She was always worried in a cute way and was super smart. After Maria died, she became a lot more clingy towards me. I let her sleep in my bed at night because she was too scared to sleep alone. Not that I blamed her. Mother always looked at us like she was just daring us to challenge her. It scared the poor thing.” She shook her head. “But then I ran away. I left Izzy alone. I didn’t tell her where I was going or what I was doing, I didn’t even leave her a note or ask her to come along. I just--left.”

She gently touched her pregnant belly. “I hope they aren’t a girl. I can’t stand the thought of Mother doing something to them to get rid of competition.”

She shook her head and looked up at Katherine, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “This may be my home, but this is not my family. You and Joan are.”

#dnd au #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #uk tour six #tour katherine howard #katherine howard #catherine of aragon #tour catherine of aragon #tour joan on the keys #joan on the keys

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