#(casually drops this behemoth)

[mariamakeslemons]

Kinktober 2024: Day 2 Piercing/Double Penetration/Voyeurism

Warning: Reader is AFAB (attempted Gender Neutral), Reader is called Bunny and Soap's called Pup, terrible attempts at accents, uncovered sex (wrap 'em up!) MDNI

John sits in a chair with Kyle between his legs, the two of them watching as Simon and Johnny help you undress for what you’ve taken to calling The Show. Sometimes, John doesn’t want to actively being in the thick of sex, but he wants the thrill of control. So, you and the boys will put on The Show, letting John direct just how it’s going to go.

“Slow down, Sweetheart,” he tells you, “Let Soap be a good boy and take it off you.” You shudder and comply, letting Johnny slowly pull off your clothes. John huffs and orders, “Ghost, don’t jus’ stand there like a lump. Give our bunny a kiss for being so good.”

“Yessir,” Simon rumbles, leaning down to pepper your face with kisses before pressing your lips together, rapidly deepening the kiss as Johnny finishes pulling off your clothes and he starts to kiss and nip your skin.

“Calm down, pup,” John orders. Johnny immediately whines, but complies, pressing kisses on the bites he’s already made on your skin in apology. You break the kiss you have with Simon to coax Johnny into a kiss, keeping his mouth busy as to not be bitten again. Simon takes that as permission to press kisses down your body, kneeling at your feet.

“That’s it, Simon,” John coos, “Be a good boy and prep our bunny with your tongue.” He complies, pulling one of your legs to rest on his shoulder before diving in. You moan into Johnny’s mouth, glancing over at the chair John’s sitting in. Kyle seems to have decided to distract him by mouthing at John’s pants so sweetly, John rubbing at Kyle’s head as his blue eyes watch you and the boys.

“Pay attention to the boys, Bunny,” John gently scolds, pulling his cock out for Kyle to eagerly swallow. You comply, releasing Johnny’s mouth to moan as Simon devours your pussy.

“Sir, Sir, C’n Ah? Please?” Johnny pleads as your hands find Simon’s hair.

“Y’ wanna eat our Bunny’s arse so bad?” John asks, sounding completely unaffected by Kyle’s mouth on his cock or the show before him, “Then go ahead Pup. Make it sloppy for yourself.”

“Yessir,” Johnny obeys eagerly, dropping to his knees and immediately shoving his tongue into your ass. You throw your head back with a groan, one of your hands blindly searching for Johnny’s hair. You faintly hear John mumble praises to Kyle when you are finally able to thread your fingers through Johnny’s mohawk, pressing him firmly against your ass. Simon slurps at your clit while his fingers press in, stretching you for what’s to come. You moan and pull the behemoth of a man closer with your leg that’s over his shoulder, balancing so precariously on one leg that threatens to collapse under you from the pleasure.

“Put Bunny on the bed,” John suddenly orders, “Pup on the bottom, Simon on top. You boys get the hole you prepped.” Johnny manages to fling you onto the bed, badly as your torso flops hard on the edge of the bed, leaving you to crawl up yourself while he struggles with his jeans. Simon huffs, undoing his own pants easily to reveal the ladder on the underside of his cock. You bite your lower lip in arousal as Johnny reveals his magic cross and the two frenum piercings on the underside as he finally drops his pants. Then, Johnny falls face first on the bed, his knees hitting the floor loudly. All movement in the room stops at the abrupt fall, Kyle even pulling away from John’s cock to see what the hell just happened.

“…Y’ okay there, Johnny?” Simon asks casually, causing you to let out a cackle at Johnny’s misstep.

“Away an’ bile yer heid,” Johnny huffs, finally clamoring onto the bed with a pout. You snicker while peppering kisses all over the sweet boy’s face, Kyle snickering as well before it turns into a muffled moan by John pushing his head back against the thick length John calls a cock.

“Alright, enough out of you lot,” John scolds with a chuckle and a smile. His eyes turn back to the bed as he orders, “Get on top of Pup, Bunny. Your back t’ his front.” You comply wordlessly, gasping and moaning as Johnny takes that as permission to push his fat cock into your ass. Simon gently shushes you, running his hands up and down your sides to soothe you before pushing in your pussy. The whine that leaves your mouth is one of arousal, feeling so full with the men you love you could bust.

“What a good Bunny we’ve got,” John praises, scratching lightly at Kyle’s hair and scalp while the boys on the bed start to move, “Already so cock drunk and they haven’t even started fucking you proper.”

“A very good Bun,” Simon agrees, fucking into you a little harder, a little rougher. You keen, clenching around both his and Johnny’s cock as they start to fuck you properly. You arch and push back as each thrust tries to dislodge you from the other cock, your mouth busy with Simon’s as Johnny goes back to nipping and gnawing on your skin.

“Soap,” John tries to scold, but it comes out as a moan instead. Glancing away briefly, you see that Kyle is really focused on sucking on John’s cock, deepthroating it before pulling back to suckle on the head. Luckily, Johnny took the warning, despite how weak it is, once again kissing the marks he made.

“Sorry, bonnie Bunny,” Johnny mumbles into your skin, laving affection on your skin.

“Shouldn’t’ve done it in th’ firs’ place,” Simon growls, thrusting into your pussy rapidly as his thumb finds your clit. You whine, trying to chase Simon’s mouth. He shushes you, nipping your bottom lip before pressing a proper kiss to your mouth again, his tongue diving in to play with your own. Johnny licks a stripe up your neck, startling you from the kiss, before turning your head and taking his own.

“Boys, if you can’t play nice, Kyle and I’ll take our Bunny and show you how to,” John threatens with a growl. Immediately, the aggression dissolves into softness as two sets of hands gently run up and down your sides apologetically, Johnny breaking your kiss to pepper kisses on Simon’s faces. Simon takes the kisses easily, catching Johnny’s face for a proper kiss while still keeping tempo as they continue to fuck you. The image of them kissing, combined with the wonderful rubbing their piercings are doing inside you, is enough for you to cum with a loud moan.

“What a good Bunny,” John coos, before tensing and groaning as he cums down Kyle’s throat. Kyle hums happily, swallowing the cum easily before pulling back as Simon and Johnny thrust a few times more before cumming themselves. The three of you collapse on the bed, a little whine escaping your mouth as Simon practically crushes you into Johnny.

“Look at that,” John murmurs, suddenly closer, “Look at how good they were.”

“V-Very good, S-Sir,” Kyle stutters, his breath shaky. You blink bleary eyes, and turn your head, seeing that John is now standing at the side of the bed, Kyle’s back against his chest as his large hand wraps around Kyle’s pretty cock. You shimmy and shift, shaking as Simon and Johnny’s soft cocks plop out of you, and crawl away. Just in time, it seems as Kyle lets out his own moan and cums all over the two men’s faces. John clicks his tongue in disapproval, but seems to relent when you drag yourself back and softly lick up the mess on their faces.

“Fuck, Bunny,” Kyle breathes, making a grabbing motion to you. You follow easily, sharing his own cum with him as you make out.

“Fook,” Johnny whines, “They cannae keep lookin’ so good, LT.”

“Do I look like I can control ‘ow pretty they are?” Simon immediately asks, causing you and Kyle to pull apart with laughter.

“Alright, you lot,” John commands with a clap, “T’ the showers.”

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Safe (M, cold)

Well, here I am.

It's been a few months since I've written anything in the Elliot's universe, but recently someone asked for a Mark-centric story, and this behemoth is what ensued. Allow me to preface by saying this: Mark is basically my self-insert. This was a very hard story to write. If it sucks, my apologies, hah.

In this, Mark gets sick from Matt and wants to hide it from Elijah. It is significantly more hurt/comfort-slash-sickfic than snzfic, honestly. It starts fairly benign, fluffy, and silly and gets really intense a few pages in. There's a lot of musing, a lot of being inside Mark's head. Idk. I'm not sure if I love it or hate it. This is the first story I've written on here that has taken me a full week to get down, and that I've written and scrapped multiple scenes. It is very long. I really hope you enjoy it if you read it. I'd love to hear your thoughts, but also understand if it's just too long-winded for people to read. Also, there's a real chance of spelling/grammar errors because I just can't look at this monster of a fic any longer, ha.

Anyway. Onward.

CW: Male snz, illness, coughing, contagion. 6K words (almost exactly)

Safe

“Don’t go near them.”

It’s the first thing that hit his ears as he pushed through the swinging kitchen doors; no ‘hi, Mark,’ no, ‘good morning’, just a barked order with absolutely zero context thrown in. Mark whipped his head in the direction of the stern voice of his boss.

“Good morning to you, too,” he muttered, making his way towards the office, where Elijah was stationed, seated, but not doing any computer work. “Who and what are we avoiding?” he asked as he entered.

“The chefs,” Elijah said, moving his chair to let the younger manager in to sit. Mark placed his backpack on the ground, tossed his coat over top of Greyson’s on the second office chair. Waited for further explanation that did not come.

“Okay…” he said, sitting beside his boss. “And we’re not going near them because…?” Mark hadn’t even seen Greyson or Matt yet this morning. The avoiding was being done for him, so what was Elijah’s deal?

Elijah hummed a low disapproval – of what, Mark couldn’t guess – and turned towards his computer. “You’ll see,” he said, shaking his mouse and pulling up an order guide. “Just don’t breathe your boyfriend’s breath, okay?”

Mark colored at the implication; it had only been a couple of months since Matt and Mark had been outed to the restaurant, and the floor manager still wasn’t used to their relationship being casually dropped into conversation. While Elijah busied himself with admin work, Mark stood – time to figure out what the fuck Elijah was on about.

You would think that finding chefs in a kitchen would be a relatively banal business; they’re chefs. They’re cooking. Hardly a moving target – but you’d be wrong. Somehow, the second a front of house manager starts looking for a chef, they become a ghost. They haven’t existed for a thousand years – are you sure this restaurant even has a chef? Mark couldn’t help but ponder how the fuck this hundred-square-foot kitchen somehow became a labyrinthian nightmare the second he wanted to find his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s boss; c’mon, he’d checked the walk-in, the back kitchen, even the dock to see if they were smoking, where the fuck were they?

Maybe Elijah had told the two of them to stay away from Mark and the front of house staff before the floor manager arrived, and they were playing a cat-and-mouse style keep-away game that Mark was unaware of. Or maybe they had gone to the store to pick up chicken or some shit. Either way, Mark was done looking. Elijah said don’t go near them, he thought to himself, heading back towards the front of the kitchen, easy enough.

Of course, it was the moment that Mark decided he was done looking that he quite literally bumped into his boyfriend coming through the kitchen doors.

“Oof,” Matt grunted as they collided. Greyson, not even a step behind him, turned their two-person bump into a three-car-pileup that nearly ended in hot coffee being spilled over all of them.

“Christ, Chef, watch where you’re going,” Matt muttered untangling himself from the middle of the pack.

“Mbe watch where I’mb going?” Greyson asked, wiping his coffee-covered hand on his chef’s pants. “The two of you are practically grinding on each other here and I ndeed to watch where I’mb going?”

Mark clocked it in the chef’s voice immediately – oh. That’s what Elijah meant.

But… he had said both of them… right?

Mark’s head shot up from checking to make sure he didn’t have coffee all over his button-down to look Matt directly in the face – ah. Fuck.

“Hh-! Hh’ITSHZH-ue! HRTSHH-ue!” Matt collapsed to the side to sneeze, seemingly in lieu of responding to Greyson’s dig. “Snf. Fuck off, Chef.” There it was.

“Bless you,” Mark said, attempting not to sound accusatory. Matt just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

Before Mark could respond to the unnecessary apology, Elijah’s voice rang out once again from the office. “Mark, I told you to stay away from them!” The GM stood from his desk chair and strode into the kitchen, physically pushing Mark and Matt away from one another. “Six foot distance,” he said, pointing at both of them. “And you,” he said, addressing his counterpart, “didn’t I tell you to go get some tea and sit the fuck down? We have a big night tonight and I need you conscious, please.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and held up his cup. “I was on mby way to sit when the children starting gyrating on each other in the mbiddle of mby kithcen,” he said. “Don’t put this one on mbe.”

Elijah squeezed the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “First of all,” he said, moving towards Greyson and plucking the cup from his hand, “that isn’t tea.”

“The tea we buy is gross,” Greyson whined. “And I’mb ti – hh! Hh...hhuh-ETSHZH-ue! Snrf, fuck.” Greyson took a moment to collect himself, to wipe his nose on his sleeve and cough – a wet, concerning sound – before finishing his sentence. “I’mb tired,” he said, snatching the cup back.

“Which is why I told you to go sit down,” Elijah said, pressing his palms together and accentuating each word with his hands. “And please do not get my front of house manager sick. I beg, Greyson.”

“Talk to him,” Greyson said, thumbing towards Matt. “I’mb ndot the one with my tongue in Mark’s mbouth twenty-four-seven.”

Mark’s face flamed once again, but Matt, either too sick to care or beyond the embarrassment that was a public relationship in the work place, just rolled his eyes.

“Jealous, much?” Matt asked under his breath. Greyson shot daggers with a glance at his sous, and Mark decided it was probably time to step in.

“Listen, how about I go grab the two of you some medicine from down the street, you both take a rest, and then by the time the meds have kicked in, everyone should be good for service.” Mark looked to Elijah for his blessing; his boss was obviously mulling it over, considering. “And this way, I’ll be out of the metaphorical splash zone,” he finished, which finally prompted a nod from Elijah.

“Okay,” his boss said. “Good idea, Mark. You two – come with me.”

The GM led the two chefs back into the dining room to lay in the back booth while Mark let out a sigh. He was happy, of course, to be out of the fight, to have seemingly calmed everyone down, and to have put his boss’s mind at ease.

Unfortunately, he was fairly sure that – despite Elijah’s eased mind – it was already too late for keeping himself away from the newest restaurant pestilence.

***

“Elijah is going to kill me, Matt.”

“Oh, please, he is ndo – ITSZCHH-ue! ndot,” Matt said, swiping the bottle of Dayquil from Mark’s hand and chugging it. “You gonna sit?” he asked, sniffling and patting the milk crate beside him and shivering. Mark sighed.

“I’m not gonna sit, because Elijah is going to kill me even more if he sees me sitting right next to you.”

“I’mb gonna go out on a limb here and say that’s ndot possible,” Matt said, dissolving at the end of his sentence into a chesty cough.

“You’re coughing now, too?” Mark asked, worry about Elijah’s anger usurped very suddenly by concern for his boyfriend. Mark placed a hand to Matt’s head. “Oh, honey.”

“Sorry,” Matt said, not bothering to move Mark’s hand. Mark huffed out a little laugh.

“Don’t apologize for being sick. Please,” he said, moving his hand to cup Matt’s cheek. “Even if Elijah might kill us both.”

Matt smiled, pressed his face harder into Mark’s hand. “You might ndot get sick. You ndever know,” he muttered, eyes closing as Mark held his head up.

“Matt,” Mark laughed, “I mean… I don’t think that’s, uh, possible after last night.” Matt’s eyes blinked open at the mention of it, and a little smile flitted across his lips.

The apartment had been quiet.

“Matt?” Mark called as he stepped inside. “Babe, are you home?”

He strained his ears; the shower was on. Mark had an idea.

He tiptoed across the cold apartment floor, quietly stripping as he went; by the time he got to the bathroom door, he was nude as the day he was born. The bathroom door wasn’t closed all the way, so he pushed inside silently and pulled back the curtain.

A fact about Matt that shocked Mark more than anything was that the man did not get scared. He had yawned through their first haunted house together; he fell asleep during the Terrifier movies, for Christ’s sake. So Mark was unsurprised when, instead of screaming bloody murder the way he would’ve if Matt snuck up on his in the shower, his boyfriend simply turned away from the spray and smiled.

“You’re early,” he murmured, ushering Mark in.

“I came right from the gym,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. “I wanted to see you.”

“Mmmm,” Matt hummed, pressing himself into Mark’s arms. “That’s nice, baby.”

They stood that way for a few minutes, until Mark tipped Matt’s chin up towards his face. “I wanted to see you,” he said, pressing his lips onto Matt’s neck, “but I also wanted to… do things. With you.”

Matt’s breath caught in the back of his throat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low. “Like what?”

Mark stood back to his full height, and pushed Matt against the shower wall. “Let me show you.”

“Fair enough,” Matt said now, lifting his head. “But, I mbean, are you feeling okay right ndow?”

He was, for the moment. But, Matt had seemed alright last night, and clearly he’d already been on the trajectory towards ill – despite that fact that he had been very good at hiding it. Whatever he and his boss had picked up was certainly quick to come on.

“I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me,” Mark said, rummaging through the drug store bag to hand Matt, who’d fallen into another paroxysm of coughing, the Robitussin. “I’m more worried about you than anything.”

Matt snapped the top off and chugged this medicine as well, seemingly without any concern about mixing two medications. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I kndow Elijah is worried about getting through the weekend, but it’s ndot like any of us haven’t worked with a cold before.” He shrugged then, handed Mark the medicine, and stood. Mark stood as well, and once again cupped Matt’s hot face – this time with both hands.

“Please just take it a little bit easy tonight, okay?” Mark said. “I know Greyson is sick, too, but don’t try to do too much. We don’t need another moment like a few months ago.”

“And to think I’d just forgotten about that,” Matt said, going on tiptoe to kiss his boyfriend. “I’ll be okay.” Mark kissed him back, a little longer than was maybe necessary; long enough that neither of them heard the back door open until it was too late.

“Mark, what the fuck are you doing?”

Oh, fuck.

Elijah.

***

By the end of the night, Greyson and Matt were shadows of their former selves.

“Hh-! Hhhuh… hhNGTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! ETSZCH-ue! Fuuuck mbe,” Greyson muttered as he wrenched into the sleeve of his hoodie – chef coats had been abandoned about an hour into service, when both he and Matt started shivering hard enough to fuck up the plating on more than half the dishes – for the millionth time that night. He attempted to clear his throat, prompting a flurry of congested coughs.

Behind him, Matt was sitting on the cold, industrial kitchen ground, head between his knees. “I’mb gonna pass out, I just kndow I am.”

“Don’t fuckigg pass out,” Greyson growled, pulling his sous to his feet. “You ndeed to get your blood mboving, you gotta stand up. Idiot.”

The two of them, bickering and sneezing in near-unison by the pass, had captivated the attention of both front of house managers, who had turned away from their computer work to watch the mess unfold.

“Hope you like what you see,” Elijah said, finally. “Because that’s gonna be you tomorrow.”

Behind his boss’s back, Mark rolled his eyes. “Boss, I’m fine. I don’t feel sick at all, trust me, I’m going to be okay.” It was mostly true; he’d sneezed a few more times today than was normal for him, yes. And he was a little tired – no more than usual, surely. The rawness in the back of his throat was easily ignored with huge gulps of water. He was fine.

“Mmm,” Elijah said, swinging his chair around to look the younger man in the eye, “sure. Whatever you say, Mark; just remember, if you look even close to how bad Matt does tonight, you’re off the floor. And I mean off the floor until you return to normal. A cold is one thing; whatever these two have is entirely another. Understood?”

Mark swallowed around his burgeoning sore throat; off the floor. Off the floor didn’t mean relegated to busywork behind the scenes; it meant sent home. Being sent home meant days without a backup manager to help Elijah on the floor, and no one to help on the floor meant Elijah would realize there was a gap in their team. A gap in management. Mark had been the only floor manager in all the years Elliot’s had been open; Elijah had mentioned a few times that maybe they should hire another person, someone to cover if both Mark and Elijah couldn’t come in, but Mark had been vehemently against it. Elijah couldn’t hire another manager, because if he did, he’d see how truly unqualified Mark had been for his position all this time. Once he saw how unqualified he was, he’d be out on his ass. No job, no money… no second family. No place he truly belonged.

Mark’s face flushed, and he cast his eyes towards the floor. “Yes, boss,” he said. “I understand.”

“Good,” Elijah said, nodding. “Now, go collect your boyfriend and take him to bed.”

***

The first time Mark was sick while working at Elliot’s was well over a year into his tenure.

Elijah had regarded Mark with concern, clocking him as unwell the second he sat in the office. “You don’t look well,” he said. “Are you feeling okay?”

Mark’s face had flushed, embarrassed; not getting sick for over a year working front of house was honestly a feat of accomplishment in the restaurant industry, but he still felt guilty for coming down with something, despite its inevitability. He shrugged, an attempt at playing it cool.

“I’mb okay, boss,” Mark croaked. “Just a cold.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “Are you sure it’s just a cold? You feel okay to work?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, confused. Did he look that unwell? “I mbean… yeah?” he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Why?”

“Well,” Elijah said, opening a drawer and pulling out cold medicine, along with a small bag that looked like it could’ve come from his mother’s medicine cabinet. “A cold, we can work with.”

The GM explained to him, then, that there were marked differences between the front of house cold, and the back of house cold. “You’ve seen Greyson sick at work a dozen times,” Elijah said, passing Mark a cup full of pills and a water bottle. “Right?”

“Sure,” Mark said, swallowing the pills around a painfully sore throat. “It’s ndot like he’s hiding it.”

“Right. Right,” Elijah said, popping open a stick that looked like – was that concealer? “The chefs, the cooks – they don’t have to hide anything. Us, though? No one wants to be served soup by someone with a stuffy nose. We all get the same shit, but only they’re allowed to look like shit.” He dabbed the concealer under Mark’s eyes, used an expert finger to blend it into his skin. “That’s the industry for you.”

“Are you… putting makeup on mbe?” Mark asked, laughing a bit.

“Sure am,” Elijah said. “A little concealer goes a long way in this profession, Mark. Concealer, and enough meds to tranquilize an elephant.” His boss closed the little concealer pen, put the medicine and makeup away. “I want you on the floor, but I want you to look�� alive.” Elijah shut the drawer, shrugged. “Let me know if you start feeling really shitty. Otherwise? Come to the back to blow your nose, and feel free to help yourself to whatever you want in here.”

Mark blinked, a little confused, but grateful for the advice. Elijah seemed… almost fatherly, like this, and he could feel embarrassing tears welling in his eyes at this, the smallest gesture of being cared for. Mark looked down, cleared his throat. “Uh… okay, boss. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Elijah said, patting Mark’s knee. “We’ve gotta take care of each other in this hell hole of an industry, y’know?”

Mark couldn’t look up. The thought of his boss seeing him cry was entirely too much for him to handle. “Right,” he whispered. “Right.”

***

The hardest part of hiding an illness, Mark knew from experience, was speaking.

Putting on makeup and looking like a human instead of a corpse? Easy. He’d learned how to apply concealer so it didn’t look like he was in drag – just enough that in the dim lighting of the restaurant you couldn’t tell if those were dark circles or shadows. He’d learned if you added a tiny bit of blush to your cheeks, no one noticed that your nose was also red, and he’d figured out the hard way that there was never a world in which he needed eyeliner, even if it made his eyes look less bloodshot.

He always dressed immaculately when he wasn’t feeling well; extra-crisp button down, sport coat, his expensive Ray Ban glasses, not the cheapos from Zenni he usually donned. Mark shined his shoes the second he felt a tickle in his throat, broke out the cuff links if he suddenly sneezed more than thrice in a row. He’d been trained well by Elijah to hide the visual cues of any oncoming malady.

Hiding how he really felt came even more naturally; he’d been practicing that since childhood. Complaining wasn’t in his nature, or had maybe been stamped out entirely at some point – either way, Mark could be actively passing out, unable to breathe, coughing so hard he couldn’t form a sentence, and he wouldn’t even mention it. Of course, he’d been sent home from work for being ill before, but never once had he chosen to go. Even the thought of saying ‘I’m sick’ made him dizzy with unease. You need to work through that in therapy, Matt had said to him multiple times, and he knew it was true, but it was also helpful. In this industry, admitting defeat was akin to admitting you sucked at your job.

The voice, though? That was always what gave him away. No matter how much medicine he took, he could always hear the rasp that overtook his voice immediately. His m’s and n’s turned to rounded shadows of their former selves even if he blew his nose every five minutes. His timbre lowered considerably, to the point that when Matt first saw him sick he asked how it felt to be able to do a perfect Johnny Cash, but only when he felt like shit. It was a problem, but Mark was a pretty quiet guy in general. If he was quieter than usual, usually no one was the wiser.

That’s what he hoped – that his boss would be none the wiser – as he dressed in his perfectly-tailored suit that morning, stifling sneeze after painful sneeze into handfuls of tissue all the while. Just don’t talk, he thought as he dotted Maybeline under his eyes. No one has to know.

Of course, not talking was a bit… difficult when his boss was around. “Good morning,” Elijah called to Mark as he buzzed through the kitchen, trying to make his way into the dining room without having to make small talk. Dammit. Mark stopped, begrudgingly, and nodded at his boss, who raised both eyebrows at the younger manager’s outfit choice. “Is there an event tonight I’ve forgotten?”

Mark shook his head, straightened his tie. “Just felt like dressing up,” he said, tactfully avoiding words with too many nasal letters. “How’re you, boss?”

“I’m well,” Elijah said, pointedly. He patted the empty chair next to him, prompting Mark to sit; don’t let him get a good look at you, a voice in Mark’s head chastised. Don’t get taken off the floor. “Greyson’s not coming in till three, if you want to do your preshift report in here today.”

“That’s okay,” Mark said. “I like the dining roomb.” Fuck.

Elijah cocked his head to the side, but didn’t mention Mark’s voice. “How’s Matt feeling?” he asked, another pointed question.

“He’s okay – a little better. Said he’d be here at four.” Mark patted himself on the back for maneuvering around any pesky m’s or n’s that time. Elijah nodded slowly.

“Glad to hear it,” Elijah said, standing. The younger manager was several inches taller than his boss, but Elijah was still able to look him fairly closely in the eye. Once again, one word rattled around in Mark’s head: fuck. “How are you feeling?”

Mark allowed a smile to form on his rapidly-chapping lips. “Good, boss. Ready to work,” he said simply. God, he needed to clear his throat. And more than that, he really, really needed to blow his nose.

Elijah nodded. “Alright,” he said, apparently placated. “Go ahead, then.”

“Thanks, boss,” Mark said, stepping out of the office doorway and pushing through the swinging kitchen doors before Elijah could say anything else. He’d made it through the first test, somehow. Just in time, too, he thought, making a beeline towards the bathroom. Because I really fucking need to -

“NTSHH!” Mark stifled a near-silent sneeze into his wrist as he yanked open the guest bathroom door. Finally, locked in the bathroom alone, he allowed himself to be as disgusting, as sick as he really was.

“Hhuh -! Hh- ETZSCH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Huh… hh’RRSHH-ue!” Mark collapsed in on himself, scrambling to collect a handful of tissues so he wouldn’t ruin the sleeve of his suit. He blew his nose as thoroughly as he could – not that it made any difference, he was still stuffed up to the gills. A pathetic little cough escaped his lungs, prompting another tickle in his sinuses. “HUHTTSCHH-ue!”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chastised himself, blowing his nose again. He’s going to fucking hear you.

He waited a moment or two to see if Elijah would push through the door – he didn’t – before sitting fully clothed on the toilet and pulling out his phone.

11:56AM

Mark

what is this, the fucking plague?

Almost immediately, Matt texted back.

11:57AM Matt

o shit, did we get you already? baby im so sorry. u shouldve told me u weren’t feeling good last night u couldve stayed over

11:57AM Mark

not your fault. and I’m ok, just trying to avoid Elijah, he’s gonna be so pissed.

11:59AM

Matt

omfg he’ll get over it. its not like someone in that restaurant isnt sick every other week

Mark sighed, his lungs crackling at the effort. Matt was right; someone was almost always sick at Elliot’s, that was the way of things in this industry. They all shared drinks, they worked in close quarters, it was bound to happen. This was less about the illness itself – of course he’d been sick at work before, who hadn’t? - and more about the look he knew he’d see on Elijah’s face when he’d finally have to crack. He’d gone directly against his boss’s orders, had put his job and the restaurant second to his baser desires. That’s no way to get ahead in this world, his dad’s voice bellowed from the base of his brain. Mark shuddered; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face Elijah’s look of pure disappointment. He wasn’t sure he had it in him.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Mark stood and washed his hands. He took an inventory of his face in the mirror – eye bags poorly covered by drugstore makeup, his nose raw and red, his mouth slightly open to allow him to breathe – and realized how truly awful he looked. Was there even a chance that Elijah didn’t know he was sick? Doubtful, his dad’s voice muttered.

You have to just try, another voice in his head pleaded. Just push through, you know how to push through. You’ve done it a million times before. He doesn’t have to know.

That voice, Mark knew, was delusional – a child’s gnawing plea to be accepted, to not get in trouble, to not be thought of as a burden – but he knew that sometimes you had to be delusional, had to listen to the saddest, smallest part of yourself to get through a day. He pulled his phone back out before leaving the bathroom.

12:04PM

Mark

just please don’t say anything to Elijah when you get here, ok? I’m fine, I promise. its honestly probably just in my head, it’s probably nothing so just don’t say anything. see u soon.

Pathetic, his dad’s voice spat, and Mark knew the voice was right. But that was nothing new, nothing to dwell on; he’d always been pathetic. Mark switched off his phone then, not wanting to be comforted by his boyfriend, and stepped onto the floor.

***

“Mark,” Matt said, reaching up to touch the front of house manager’s forehead, “you really need to go.”

Mark pulled away before Matt could touch him, though not by choice. “HRRSHH-uhh! Hh-! HhNTZSHH-ue! Snrrf. Leave mbe alone.”

Matt’s hand recoiled at the ice in his boyfriend’s voice, obviously hurt. Normally, Mark would’ve nearly fallen to his knees at the thought of hurting Matt’s feelings, but today, with the cold from hell progressing quicker than he ever could’ve anticipated, he couldn’t even find it in himself to apologize. Obviously he needed to go, but that would mean admitting to illness; it would mean begin taken off the floor until god-knows-when. It would mean Elijah replacing him.

No. He wasn’t about to go.

“Honey,” Matt said carefully, touching Mark’s hand across the expo board, “I’mb sure Elijah would understand. It’s a slow ndight, he already sent Greyson back home. What are you trying to prove?”

Of course, Matt was right; last night’s crazy shift was in stark contrast to this evening’s steady pace. There were hardly twenty more covers for the evening, and yes, even Greyson had admitted defeat and slunk out right at six p.m., in a fevered haze. The only reason Matt was still here was because his fever had broken this morning and, despite the lingering cough and stuffy nose, he was clearly feeling better. Good enough, even, to have gone behind Mark’s back and talked to Elijah.

“Matt told me,” Elijah had cornered him right before preshift started, in the back server station while everyone else ate family meal. Mark felt his stomach sink. Fucking Matt, he thought, clearing his throat to address his boss in the most normal voice he could muster.

“Told you what?” he asked, straightening his tie. Elijah gave the younger manager a knowing look.

“You don’t look like you feel well, Mark,” he said, obviously trying a different tactic. This time, Mark’s stomach knotted; he felt, for a moment, like a little kid, wanting to fall to the ground in front of his mommy and just allow himself to be comforted. He thought for a fleeting moment of how good it would feel to just admit it; I’m sick, he would say, if he were a normal fucking person, I want to go to bed.

Instead, Mark shook his head. “I don’t kndow what Matt told you, but he doesn’t kndow what he talking about,” he managed, his voice cutting out only once. “I’mb fine.”

Elijah sighed. “Mark, listen, I know I was an asshole yesterday -”

“Boss,” Mark cut Elijah off. “Please. I’mb okay. Just please, let mbe work.”

He’d walked away then, hadn’t let Elijah say whatever it was he wanted to say, and had avoided Matt as well as he could throughout service. Now, mid-shift, when all the cooks and servers were side-eyeing them from he expo board, was not the time to hash this out.

“I’mb ndot trying to prove anything, Matt,” Mark said now, grabbing two plates from the window. “Just stay out of mby business. What table?”

Matt bit his cheek, peaked at the chit. “Please don’t be mbad,” he said, voice quiet. Mark prickled; he couldn’t help it. He was mad. He’d asked one stupid thing of Matt, and now here he was, career in trouble, embarrassed in front of both of their staffs, and once again gearing up for another painful -

“HTTSHH-ue! God, fugck,” Mark swore, ducking expertly away from the plates he was holding. He sucked in through his nose hard enough to make himself dizzy, and looked back at Matt. “What table, Chef?” he asked, pointedly. Matt winced.

“Thirty-three,” he said finally. Mark nodded.

“Great. Thangks.” He turned on his heels and pushed out the kitchen doors.

***

Before it happened, Mark found himself thinking exactly what his boyfriend was moaning the night previous: I’m gonna pass out, I know I am.

The only difference was, Mark was correct.

He’d been feeling shittier and shittier as the night went on. It began with spells of dizziness that came anytime he moved his head too fast, then moved on to an ache in his chest every time he coughed. A cold is one thing, he remembered Elijah saying the night previous. Whatever they have is entirely something else.

Elijah the prophet.

He kept pushing through. Plate after plate came out of the kitchen on his aching arms; he shook drinks while coughing into his shoulder, and sniffled his way through seating guests. Mark could feel Elijah’s eyes on him, though his boss refused to speak to him throughout the shift. I’ll show him, his fever-addled mind kept saying. I can do this. I’m fine.

It wasn’t until the last table had sat that his body well and truly told him he’d had enough. Mark was seeing stars when he grabbed a filet and swordfish, and once again he ignored it. He ignored the room swimming before him as he pushed out of the kitchen. He ignored the sway in his step.

“Shit, Mark!” was the last thing he heard, standing in the middle of the dining room with hot plates in each of his hands. There was no way to tell who said it – Elijah? Matt? – but it didn’t really matter, because before he could respond, his vision became a tiny pinkprick, his knees buckled, and the lights went out.

***

When the world came back into focus, he had somehow teleported into his bed.

At first, Mark tried desperately to get up; he’d fallen in the middle of the restaurant, that he unfortunately remembered immediately. There had been people around, guests watching, and he immediately felt his face flame with embarrassment. Oh, Elijah is going to kill me.

That was when he realized he was no longer in the restaurant. Mark placed a hand over an aching eye; was it all a dream? He looked down – no, it couldn’t be. He was still in his tailored suit, the tie and ciff links missing, but otherwise dressed to the nines.

“Whoa there, kid,” a familiar voice came from the doorway. “Go ahead and lie back down.”

Mark blearily glanced towards the voice. There, just outside his bedroom, stood Elijah, a steaming cup in one hand and a thermometer in the other. Fuck.

“Shit, Elijah, I’mb so sorry I ca – HTSHH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Fuck, ’scuse mbe,” Mark, any facade of health finally washed away, used his expensive suit jacket to wipe his nose. Elijah glided across the small room and sat on the foot of the bed, handing the younger man the cup. Tea.

“Save your breath,” Elijah said. “You already apologized about a hundred times at the restaurant.”

He had? Mark gave Elijah a confused look, and sat back on the pillows behind him. He hadn’t even realized he’d come to at the restaurant at all.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah said, nodding. “To me. To Matt. To the guests. To the EMTs. I would think you’d be apologized out.”

EMTs? Mark cringed; as if he hadn’t been embarrassed enough. He wanted to ask, but at the same time he figured it was probably better that he didn’t remember. Small mercies, he thought.

“Lij,” Mark croaked, taking a sip of the tea, “I really amb… sorry. I mbean, I can’t imagine how mbuch I embarrassed you. Thangk you for bringing mbe home… I understand if you can’t…let mbe, uh. Work there. Anymore.”

Mark, destroyed by fever, and aches, and what was probably some sort of bronchitis-sinus-infection super-fucking-hybrid, couldn’t help but let the angry, ashamed tears fall as he said it. Matt wasn’t here, which most likely meant he was out both a boyfriend and a job. You fucking idiot. You stupid, fucking idiot, how dumb could you -

Elijah broke through the screaming in his head – he took Mark’s arms in his hands, placed his cup on the side table, and pulled him in for a hug. “Mark,” his boss said, “you really had us worried.” He pulled the younger manager back, concern painted on his face. “Of course you aren’t fired, I don’t know why you’d think that of me,” he said, a moment so raw that Mark felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “You should’ve just told me you were so sick. So you could go and rest. I would’ve even let Matt go with you.” Elijah patted his knee then, and handed Mark back the mug. “It’s just a restaurant, Mark. You’re more important than service.”

Mark felt his eyes well up once again. Had anyone ever told him he was worth more than the work he did? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure, and that felt like an even harder gut-punch.

“I just…” he managed, wiping beneath his eyes. “I just didn’t wandt you to replace mbe. I’mb sorry for letting Mbatt get mbe sick.”

At this, Elijah actually laughed. “Mark,” he said, “you’re young. You’re in love; it comes with the territory. I was annoyed because Greyson and Matt are constantly getting everyone in that restaurant sick. I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He smiled then, a small and slightly sad smile. “I’m sorry if that’s how to came off.”

Mark didn’t know what to say; he felt awful, like he’d been hit by a semi, and he just wanted to sleep. See Matt. Apologize for being a dick. And sleep.

“Is Mbatt mad at mbe?” he croaked, pulling his legs into his chest. This time, Elijah actually laughed.

“I don’t think Matt knows how to be mad at you,” he said. “He’s just closing up the line; he was actually the one who brought you back here, but you were racked out so I said I’d come keep an eye on you till he got back.” Elijah shrugged, gave a little knowing smile. “He’ll be back soon. Okay? We don’t have to talk any more about this now. Just… try to sleep.” He patted Mark’s shoulder; a fatherly gesture from a man who claimed to know nothing about being a parent. “I’ll call Matt.”

Finally, finally, Mark conceded. He wanted to thank Elijah, or maybe apologize again, but he couldn’t make his mouth form words. Instead, he just nodded, grateful, and sank back into his pillow. He felt his eyes close, and allowed himself, for once, to let someone else take care of him.

He knew, maybe for the first time in his life, that he was safe.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Rapture

Alexander Anderson x f! Reader | 1,5k. words | no warnings | not proofread

lmaoo I just needed to drabble this, but I made her a tiny bit more assertive can't be worse than the canon comedic moments

"Wait, Anderson! Your presence is enough!" Maxwell tries appealing to the paladin's common sense, but to no avail. He simply loses control at the sight of his mortal foe whenever those two clash.

The same goes for the head of the Hellsing Organization, only able to watch as both Alucard and Anderson draw their weapons, their manic laughter filling the Imperial War Museum.

As both masters were unable to keep those two behemoths from their imminent confrontation, suddenly a third party emerges from the shadows of a nearby hallway.

"Stop this at once!" you scream at the top of your lungs, standing in between the no-life-king and the holy knight. Disregarding the former, you turn towards Anderson, a warning finger poking his chest. "What in the Lord's name do you think you're doing?!"

The man immediately pulls you into his arms, your much smaller form almost disappearing under his overcoat. "And whit aboot ye? Reckless thing, dae ye hae a deathwish?"

Anderson glares over to his opponent, well aware he cannot fight while keeping you safe at the same time. "Huh?" You point over your shoulder to the vampire that was already lowering his weapons, observing you with an intent fascination. "What satisfaction would it bring to shoot an unarmed woman?"

It might sound naive, but as your sworn worthy enemies, they surely had the same sense of honor that was driving Iscariot as well. "This is no place to fight" you reprimand both of them, "There's civilians here!"

"We're oan protestant groond, I coidnae care less abo-" He's cut off by your angered expression, the imposing man rendered speechless just like that. "...fine" he sighs in defeat, "Wud be a waste destroyin' this braw art, ah guess."

Eventually he puts the bayonets away, turning to Alucard with a sombre look. "But this isnae ower yet. Consider it a delay o' yer fate."

Maxwell tries to take over the conversation again, still sweating bullets from the tension as he addresses Sir Hellsing. "Seems we both have troublesome subordinates, right?"

You loudly interrupt him, much to the amusement of the British attendees. "You're one to talk! You're not an ounce better!" Being irritated enough that he'd bring Anderson here for such trivialities, you pinch his ear like he was some kind of unruly child - well, to your defense, you practically raised him. "Calling this lady such filthy names...you better apologize!"

"Y-Yes, ma'am..." You nod along with a pleased smile as Enrico uttered some half-hearted excuse to the woman and her squad, then dropping a curtsey yourself. "I too have to apologize, on behalf of the bishop and my husband."

Great. Now his weakness has been exposed, and so casually at that. Anderson doesn't expect them to use you against him, they're different from the disgraceful vermin he usually fights after all. But still...

Everyone's face drops at your subtle disclosure. While Integra's face contorts in disgust more than anything, her hitman breaks out in boisterous laughter. A shiteating grin decorates his face as he sneers "Oh, it warms this cold, dead heart of mine to learn that you're just as much of a hypocryte as the rest of the Vatican, Father Anderson."

God's assassin bares his teeth, protectively wrapping his arm around your body and huddling you against his chest. "Shut it! As if ah'd gie a damn whit a vile abomination like ye thinks o' me." You were sligthly taken aback by his unusual public display of affection, but too pleasantly surprised to object.

"That's his wife?" Alucard's little fledgeling Seras was still staring at you, mouth slightly agape as she inspected you from a safe distance. Ever since she got a taste of his viciousness during their first meeting, she's horrified of the mad cleric - so this revelation made her brain hurt. "But she's so...normal?"

"Haha, thank you!" You try to wriggle out of your lover's grip, but he only tightens the embrace. "You're pretty cute too...for a monster, I mean."

"Stop sweet-talkin' the enemy!" Anderson huffs aggravated, making you snort a laugh. "Relax, darlin'."

"Are- are you a vampire-hunter as well?" she inquires, still visibly confused and you're amused at her bewilderment. "No no, I'm merely a supervisor at Anderson's orphanage."

"His what?!" The demonspawn seemed so overwhelmed, she might as well pass out. Being an orphan herself, only imagining being raised by someone like Anderson sent a shiver down her spine.

"Oh, you didn't know? The children adore him! Actually-" To keep you from making him lose face any further, Anderson pressed a firm hand over your mouth, making you frown.

"That's enough!" Lady Hellsing grew tired of this nonsense, still wary of the Vatican's intentions. "Stop wasting my time and state your business."

You pry Anderson's palm away from your lips, but his hands remain on your body, resting on your shoulders as he towers behind you like a guard dog. "My sincere apologies, Sir Integra. Those ill-mannered fools are not suited to lead negotiations. They may be outstanding in their field, but they are too erratic and should not be left alone. Thus my presence."

"As if I believe that polite facade of yours! Your..." her lip creases in disdain, "...consort has violated countless treaties aas he attacked not only my organization, but even killed two of my best soldiers!" She then puts a hand over her heart, clutching the fabric of her blouse. "I was almost killed myself!"

"Alexander..." You raise an eyebrow at the man and he winces at the coldness in your tone. "Is that true?"

"Whit o' it? They're lousy heathens." Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him, murmuring "We'll have a word later", before adressing Sir Integra again. "My husband tends to read the bible with partial blindness for the love and forgiveness part, I fear...but a shared enemy makes us at least temporary allies, does it not? We possess valuable information concerning the group that so deviously invaded your property and massacred your staff. Sincere condolences, by the way."

The stern woman at least partially calms, her unwavering glare wandering over to Maxwell, to whom you entrust the rest. "The bishop will discuss all formalities with you. If you'll excuse us..."

"What a fierce young woman, how refreshing indeed..." Alucard taunts, yet was sincere in his compliment. "I understand what you see in her. She's starting to grow on me already..."

In an instant you hear the familiar clang of Anderson's bayonets as he rummages in his cassock, however you quickly intertwine your fingers with his before he can summon them. He restrains himself for your sake, bites back the urge to destroy and instead focusing on leading you away from any danger.

"Don't get too full of yourself, fiend" you snap back at him, a contradictionary smirk playing on your lips. "Better enjoy the time you got left until my spouse ends your miserable existence..."

"Oh, I'm looking forward to see him try." The vampire grins, bearing his fangs in excitement at the devoted trust you put in your husband's strenght. To add insult to injury he bows down in genuine respect, making Anderson possessively tug you towards him. "I'll go back to sleep. It's tiring to be woken at the midst of day. Be well, my fair lady."

"...we'll return tae the Vatican" your partner murmurs as the two of you walk past Maxwell, absendmindedly stroking back of your hand with his thumb. "There's nothin' left for us tae dae here."

The remaining humans look after you for a while in awkward silence, before attending more important matters again.

Anderson then turns to look at you, a bright, almost innocent smile not quite reaching up to his eyes as he speaks. "This is a braw place. We shall bring the orphans some time, ma love."

"Yeah, right?" you chuckle all timid now, and he gladly joins in with your laughter before his voice turns more grim again. "Ah'm definetly gonnae kill them a' next time..." You rub soothing circles on his back, containing his bloodlust like you've grown used to over the years. "I know you will...thank you for protecting us."

He stills for a while, worrying you as a mixture of apprehension and despair becomes apparent in his features. All of a sudden he pushes you against the next best wall, lips devouring you in an urgent fervor. It takes a while until you break the kiss, dizzy at the lack of oxygen.

"Father..." you breathe in small gasps, beaming up at him. "How unbecoming..."

"Don't get used tae it" he grumbles in his usual, authorative tone, yet pecking another, more tender kiss on the top of your head. "Let's keep gaun."

He decides not to tell you what's shaken him up so briefly, chooses to rather dwell in this rare peaceful moment at your side. Nonetheless, Alucard had invaded his head telepathically, the vampire's words still echoing in his mind.

"I'm glad to see you have something that makes you hold on to your humanity, Judas Priest. I really am. So don't you dare losing it."

[sgiandubh]

Context, always the context

After we had gagging fun - and some, a small and unjustified heartbreak, too - with the newest 🎪 pic, let's put it a bit in context. I confess I am more and more immune to these: they are aimed at this fandom, of course - just to fuel further web wars and talks: never forget Xmas is round the corner, too. But they are also aimed at the Casuals, who still can't place McIdiot on her map and do not really care, to be honest.

So, what exactly do we have, here?

This:

After more than ten years in showbiz, our C still needs a pointer to tell ignoramuses like me where exactly she is, on that picture?

How odd. How unfair. But let's imagine I am from Mars. I have no idea who these people are, including to each other. The legend tells me nothing: just C and T and zero details. They could very well be co-workers, acquaintances, friends...? Oh, she's married to him. Oh. Ok. For sure, they ooze bliss and happiness. For sure. I've seen broomsticks act more convincingly than this.

Also, the photographer. As a very trusted friend pointed out (thank you, forever indebted to you), this Bennett guy was all over the place, yesterday. According to Getty Images (https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/search/photographer?photographer=Dave%20Benett&assettype=image&sort=best&license=rf%2Crm), he attended at least seven other high profile London events yesterday and was paid to cover them, too.

Their list immediately places this minor happening in its right context and at its right place:

"Leave The World Behind" - UK Special Screening and afterparty. The one she attended with McIdiot.

Hackett London x David Gandy Wellwear Launch Party - Savile Row tailors, established in 1983. Huge success story from a humble Portobello Road clothes stall to a 160 shops global network and a part of LVMH group (remember? LOL). The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

"Femme" - Gala Screening - After Party - UK thriller, premiered at the Berlinale last spring. Will be released tomorrow in the UK and IE. 95% approval rate on Rotten Tomatoes. The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

Skye McAlpine Celebrates The Opening Of Tavola's Christmas Pop-Up Shop, in Knightsbridge (along with Fitzrovia, my favorite London spot). Tavola is a high end tableware collection, carefully curated by Skye McAlpine - celebrated British cookbook author and an expert in Italian cuisine and fine dining. You should think two gin entrepreneurs would be thrilled to meet her, at another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

A Reception By The All Party Parliamentary Group Honouring Elton John For His Dedication To The Global Fight Against HIV AIDS. No further comments needed for this very, very posh event she did not attend with McIdiot. I doubt she has this type of connections.

The Anti Slavery Collective Inaugural Winter Gala at the Battersea Arts Center in London. Attended by royalty (yeah, ok: Fergie - but also, her two Princess daughters!), aristocrats (Count Nikolai von Bismarck comes to mind), showbiz people (Ed Sheeran - hello?) and of course, the press. But this is another very high profile event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Longines Dolce Vita Exhibition and after party - aimed at the high end luxury crowd. Another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Smirnoff Celebrates New 'We Do Us' Initiative In Partnership With Tilting The Lens And Sink The Pink. Smirnoff, that legendary vodka which story started in Tsarist Moscow and now continues as part of the behemoth Diageo spirits group. Mhm. Now with an event tailored for the well-heeled LGBT+ and Generation Z crowds, organized in partnership with Tilting the Lens,  Sinéad Burke's consultancy firm with an absolutely spectacular client portfolio, featuring Gucci, Starbucks and -hey, nice to see you! - Soho House. LOL. You would think they could have grabbed a black cab and do anything to at least drop in and say hi. You would think they would be interested to meet with the other, less obvious, partner of this event, Stonegate, a major player on UK's hospitality scene. What a pity this was another event she did not attend with McIdiot!

Make no mistake. London is a real global metropolis. Une ville-monde (a World City), a notion coined by one of my masters, the wonderful French historian Fernand Braudel. As such, it currently stands at the epicenter of all that is trendy, new, exciting and expensive and it offers an endless array of opportunities for the brave and the bold. That was but a very incomplete sample of a Wednesday night on the London scene, busier than usually with all those end of year events. Out of the other seven of this sample, she had a profitable and realistic choice between at least two or three other events. She could have even coupled that after party with at least another one of those, if she had the right network to attract an invitation.

It is also plain to see, by now, TMcG is by no conceivable means the successful, multimillionaire businessman and entrepreneur. He is nowhere to be placed on this very rich, very diverse event scene. He does not attend any events by himself, whereas she carefully attends events all alone and does it very well - wouldn't that be because she has a name in her own right, too? He apparently does nothing, he apparently is Nobody. You should think a successful, multimillionaire, ambitious businessman would be proud to be seen just about everywhere with his up-and-coming actress wife, isn't it?

The sad truth is this clown only makes it to a cursory mention in a Daily Fail picture gallery when dragged along by C. At an event she most probably managed to get an invitation via Rami Malek, her co-star in The Amateur:

That, my friends, is not C playing her Greta Garbo. That is C squandering every shred of sympathy capital she ever managed to acquire, with absurd determination.

But sure, keep on screeching, Stans. Keep on screeching. All of the above are cold, hard FACTS your queens carefully keep out of your reach. God forbid you come to the realization.

[pixienohken]

Since I played Shadow Generations, I went back to re-watch the opening cutscene of the 2005 game. And wow, my 8 year old brain definitely filtered some of the stuff in the intro, or didn't notice it because of how fast it played. The black arms are probably one of the most brutal factions in sonic history. They literally just drop out of the sky and start raising hell, which is unironically terrifying if you were just a civilian living in the city.

Like, look at the scene where the giant one tosses an entire car and causes an explosion. It rolls, and explodes right by a gun squad, ragdolling them all instantly. That's three or four people DEAD.

The next scene has a POV of a Gun Soldier, and you see a black arms trooper hop up on a car, and guns down a soldier. And another black arms on the left just walking casually shoots the other one (and continues shooting the dude's body, absolutely brutal.) The only gun soldier standing which is the soldier we have the POV of, gets attacked by one of the flying black arms. That's presumably three more dead, possibly even more, since the one on top of the car continues shooting at something off screen.

Even while GUN troops are getting destroyed, not even civilians are safe, because although the car this behemoth lands on is empty, he slams a civilian car into the building. I thought it was a cop car, but this is a solid black car, no white doors or anything. All of the civilians in that car (Possibly a family with children) are now gone.

The final scene in the intro is probably the most brutal, because of how much stuff happens in just a few seconds. In fact if you blink you'll probably miss it, so I zoomed in a little.

On the top left you can see a squad of three GUN soldiers being absolutely demolished by some sort of explosion launched by the Black Arms troopers charging at them. Then those same troops keep sprinting past their bodies and begin shooting at presumably more people between the buildings who were probably survivors trying to hide.

On the lower right we see that there's an entire horde of them, a behemoth throwing a police car at something off screen. (Probably a person) and all around him there's like a dozen or so black arm troops walking around and shooting at everything and everyone (once more off screen)

I find this one the most disturbing for two reasons. One is that if you look closely, some of them who are hanging behind the parade are just purposefully shooting at wrecked cars and debris piles. Which could mean either they're purposefully causing as much destruction as possible, or they're trying to scare survivors out. (They even bothered animating the sparks of laser bolts hitting the cars and walls, which meant the animators purposefully animated some of them doing that.)

The other reason I find it somewhat unnerving is that the idea of an entire horde of black arm troops just walking down the street and brutally massacring the town, and in such a casual manner as if it's a completely normal thing.

All those people dead in like a twenty or thirty second timespan. The fact that somehow all this stuff was in a sonic game. A SONIC GAME. ONLY RATED E 10 AND UP, LIKE NONE OF THIS WAS WORTH THE TEEN RATING?

H O W ? !

Back in the 2000s, people accused this game of blatantly copying the Covenant from the Halo series, and even if they did, they definitely were faithful to the original material, considering they kept in the part of the aliens wanting to genocide humanity and will gun down any human they see.

Anyways rambling over. I love Shadow and I love his game. :-)

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 1,060

Picture NOT mine.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW

Reading time (Roughly) - 12 minutes

This one was actually a request, which I don't typically do, but sometimes I simply can't resist!

Tag(s) - @rishdrago

With a tired sigh (Y/n) sat the last of her groceries onto the counter in her kitchen. It was another long day at work, with another grueling case coming to a close. While she loves her job, sometimes it really takes a toll on her. But now at home all she needs to worry about is putting away her groceries, and making a quick dinner. Easy enough. If it wasn't for the sound of a floorboard creaking in the hallway that set her into fight or flight mode.

Spinning on her heel in an instant, she unholstered her pistol and aimed at the doorway to the hallway. "You really messed up you know, but if you know what's good for you, you'll come into the light nice and slow. Otherwise you're gonna leave my house in an ambulance, or a body bag." (Y/n) called out to the would be intruder, bracing herself for a potential firefight. But when the intruder rounded the corner, and came into sight, she nearly dropped her gun. "Frank?" She breathed out in a whisper, her arms falling to her sides. "Frank's dead." He muttered mournfully. "You look pretty fucking alive to me." She sassed as she holstered her pistol, knowing deep down that she could still trust Frank with her life.

The behemoth of a man simply shrugged his shoulders, taking a small first step into the room, as if he was testing the water. "What are you doing here?" She asked turning back to her groceries, while letting him come into the room at his own pace. "I killed Gianni Franco." He stated as he walked up to the other side of the counter, leaving the space between them to prove he meant her no harm. "Trust me Frank, I am well aware of that. You do realize I'm still a detective right? And I'm still friends with Jake you know, so I'm the one he goes to, to vent about you." She glanced his way, trying to get a read of his reaction to her words.

He seemed unbothered, which really didn't surprise her. "I'm sorry." Now that surprised her. Setting the box of noodles down, she turned her full attention to Frank. "Why are you apologizing to me? I'm not the one you should apologize to." She pointed out, but Frank didn't seem bothered, as he casually scratched at the scruff on his face. "Frank why are you here?" She asked now standing across from him at the counter, looking into his eyes which once swirled with so much life. "I don't know... I'm not exactly sure what to do now." He admitted.

"Jake would tell you to turn yourself in." (Y/n) mused with a small smile, her words making him chuckle softly under his breath, a sound she had missed more than she ever realized until now. "That's why I came to you." He admitted, now leaning against the counter. "I knew you wouldn't arrest me on the spot like Jake, and I could just talk to you." Frank admitted with a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Well that's where me and Jake are different, I actually believe you're doing the world good by killing those guys. People like that have to much money and power for us to touch, and we could use a vigilante to even out the odds." She hummed as she grabbed a beer from the fridge, sliding it across the counter to Frank, who took it with a small mutter of thanks. "I knew you'd feel that way." He said before sipping his beer. "Then why didn't you come to me sooner?" She asked as she leaned again the counter.

"Because I don't want you trying to join me." He stated matter-of-factly, making (Y/n) chuckle softly. "That's fair I guess, but what's changed? Why come to me now?" She pried, hoping he would open up to her. "I had a dream about you last night." His words stuck a cord in (Y/n)'s heart, one she didn't realize was still there until now. "A dream?" She played off her nerves like a natural, making her glad she was trained to hide her true emotions, in order to effectively interrogate suspects.

"It started as a nightmare, I was reliving their deaths." She knew he was referring to his family, so she didn't pry for clarification, knowing it only hurt him to talk about them. "But before I could wake up, you appeared from the shadows. You didn't say anything, you just..." He trailed off as he stared at his beer. "You just pulled me into a hug, and held me while I cried for them." (Y/n)'s heart broke at his admittance, she knew he hated showing vulnerably before he lost his family, let alone now that he's The Punisher.

"It made me realize how much I've missed you, and I also realized I can't keep doing this alone, I can't keep being alone." He looked up to her, his eyes ever so glossy. "I know Julie would want me to move on, to come to terms with what happened. But I couldn't do that while the Franco's were still alive and free." He sipped his beer. "But now... Now I need help getting through this, and you're the only one that can help me (Y/n)." Frank wanted to hold her hand as he spoke, but he resisted the urge.

"I'll always be here for you Frank." She assured him, her words pulling a genuine smile from him. "How about I make us some dinner, and we can figure out where to go from there." She offered, smiling when he nodded in agreement. "You should stay here tonight, get a shower and have some normalcy for a change." She added. "Are you trying to say I smell bad?" He asked with a playful smirk.

"Frank dear I've been holding my breath this entire time." (Y/n) joked, making him roll his eyes, despite his smile. "Still a smartass I see." He huffed. "You wouldn't have it any other way." She sassed before pointing to the hallway. "You still remember where the guestroom is." She added, smiling when he nodded and walked off to take a shower while she cooked dinner.

"Well what are you planning on doing now that you've dealt with the Franco family?" (Y/n) asked before she finished off the last bite of her dinner. "There are still people who are not punished by the justice system." Frank stated having finished his dinner long before she had. "Are you planning on doing to them what you did to the Franco's?" She asked. "Only to those who deserve it." Frank clarified, setting (Y/n)'s mind at ease.

"I'm glad you've come to me Frank, but I'm unbelievably exhausted, and I need to get some sleep." She rose from her seat, picking up her plate, and moving to grab his. Frank took her plate, and grabbed his own. "I'll deal with the dishes, go to bed, we can talk more in the morning." He insisted. "Okay thank you." She leaned over and pecked his temple like she used to as a quick thanks. "Oh and I forgot to ask, you didn't break any windows to get in did you?" She asked.

"No don't worry, I just picked the lock on the back door." He shrugged casually. "You still have that spare key I gave you don't you?" She arched a brow at him, and his faint smile gave him away. "Goodnight Frank." She called as she walked away into the hall. "Goodnight (Y/n)." He called back to her. When (Y/n) reached her bedroom, she began shedding off her clothes, in desperate need of a warm shower before going to bed.

As the water washed over her sore muscles, (Y/n)'s mind drifted to Frank. She'd been so torn up when he was declared dead, and mourned for him and his family for many months. They were a big part of her life, they were family to her. Even though deep down (Y/n) had loved Frank in a deeper more heart wrenching way. She knew it wasn't right, she knew that then, and even now she feels guilty for it.

She never acted on it, and never intended on trying to take him as her own. He was happy and he deserved the love he already had with Julie. Now things are different, but it still doesn't feel right, even if it's been over a year since she passed. He clearly still loved her, and (Y/n) wasn't going to make a fool of herself, and potentially push him away and loose him again. Still she couldn't deny the way her heart fluttered at the sight of him again, so much more gruff and rugged.

And knowing that he trusted her enough to come to her made her head spin. By the time she finished her shower, her eyes grew heavy with sleep. Her mind was still stuck on Frank, even as she crawled between the sheets. She wondered idly if he would still be here in the morning, or if he'd ever come back when he did leave. As she began drifting to sleep, she heard the sound of the guestroom door opening and closing. Telling her he was still here, and most likely would still be come morning.

(Y/n)'s sleep was dreamless and peaceful, which was better than she'd had in weeks. While Frank's dreams were chaotic and filled with memories that still hurt him oh so deeply. He dreamt of his children, of his wife, of the look of betrayal and hurt on Jakes face. Then he dreamt of (Y/n), and her never ending acceptance of the choices he's made. He felt at ease while he dreamt of her, his tense muscles relaxing as he dreamt of walking with her beside a lake.

She always had a way of putting him at ease, just by simply being there and listening to him vent whenever he needed it. He knew she meant more to him than just a friend, but he much like her, had never intended on exploring those feelings. But now after everything, despite knowing he's putting her in danger by coming around, Frank knows he needs her. He needs her help more than ever, and he knows deep down that Julie would understand.

When morning came Frank woke up to the smell of breakfast. Something he's missed more than he realized until now. In a bit of a groggy daze Frank wondered into the kitchen, dressed in the sleep clothes he found in the closet in the guestroom. "Mornin' bud." (Y/n) mused as she pushed a fresh cup of coffee his way. "Morning." He muttered as he slipped at the hot brew, slightly surprised she remembered how he likes his coffee.

"You want some breakfast?" She asked as she pulled two plates from the cupboard. "Please." He nodded his head in agreement. "Good because I made plenty." She mused with a smile, as she placed a plate in front of him. "I'm glad you're still here and you didn't slip away in the night." She added sincerely. "I half expected that last night would be the last time I'd ever see you." Her words cut him deeper than he would have expected, but he understood where she was coming from.

"Like I said, I need your help." Frank said earnestly. "Well then, what's the plan?" She asked as she sat beside him with her own plate. "I don't really have a plan, but for now I think we'll just take it one day at a time, and figure it all out." He shrugged. "Wow the Frank Castle doesn't have a plan, that's a first." (Y/n) joked, making him chuckle. "So are you planning on staying here?" She asked a few moments later. "No I don't want to put you at risk of being caught hiding a fugitive." He shook his head.

"I appreciate that." She hummed softly, having worried a bit about that last night. "I think it'll be best if I just come in the evenings when I need... Well a shoulder to lean on I guess." He said, picking at his food a little. "And when you need patched up I imagine." She added, trying to lighten the mood a bit, and Frank agreed with a small chuckle. "Yeah I'm sure I probably will come to you when I need patched up." He smiled at her before going back to eating his breakfast. "I'll be sure to stock up on some supplies." (Y/n) mused more to herself, than to Frank.

(Y/n)'s pager went off with a shrill beeping, signaling that it was time to get to work. Her partner letting her know they already had a new case to work on. "Well that's my queue, I've gotta get going. I'll see you later Frank, don't worry about the dishes, I'll deal with that when I get home." (Y/n) moved back into the kitchen, placing her half empty plate into the sink for now. "Hey (Y/n)." Frank called to her before she could rush off. "Yeah?" She asked, turning her attention to him. "Thank you, for everything." He stood from his seat, and crossed the room, pulling her into a hug. "You're welcome Frank." She hummed as she hugged him back, feeling as though she's already made a difference in his chaotic life.

Buy me a coffee sometime? ☕️

(Click the coffee for my Kofi link, IT'S NOT NECESSARY BTW.)

I honestly couldn't think of a better way of ending this one, but I hope it was satisfactory either way. I'm a little rusty, as I haven't consistently written in ages, so I apologize if it didn't turn out as good as you hoped. (゜-゜)

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Common Grounds / Chapter 6

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: T (for now... you know me, this will go up)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Food mention, slow burn, yearning, flirting, overly charming Marcus, seriously the man is a menace in this chapter, so much unresolved sexual tension

Summary: ...Is it Friday yet?

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I'm so used to writing behemoth chapters that I panic and worry that anything less than 2k isn't worth posting and that I should make it longer, LOL, but I like where this ends. Next chapter they FINALLY go out to dinner <3

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter

"Shit!" 

Steaming milk sloshes over the rim of the coffee cup, running down the sides and creating a pool on the counter. Sighing, you grab a replacement cup, pour the overflowing contents into the fresh one, and hand it to the customer.

"That's like the third time you've done that this morning," Sam remarks. "Are you okay?:

"I'm great," you answer quickly. 

"I'm glad," Sam answers, "but you should get out of outer space and back to the coffee shop before we run out of milk. And cups."

"I ran into Derrick yesterday," you say abruptly.

Sam drops the scone they're holding, sending crumbs scattering around your feet. "Excuse me? You're just going to blurt that out?" They whirl to you, grabbing your shoulders and staring into your face. "Are you okay? What did he say? Did you punch him? Can I punch him?"

"No… no punching," you say, trying to squirm out of Sam's hold. "It's fine, he just came to rub some million dollar deal in my face."

"Hey," the customer at the counter says weakly. "Um, can I–can I have my… scone?"

"This is important," Sam announces, barely turning around to acknowledge them. "Babe, you were supposed to call me if he ever showed up."

"It's fine, Sam. Besides…" you say casually, knowing you're about to drop an even larger bomb on them. "...Marcus was there."

You grab a scone from the shelf, put it into a white pastry bag, and hand it to the befuddled customer. 

"Marcus?" Sam shrieks, before schooling their face into the most ridiculous, overexaggerated customer service look you’ve ever seen. “Welcome to Common Grounds! What can I get started for you?” 

"Mmhmm," you hum an affirmative to Sam as you pour the woman’s requested iced coffee.

"Excuse me," Sam begins indignantly, but you interrupt.

"Guess that's what happens when you miss a day!"

"I'll keep that in mind next time and come vomit in the cookie dough."

"Sam," you scold, laughing. 

The next customer is eyeing both of you warily. "They're kidding," you tell him. "It's a bit we do. Can I interest you in a cookie? Chocolate chip."

The man grimaces and shakes his head. "Can I get one of those… lavender lattes?"

You smile and ring the man up. That reminds you–Marcus should be in any minute. You're giddy–even more so than usual. Marcus had asked you on a date, hugged you twice, kissed you on the forehead, and suggested that he'd like to do much more than just that. You're vibrating with excitement at the prospect of going on another date with the man on Friday. 

"Hellooooo," Sam says in a sing-song voice. "Why was Marcus there?"

"He was um," you stammer as you pull the espresso shot, "he came back to the cafe to uh, ask me on a date?"

As Sam's jaw drops, you suddenly remember something. 

"Hey! You owe me two months of opening up shop!" you exclaim, a wide grin on your face. 

"First of all, I fucking told you," Sam says, bumping you with their hip. "Second of all, when is your date?"

"He took me out for ice cream yesterday," you say, "after the whole Derrick debacle and a shit morning at work–Lavender latte!–and we went for a walk and talked for like, an hour."

"Oh. My fucking. God," Sam deadpans. "I'm dead. I've passed away. Who takes someone out for an ice cream and a walk in the year of our lord two thousand twenty-two? That's a date straight out of the fifties."

"I guess Marcus does. And he's taking me to dinner on Friday, too," you tell them, just before taking another order. 

"Did he kiss you?" Sam asks as you pour an americano with room for cream.

You avoid making eye contact. "On–on the forehead. Once."

"No way. I refuse to believe that," Sam says, shaking their head. 

"It's true! He's very…" you trail off, searching for the correct word. Just as you decide on 'chivalrous,' Sam chooses another one for you. 

"...chaste."

You shrug. "He's really sweet. Americano!"

"Oh, I cannot wait to see this," Sam says gleefully. 

You turn to them, confused. "See what?"

"He's here."

Your head whips comically to the front doors, where Marcus is just entering. You're sure that your startled, hopeful expression gives everything away, but for the first time, you don't care. Marcus is looking right back at you with poorly-disguised excitement. As he approaches the counter, his smile grows so wide that his eyes crinkle. 

"We're closed," Sam says.

"Perfect," Marcus replies, not missing a beat, "then you're free to come to breakfast with me."

"Ha! I wish," you say emphatically. "What's for breakfast?"

"Hmm," Marcus scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Chocolate chip pancakes? Or no–how about something savory. Eggs benedict?"

"If you're going to come in here and make me hungry, I'm going to ban you for life," you tease. 

"Fine, fine," Marcus sighs. "Well, if you're open, I'll have my usual–" he winks at you, "–and a pastry of your choice. Surprise me."

"I know just the thing," you say. "Carrot date muffins. There's a whole serving of vegetables in each one, but they're so sweet that you'd never even know."

"You know I have a sweet tooth," Marcus comments, except this time he says it, there's something far more flirtatious in his tone, blatantly so. He says it while looking not at the muffin, but at you, with a little glint in his eye. 

Oh, fuck. You aren't going to make it to Friday.

"Hi."

Both of you jump slightly, the tension not exactly dissipating, just… morphing into a different kind of awkwardness as Sam stands right next to you, looking between the two of you with obvious amusement. 

"Hi Sam!" Marcus exclaims. "Feeling better today?"

"Yeah, guess I missed a lot yesterday," they say pointedly.

"Should I have asked for your permission first?" Marcus asks, smiling. 

"Maybe you should," Sam says, crossing their arms. "I'm very protective of her, you know."

"Sam," you exclaim, embarrassed at both of their antics. 

"I promise I have only the best of intentions," Marcus announces, standing up straight and taking on an overly formal tone. "I have a reservation for two at Osteria Morini on Friday and I plan on treating the lady right.”

You can’t stop giggling at Marcus’s antics. You’re in that wonderful place where everything your crush does is absolutely hilarious, no matter how dorky, and you can’t help but find his playfulness exceedingly funny and charming. 

“Are you going to buy her a dessert?” Sam asks, raising one eyebrow. 

“If the lady wishes,” Marcus says, syrupy sweet, with a little wink in your direction. 

“Okay, I’m out,” Sam says, throwing up their hands.

“Giving up that easily?” Marcus accuses. “I could be anybody!” 

You thrust his cup of coffee into his hands. “Out, you menace.”

Marcus is ready. His fingers wrap around yours as he takes the drink, and your hand is engulfed by his larger one. “Text me tonight,” he says softly. “If you want.”

“I will,” you promise. 

Marcus pulls away, his fingers lingering on yours until the last possible second. Your eyes follow him out of Common Grounds until he disappears from view outside.

“That. Was. Disgusting,” Sam remarks, coming up behind you. 

“Uh huh,” you breathe, not really listening. 

Sam hands you an empty cup. “Hazelnut almond milk latte, one extra shot.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Dude.”

“Okay!” You grab a shot glass and press ‘dispense’ on the machine. 

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Wow.

– – – –

In the evening, just after eating dinner, you text Marcus.

Beep Boop. Will my texts go to some government database somewhere?

The reply comes almost immediately.

Only if you text my work number. Which you DON’T have. 

Classified?

Nah, just too risky. Don’t want to mix business and… you know ;)

Lord help you, Marcus is using winky faces.

Business and… what?

Don’t make me say it. 

Is the time still not right? 

No, the time is not right. 

Don’t tell me you’re a “only kiss after the 3rd date” kinda guy

I guess you’ll have to find out. ;)

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck—you scrub your hands down your face and groan loudly into the room. He’s going to kill you. 

Maybe so, but I’d still kind of like a preview, you type out, your heart in your throat.

I’ll tell you this. You are so damn pretty that waiting until the 3rd date just to kiss you is going to be completely out of the question. 

Oh really!?

Yes. Believe me, I’ve been sorely tempted more than once. 

Do tell.

Before it was remotely proper. 

Your eyes widen. How long has Marcus been interested in you? 

Okay, tell me this. When IS the right time?

Hmmmmmmmmmmm

I’ll have to think about that. 

You wait. You wait until you’re blue in the face. In reality, it’s probably only a matter of minutes, but you’re nearly vibrating out of your skin before you see the next text from Marcus.

Ideally? It’s after dinner on Friday. I’ll walk you back to your place, of course. When we get there, I’d take your hand in mine and tell you I had a really nice time. You’d agree, looking up at me. Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…

You wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. The story doesn’t continue. Eventually, you text back. 

MARCUS!

Yes? ;)

It’s going to be a long couple of days if you’re going to play it like THAT.

Is that a problem?

I’m going to want to skip dinner, at this point.

Another pregnant pause as Marcus apparently deliberates his response.

That’s good to know. Although dinner might be a good idea.

You take the bait.

Why’s that?

…keep your strength up?

Jesus fucking christ. 

Okay, I’ll stop. 

You press your face into the pillows and groan again. When you don’t respond, Marcus texts again. 

I’m sorry if I was out of line there.

You weren’t, I’m just… frustrated?

I know the feeling. I’ll leave you alone after this: I’m VERY much looking forward to Friday. 

Me too.

See you soon, beautiful.

You resist the urge to throw yourself onto your stomach on your bed and kick your feet into the air. You’ve never felt this way about anyone, let alone someone you haven’t even kissed. Marcus has this ability to stir up feelings you didn’t even know you had. A deep seated longing settles in your stomach, an overwhelming need rising in your core. 

You scroll up and read the longest message again. ‘Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…’

Your eyes flutter shut as you imagine the scene he’d painted, shuddering as you picture Marcus’s hands on you. You remember the way his fingers had encircled your wrist the day before. They’d overlapped. He had huge hands. If one of them cupped your cheek, you imagine, his fingers could touch the nape of your neck as he pulled you in close. 

You conjure up the feeling of his breath ghosting across your lips. Would he linger there for a few seconds? With the two of you mere inches apart, would Marcus stop and savor that moment just before your lips connect? Or would he be impatient, immediately capturing your mouth with his, all of the tension that had built up over the past few weeks making it unbearable to wait another instant? 

Thoughts of kissing Marcus after your date on Friday lead you to another, bigger question:

If you invite him up, will he say yes?

[mosseater420]

ENA oc doodles and one singular doodle featuring BBQ ENA because I like her average conversation between NIN (the ENA) and PDF (bird looking thing) (dialog inspired by this FNAF animation)

BBQ ENA meets Skittles (she is not fond of him)

NIN's fight or flight form has a (rare) friendly interaction with Skittles (one wrong move and he is dead)

and last but not least NIN in her casual clothing holding one of her dogs (the dog's name is Behemoth btw)

might drop some NIN lore later if I feel like it

[aardvark-123]

~Fallout 4 Companions React to Being Cheated On~ (By you, the Commonwealth's infamous heartbreaker.)

Ada would be appalled when she walked in on you and KL-E-0 making love on the armour workbench. "I don't believe my eye. That technique you're using is simply appalling!" she'd declare, shoving you to one side. "Sorry about them, babes. But now that I'm here, why don't we take this opportunity to have a practical demonstration?" Ada would purr, drawing a metal finger along KL-E-0's chin. "I thought you'd never ask," KL-E-0 would smirk, wrapping her slender arms around Ada's steel-clad shoulders. "Show me what that custom body can do, handsome. The shop can wait for a few hours..."

Cait wouldn't seem particularly bothered. "You and the Mariner, then, is it? I'd never have seen that coming!" she'd laugh. "Why don't I go and get Arturo or that lady from Vault 81, and we can have a double date? No, don't get up, sure I can fetch them right now if you want!" Cait would wander off, and then, after a reasonable wait, start beating up the nearest mannequin with a sledgehammer. She may be polyamorous, but you still should have told her you were seeing the Mariner, and sadly Cait doesn't know how to express that feeling while maintaining her party-girl persona. She settles for being increasingly passive-aggressive (and then just plain aggressive) until you get the message.

"B-by George!" Codsworth would cry, dropping his tea tray. "Sir and/or Mum, what on Earth is happening? I don't- I don't- I don't understand..." Poor Codsworth would want to believe it was all just a misunderstanding, and that somehow you'd cheated on him completely by accident, but in his CPU he'd know it was no accident. In tears, he'd pack his bags and hover out of your life forever.

"I was thoroughly aware zat exclusive relationships are ze most popular variety," Curie would weep with anger. "But never could I 'ave imagined 'ow painful it would feel, seeing you, twisted around zat jumpsuit-wearing harlot Kasumi! Y-you made me human! You showed me 'ow it felt to be in love! Was it all just a game?! Did you merely think you were toying with ze pretend feelings of a poor, naive little robot?! Putain! Get out of my sight, or I SWEAR I shall kill you!"

Paladin Danse would seem, if anything, to underreact. "I see," he'd growl. "Not like I could ever hope compete with Paladin Brandis's rogueish bad-boy charms. Well, I hope you're happy together..." And that would be that. ...Or so it would seem until you tuned into the Brotherhood of Steel's radio channel. "People of the Commonwealth, do not fall in love with the individual calling themself the Sole Survivor! They are single-handedly responsible for a trail of broken hearts from here to Sanctuary Hills," Scribe Haylen would recite. "Paladin Danse would like me to add that, contrary to some of his previous remarks, the Sole Survivor is terrible at kissing. And now, the weather..."

"I know I can't really complain about you keeping secrets," Deacon would say, "but you've got to be upfront about these things! If it's... if we're just something casual, say so! Don't just leave me hanging until I find you shacked up with some other handsome devil, okay? ...Okay, then. When do I get a turn with Fahrenheit?"

Dogmeat would be deeply upset. "How could you?! And with my sister, of all people!" he'd bark. "I never treated you wrongly. I was always there when you needed me, I fetched your slippers and that tennis ball you kept throwing for some reason! I was the PERFECT GENTLEMAN! But no, apparently that isn't ENOUGH for you!" he'd howl with despair. Dogmeat would flee into the night, his tears mingling with the rain dripping down his snout, and you'd never see him again.

Porter Gage wouldn't exactly be thrilled, but you're the Overboss of Nuka World, so what can he do? (Tell you about a secret stash of Nuka Cola Quantum, but neglect to mention that it's currently stored in a super mutant behemoth's fridge, that's what.)

Glory would kick you in the groin. "That's what you GET for playing stupid games, you wanker!" Since Glory is wearing a brand-new pair of adjustable women's Chore™ boots by the Original Muck Boot Company™, made of flexible cloth on the lower leg and sturdy rubber on the foot, her kick would be devastating.

"Wow," Hancock would chuckle, seeing you curled up in bed with Bobbi No-Nose. "Just... wow. I was feeling kinda bad about seeing Moe Cronin and Trader Rylee behind your back, in addition to sleeping with Mel behind Bobbi's back, but not any more! ...What? Oh, I know Mel's gay, but we're still doing it behind your back, Miss Noseless Wonder."

Old Longfellow would drink himself into a daze and forget about you.

MacCready would drink himself into a daze, shoot you in the head, and help himself to your things.

Nick should've known better than to get mixed up with you. From the moment you slunk into his office, lips red with lies and Maybelline, eyes dark with broken dreams, he could tell you were trouble. There was something about you, though - maybe it was how you drew yourself up like a cat when the detective held your hand, or maybe it was how those hips of yours swayed like an anaconda. None of it matters now, though. Nick opened up his heart to you, sweet cheeks, and he sure as Hell ain't making that mistake again. (You were found snogging Mr Zwicky, as it happens, in the bus on top of the school.)

Piper would confront you loudly and vociferously in public. "What the Glowing Sea was that, Blue?! Just how long've you been seeing Ellie Perkins behind my back, huh? What's going on with the two of you? And does Ellie think I'm cute?!" The questions would come in faster than you could make excuses, but Piper would offer you an olive branch when her head was clearer. She'd still be your friend, as long as you'd learned your lesson and wouldn't toy with a starry-eyed reporter's heart again.

Preston would be heartbroken, to the point that he wouldn't even be able to look at you for a few days. Nevertheless, he'd swallow his feelings and try to stay on good terms with you, because the Minutemen need a talented builder/pest control specialist on their side. What's his happiness worth compared to the safety of the whole Commonwealth?

Strong would wander in while you're in bed with Marcus and not react at all. "Strong here to borrow torch," he'd say, taking a torch out of the drawers. "Don't break the handcuffs, all right, Marcus?" he'd add, wandering back out of the room.

"I don't believe your nerve, seeing Strong behind my back! What's WRONG with you?!" Marcus would be weeping with fury and occasionally throwing things at you while he packed his bags. "I thought we had something special, but no, I guess I'm just another warm, green body to be used and thrown away! You pig! I'm taking the kids and moving back to Jacobstown."

X6-88 wouldn't know what to feel to begin with. He isn't programmed to feel anything, really; the sex was just to give you some enrichment. X6-88 is a Courser, nothing more. But why does he tense up so, and where does that fire in his heart come from, when he sees you in bed with Doctor Li? Kissing you and caressing you, letting you try on her lab coat... There's nothing else for it. One of these days, the good doctor will have to suffer a sudden, fatal accident.

[haveihitanerve]

Ripred was on his way home when he detected someone following him. The rat slowed, casually, ears flicking, and released a slightly more aggressive breath to identify who it was that was stupid enough to stalk the Raging Rat. He relaxed only marginally when he realized it was Ares, Gregor's bond. Ripred turned, waiting patiently for the bat to arrive and say/ask whatever he needed that he had followed Ripred all the way out here for. The bat was just recovering from his brush with the plague, but was getting stronger everyday and the doctors encouraged him to fly as much as possible, so it could also just be that the bat was testing his strength by flying out here, although Ripred doubted it. He flicked his tail, waiting as the bat finally came into view, and soared towards him. To the rats surprise, Ares did not slow down as he coasted in for a landing, and Ripred even had to take a few steps back to avoid being impaled by the bats massive claws. Ares seemed unperturbed by this, and folded his wings neatly against his body. Ripred decided to excuse it, since the bat was recovering from his brush with death and probably just couldn't land well yet. “Ripred.” the bat greeted. “Ares.” Ripred returned. He made to start walking again, hoping to walk and talk so he could get home quicker, but Ares massive wing snapped out, blocking his path. “Id like a word.” Ares purred smoothly. “It will only take a moment.” Ripred frowned at him, but slowly lowered himself into a sitting position, facing that bat. “Yes?” he drawled, annoyed. 

Ares claws glinted in the light of the gems that sparkled over their heads, holding the light of torches that had already long since passed. Ripred cocked his head in interest. “I was hoping to speak to you about the manner of my bond.” Ares started conversationally. Ripred was no fool. There was a distinct bite to the bats voice, though he tried his best to sound falsely polite. “What of m-the pup?” Ripred asked. Ares regarded him with his sharp brown eyes, and Ripred knew then the bat had dropped the pretense. “You mistreat him.” Ripred flinched back in surprise. That was not what he had expected. “I beg pardon?” “you may beg all you like,” Ares said, waving one wing dismissively. “I do not have the time, nor the patience to hear it. But I do have the time and the patience for my bond. And he informed me of your quest for the cure. For me. And he informed me of how you spoke to him. How you treated him. There are no secrets between us. I know.” Ripred coiled his tail around his feet. Ah. There was a look in the bats eyes that Ripred had not seen in a very, very long time. Not since the bat had been bonded into the royal family and escaped his punishments. This was the most Feared and Hated bat in the Underland. This was not the Ares that Prince Henry had bonded to, not the bat Aurora and Luxa knew as their friend. This was the Bellicose Bat, know as the Bane of Bats, a behemoth in size and strength. Ripred was facing a whole new opponent now. “What of it?” Ripred asked back, slightly clipped. Ares still examined him with that unflinching gaze, wings almost relaxed, claws tapping the stone beneath him. “I understand you care for him,” The bat began. Ripred did not bother to open his mouth as the bat plowed on. “And I also understand your adverse feelings towards showing it.” the bats mouth tightened into a line. “But I do not understand your belittling and degrading of him. Your beating, both verbal and literal.” His claws glinted. “From now on you do not make my bond hurt any more than he already has, understood?” Ares intoned, voice still the same easy tone as before, but harder than stone. “He does not belong to the Underland.” Ripred said carefully. “It will get him killed.” Ares wings flared, the only warning Ripred got before the bat launched himself at him. Ripred dove, but he was too late. His head hit the stone with a sickening crack that reverberate down his spine. The bat loomed over him, claws digging into his tail and shoulder to keep him down. His face was twisted in a snarl. “He belongs to me.” the bat hissed. “I am not against tough love. So long as there is genuine love in the equation. You make that clear, it is fine.” the bats wings shifted slightly. “I was also made aware that you and Gregor are on better terms now?” Ripred dipped his head, the only movement he allowed himself. The bat eyed him carefully, then slowly slipped off him to where he had been seated before. Ripred sat up, eyeing his tail. It oozed blood, but not much. The bat had not done too much damage. “It will heal.” Ares informed him dismissively. “I did not inflict too much pressure.” Ripred felt a renewed cold shiver slide down his spine, but he merely nodded. “Have I made myself clear?” The bat asked, switching subjects as though they had just been discussing the weather. “Yes.” Ripred intoned, voice low. “It was never- I never meant to hurt him.” Ripred finally finished lamely. He did not know why he had felt the need to clarify, to prove himself to the bat, but Ares eyes shone with recognition. “Good.” Ares said, opening his wings. “See that you do not.” And he took off, gone within seconds. The only indication he had ever even been there the throbbing of Ripreds head and two pools of blood, dripped off the bats talons, on the floor. The Raging Rat shook himself and started running for home.

[ober-affen-geil]

Leverage: Redemption 2x07 "The Big Rig Job"

[Begin ID

Gif 1: Inside the Leverage headquarters during the day, Christmas decorations everywhere. Sophie is leaning against the bar, Harry is walking through the door from the outside behind her, Eliot is standing still looking broody and flexing his fingers. Parker is behind him dressed in a faux nutcracker outfit standing in front of a Christmas tree holding two plugs, blowing in them to prepare to plug them together. Breanna walks across the shot with her back to the camera, she is speaking to the group and her words "YDN tracking is an industry behemoth. They buy up local companies," are written in orange along the bottom.

Gif 2: Focus on Breanna as she finishes speaking, she casually puts on a pair of sunglasses. Her words "just to acquire their shipping contracts" are written on the bottom in orange.

Gif 3: Focus on Parker with Eliot turned to look at her. She is looking at the tree out of shot and, with triumphant glee, she plugs the light strands together and a bright glow begins to shine from just off camera, Eliot starts to react. Cut to a wide shot to see the tree she was standing in front of is now putting out a frankly unbelievable amount of light. Eliot throws his hand up between his face and the light, ducking and staggering away. Parker is looking up at the tree in rapturous adoration.

Gif 4: Focus on Sophie, she is holding a hand up to shade her eyes and squinting. Cut to Harry, who is shading his eyes and looking away with a small fond, impressed smile.

Gif 5: Focus on Breanna with her sunglasses on looking right into the light. She smirks and tilts an eyebrow.

Gif 6: Cut to Parker standing in front of the tree, apparently completely unaffected by the light. Eliot still has a defensive hand up and is staggering towards her. She gestures defeatedly and says "I need more lights!", words along the bottom in white.

Gif 7: Focus on Parker and Eliot as Eliot reaches the plug and, with a heroic effort, wrenches the light strands apart. The tree goes dark and Parker looks at him in surprise. He drops the plugs and puts a hand out to steady himself.

Gif 8: Focus on Eliot walking away from the tree, he is still hunched a little defensively but is straightening as he moves. His eyes are squeezed shut and he says "I looked right at it. I looked right at it.", words along the bottom in yellow. Parker is behind him looking up at the tree, out of frame, with her hands on her hips.

End ID]

[sleidog]

2, 4, 9, 12, 14 for Slei!

Did you design them with any other characters/OCs from their universe in mind?  Nope! slei was the first within his little group that i designed, I just knew i wanted a handsome rougeish himbo [originally he looked a bit different, given he has the makeover kit hair/face but the general idea was still the same] previously me and stu had been playing with my charr Cal and his human, Des, who was originally commander in our shared canon, but stu hates playing mesmer, especially after the slog that was HoT at release, so we ended up writing it into the story that slei took over as commander since i had no problem getting through story instances with a ranger! that didn't influence his physical appearance at all though, he developed independently :> his personality was originally a bit more mean and aloof [to uh, keep people at arms length because outlaw stuff is dangerous and he doesn't want them hurt] but he turned into more of a traditional 'loves his friends' robin-hood type In developing their backstory, what elements of the world they live in played the most influential parts?  probably his general upbringing! growing up in the grove for the first 2-3 years of his life led him to resent it a bit, but his mentors kept him back because of his head-in-the-clouds behavior possibly making him a liability outside of the grove- instead he worked in starbower as a waiter for his first few years, eventually leaving to see the world when his mentors thought he had enough life experience for it. buuut when slei did leave the grove, he saw everything happening, refugees due to all of the problems going on with the risen being displaced with no homes and not much help either. so- he ends up drifting around trying to figure out how to assist and falls in with a small gang based in lions arch. originally, this gang wasn't as... moral, as slei ends up running it when he fights the original leader to take charge and make things run better. being in that position and seeing people with nothing struggle along with no help made him eventually decide that he's done fine with nothing, so he can help them. he steals from the better off and never disadvantages anyone through theft, and more importantly! never kills anyone. Are they based off of you, in some way?  in a small way, slei is much more passive than i am, i think! we're similar in that we'd go out of our way to make someone else happy, even at our own expense [i don't do this as much anymore, i have a bit more self love now 😂] BUT i do still get great joy out of doing things for other people, just not to the point where i'm hurting myself because of it, which slei absolutely still does, he's the commander after all, his life doesn't matter if he can save the majority What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: writing, drawing, edits, etc.)?  2 things! his hair is very complex and sometimes drawing it with the right weight and flow is hard, and writing him, i often forget to include his 'accent' and how he drops his 'g's and shortens some words, he sounds very casual If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be?  in a sense of things to keep in mind when interacting with/drawing slei, it's that he's an absolute behemoth of a sylvari by normal standards, he's huge, not unnaturally huge [no shade to anyone with very big sylvari, but putting this within the game's general bounds] but he's definitely a head turner and towers over most by more than a few inches. second, he's surprisingly careful and delicate in his actions, he's not a big cumbersome guy, his actions and moves are very precise and deliberate, and that comes from working with animals and being a ranger in general and needing to sit and wait for the perfect shot

[cruelangcls]

that 'good girl' comment was already unfair. add the way she said it and daphne was already feeling faint. she just needed to keep it together though. with the fingers removed, as much as she already missed the feeling, it gave her a moment to breathe. breathe through the whine that bubbled up when the fingers went missing. "right, right-...no, yeah- i've heard things about dry cocks going into asses and it's not...not good?" daphne tried to sound casual as she dropped to her knees, but it was difficult given the monster staring back at her. even in shorts, she could tell this was a behemoth. "i...am not one for ego, but i am very glad that my ass is...is so big, because this is wild." maybe it was a good fit. an ungodly large cock for an ungodly thick ass. one dainty hand slid up to the waist band, careful to brush over the thick shaft and pull them down to reveal dom properly. "oh-!" a shuddering gasp and the blonde could feel her body trembling, lips watering, eyes widened.

"there's that please i was looking for," dom chuckled lightly. "good girl, daphne." she wasn't being at all strict about it, but she could already tell it wasn't too early to start teaching daphne how to be a good, submissive bottom. the brunette bit her lip as her gaze followed daphne's to where she was watching her own ass get fingered, dom's hand working slowly but steadily between thick cheeks. "you're not the only one who needs to be ready, by the way," dom said with a teasing smirk, giving her friend's ass one last teasing push with three fingers before pulling them out. "i think it's time to put that virgin mouth to work for the first time. go and ahead and get on your knees for me, and take my cock out of my shorts when you're ready for it… just promise you won't faint at how big it is."

[lake-cosay]

infinity train percy jackson au stuff because i'm hyperfixating

(quick disclaimer i havent read the books cause adhd but ive been digging into the story as much as i can through literally every other medium lol)

so the basics: jesse is the son of posiedon. the story would follow roughly the same plot as the first book etc, with jesse not knowing he's a demigod, shit goes down, he ends up at camp, gets a quest, etc

even though tulip fits annabeth way better than lake does, lake will take annabeth's place since yknow percy and annabeth end up together and stuff. plus i like the chemistry (i'm specfically thinking of the "you drool when you sleep" moment that's so them)

tulip sorta technically takes grover's place but she's not a satyr or protector or anything she just needs a spot in the trio and that's what's left lol. she's a daughter of hephaestus (you could argue athena for sure buuuut ive seen other ppl say hephaestus and i like that better for her, especially cause then her and lake can be twins).

some details about jesse:

nate is technically his half brother. whitney is both their moms, stephan is nate's bio dad and legal dad to both of them. i feel like their parents would at least let jesse and nate know that jesse has a different dad, but they would keep the god part to themselves to keep them safe.

so here's the backstory with whitney and poseidon (yes i thought it through this much leave me alone): whitney met poseidon when she was young and they had a thing. she knew stephan at the time, he was her closest friend but they weren't romantic. stephan supported whitney's relationship with poseidon as long as she didn't forget him, which she never did. jesse was conceived and poseidon left, as he does, but stephan was there for whitney. stephan helps raise jesse and eventually whitney falls in love (stephan had done that a while ago), and then a few years later they have nate.

jesse knows stephan isn't his bio dad but he doesn't care, they love each other just the same. it's not something a lot of people know either, it's one of the few things jesse keeps private about himself. the only people who know are immeadiate family.

so yeah, stephan and whitney don't tell the kids about the god thing to keep them safe. they're aware of CHB, and they're sure that jesse's swimming skills come from posiedon. thankfully he doesn't show any crazy powers or anything so they're not too overprotective.

upon arriving to camp, everyone's sure he's an apollo kid. the only person who isn't is lake, but that's also only because they saw him control the water. i could see jesse being put in the apollo cabin to save space in the hermes cabin despite not being claimed because they're just so sure he's apollo's son.

jesse hates fighting. he could probably be pretty decent at it if he wanted to, but he doesn't. he avoids having to learn combat as much as possible. he talks to lake about how much he hates it, and lake says he should really learn at the least the basics just for his own safety, so he agrees to let lake teach him some in private.

jesse refuses to choose a weapon, and just uses a shield and his hydrokinesis to fight but only when necessary. the shield is celestial bronze and turns into a bracelet with a charm that's a mini version of the shield.

about lake:

lake is a child of hephaestus, twin to tulip. tulip doesn't know she has a twin. lake was raised at camp and had never left, until one day, they just couldn't take it anymore and left camp. a magical deer (the yet-to-be-named alan dracula) insisted on following them, which they quickly welcomed.

lake doesn't have the usual abilities of a hephaestus kid. instead, they're more like one of his automatons, being inhumanly strong and endurant. though it doesn't look like metal, few things can truly puncture lake's skin. they've also got some pretty bad eczema and a good deal of scars, so yeah. their skin still makes them stand out.

lake especially appreciated the companionship, since once they left, they began being tailed by a monster (who's like an amalgamation of mace and sieve, haven't quite figured that part out yet).

lake wandered the country for about a month and a half, headed west. they didn't know why, they just felt compelled to head west. eventually they ended up in arizona and met jesse, and the two became friends naturally over the course of a few months.

lake had managed to throw the flec-monster off their trail for a good while, but one day, it finds them. jesse's parents hear the commotion, and upon seeing a monster, tell him to fight back. jesse doesn't know how, and lake tries to explain it to him as they realize he must be a demigod too, but lake gets knocked out. alan dracula picks up lake and urges jesse to run, and his parents tell him to follow the deer. at this point, they've realized that alan dracula had led lake to him to protect him. so jesse follows AD, and he takes them to camp half-blood.

lake isn't exactly happy to be back at CHB but that's overshadowed by them worrying about jesse. they watch over him in the infirmary.

lake grew up at camp. not quite sure how they got there, but tulip doesn't know she has a twin until she has her own little adventure where she arrives at camp aroung age 12-13. megan thinks lake (whose deadname is magnolia, maggie for short, MT for really short) is dead.

lake was probably raised by a mix of chiron, hestia, and some of the older campers when they were really young. since they're the youngest demigod the camp ever had, and since they got into so much trouble in the hermes cabin, they were moved to the big house. eventually after tulip arrived and the two of them were claimed (at the same time), they moved to the hephaestus cabin. lake honestly hates it there and wants their bed in the big house back.

lake had a habit of sneaking out of camp to explore, and because they just wanted to be able to do what they choose damnit, but never got far before being chased back in by the flec-monster. that's how they got most of the scars.

their chosen weapon is a pair of celestial bronze daggers that can turn into rings.

i really wanna do something with lake's mirror but i don't really have any ideas lol. sometimes in aus where lake's human (or in this case, part human) i just give them a birthmark on their leg or smthn, ideas are very much welcome!

now for tulip:

like i said, tulip is a daughter of hephaestus. tulip doesn't know she's a demigod until her parents take her to camp when she's about 12. they do it for her safety, and also to give her somewhere to go while they work out the divorce stuff. tulip meets lake pretty quickly and they get claimed together. tulip spends summers at camp but goes home the rest of the year.

tulip is definitely very smart and pragmatic like an athena kid, and she gets along well with just about everyone in athena's cabin. however, she doesn't like battle the way they do. she'd rather be making something than fighting. she still likes coding and brings her laptop with her to camp.

she probably made a little robot who very closely resembles one-one. he's not technically in this au but i'll give him some little cameos.

tulip attempts to bond with lake by making them cool weapons. it kinda works, but not as well as she'd hoped.

one night tulip hears lake leaving the cabin in the middle of the night. she catches up with them, and finds them all dressed and packed and equiped. she questions them, and lake just bluntly states they're leaving. tulip realizes they're serious about leaving camp. she asks them to wait and gives them some extra supplies and weapons before they leave, makes them promise not to die out there, then helps them get away from the flec-monster long enough to get headed away from camp.

tulip definitely worries about lake, mainly cause she's seen just how dangerous the flec-monster can be, but she tries to just trust lake. it's only about 6 months before lake shows back up with jesse, which is very confusing, but ultimately tulip is happy lake's back and this new kid is nice enough. a bit painfully nice, tulip takes one look at him and says he must be an apollo kid. she doesn't understand why lake is insisting he can control water. he can't be a kid of the big three, he's a dork. obviously he's not that kid from the prophecy, and lake just hit their head a little too hard when they were knocked out.

tulip has pyrokinesis, as well as the usual abilities of a hephaestus kid

her weapon is a good old sword, a special one she made that can turn into a variety of tools

a few more little things:

grace is a daughter of aphrodite who can charmspeak

simon is a son of either ares or athena, and would probably have a role very similar to luke's. i'm not gonna think about that too hard though because i have 0 interest in anything simon related lol (i also don't plan on yknow, planning out a whole plot for this so it doesnt really matter anyway)

i was thinking a lot of denizens, namely AD, the cat, atticus, tuba, etc could just be animals who were affected by the gods but i think that's kinda messy and im not gonna do that after all. but if you like the idea feel free to run w it

despite being younger and smaller lake has kicked simon's ass (in capture the flag and sparring) numerous times but simon refuses to admit it

i had a very vague idea involving medusa and reflections. that's it that's the whole idea that's all ive got

i just realized i did not think about amelia or any of the book 4 characters at all oops. sorry

i was very much inspired by these posts so check them out! also heavily inspired by the musical. i would love to know your thoughts and ideas for this because i am hyperfixating so bad lol

[peterpparkrr]

Pinned (pt. 4)

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: Anthony invites our intrepid seamstress to the theater. 

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: some mild references to period typical sexism and classism 

A/N: me 🤝 anthony: playing fast and loose with courtship expectations. Anyways, I was in a silly goofy mood and wrote this behemoth of a chapter! Yay progress! (Catch the Little Women (1994) reference)

prev. part // next part

“Lord Bridgerton,” You greeted the man who was making his way up the street to you with equal parts exasperation and amusement. 

“You ought to be careful, coming to this part of town in broad daylight, what if someone sees you?” You tease him as he comes up to where you’re hanging your laundry on one of the lines that’s set up going between one of your windows and the window across the way. 

“Well, it would not be proper to visit at night,” Anthony teases as he leans forward conspiratorially.

You shake your head at him but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

You ought to be concerned about your neighbors, and the gossip you are surely incurring as Anthony looks every part the nobleman thanks to his fine new jacket as he stands in the middle of Lambeth. You find yourself deeply pleased to see that he is wearing the vest that you made and sold to him to visit you, even if it makes him stick out even more than a man who carries himself like a Lord would do in your neighborhood. 

But you can’t find it in yourself to admonish the man for his timing, or for his dress, not with the nervous smile on his face as he fiddles with the ring on his pinky finger.

“This is hardly the most scandalous place I could be, my brother galavants with artists all times of day, and this hardly seems like a den of iniquity,” Anthony points out as he glances around at the fairly quiet street, which is nearly deserted here in the middle of the afternoon, save for a few of the wives down the way who are doing their own washing, and very intently trying not to be obvious as they watch this entire interaction unfold. 

“How did you know I’d be home today?” You ask as you drop the pair of cotton drawers in your hands back into your laundry basket as casually as you can manage.

“I discreetly inquired as to your work schedule,” He admits as he glances down. “I wanted to come and ask if you’d like to attend the theater with me on Friday night, and I didn’t want to have to do it while you were at work.”

“And I assume whomever you asked for my hours also let slip that I would not be working Friday night?” You ask with a knowing smile. “So that I’d have no excuse to turn you down.”

“I am a very thorough man,” Anthony replies with a smirk. 

“I have nothing to wear to the theater,” You start to protest. As your mind already starts to think of all the things that can go wrong, and all the reasons that this would be a horrible idea.

“I will take care of that,” Anthony replies with a wave of his hand.

“It would be terribly public,” You add.

“Courting does tend to be public,” He responds.

“People will talk, it won't take long for people to discover who I am, I am no actor,” You say, shaking your head. It would be easy for any man who shops in the store to recognize you. And the notoriety for you would be career-ruining, forget the scandal that Anthony would bring upon his own family. “It’ll be a scandal. Neither one of us wants that.”

“My family has a box, but I was thinking we could sit somewhere less… visible,” Anthony offers.

“I would prefer that,” You say with a nod. Shocking yourself with your easy acceptance. 

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Anthony says. Please that he doesn’t have to strong-arm you into agreeing to go with him.

“Oh, that’s not…” You reply quickly, trailing off your refusal. “I will meet you there.”

Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but the look in your eye assured him that we would not be able to make you budge.

“And I’ll find something of my own to wear,” You add.

“Meet me at the back entrance to The Lyceum at 7:30,” Anthony tells you. 

“I look forward to it,” You reply with a nod. “Now go away, before the neighbors have any more to gossip about,” You add as you shoo at him with a damp kitchen towel, causing him to chuckle before he turns to make his way back the way he came.

“Mrs. Haymow said a man came to speak to you this afternoon.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. It’s always facts with your brother. John is a pragmatist above all else. And a succinct speaker thanks to his political inclinations. 

He needs to make his points clearly and quickly to get anywhere with the movement. 

“Mrs. Haymow has nothing better to do than to stick her nose in other people’s business,” You reply with a huff as you drop John’s plate down in front of him, it clattering loudly against the wood as you move to grab your own plate from the small counter. 

It’s been the two of you for a long, long time. And after your parents died John took it upon himself to raise you. And it hadn’t been easy, but you had both been incredibly lucky. 

And you’d always be grateful for all John did for you, but you would not let him dictate your life, or but into things that are not his concern. 

“She said he was a very well-dressed man, that he looked like a gentleman,” John continues, ignoring your comment entirely.

When you don’t respond John finally looks up from his paper, his eyes boring into yours from across the tiny side table you ate your meals.

“Why did a gentleman come to speak to you?” He asks.

“I- he tracked down my address from someone at work, I don’t know,” You tell him. Always sprinkle in a sliver of truth when you lie. That had been one of the first lessons you’d learned once you were out on your own. “I sent him on his way as quickly as I could, did Mrs. Haymow tell you that?” You ask pointedly as you stab your fork into a potato.

“I just… I don’t want you getting mixed up with one of ‘em,” John replies. “That lot are bad news, always have been for folks like us.”

“I’m a big girl,” You tell him with a shake of your head. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, but I also know men like that will fill your head with all sorts of lies to get what they want,” He replies, glancing at you with a patronizing paternal look in his eyes that requires everything in your power to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at him.

“I know,” You reply quietly as you look down at your plate, before John nods and you both eat your food in silence.

The Lyceum is one of the most beautiful theaters in London. The stately Roman Columns in front of the theater were imposing and gave the entire building a delightfully fitting gravitas. 

In another life, you might have been an actress (if you’d been blessed with even a lick of talent, of course). But you always liked to daydream about sewing costumes for the theater when you walked through the West End. 

It was a fanciful dream filled with glamor and frivolity, but just possible enough that it didn’t leave you hopeless in your current life. 

And walking down the West End tonight you felt like there was an entirely new life to daydream. 

The life of a Lady. 

You’d spent the rest of the week working on the dress.

Even if you didn’t necessarily feel like a lady, you certainly looked the part. 

Your hair stood expertly pinned into one of the styles you’d seen making the rounds in the Ladies' magazines you’d seen some of the other seamstresses passing around. You had been practicing all week to get your hair to cooperate, and tonight you’d finally managed to obtain the look you’d been going for (after an hour of contemplating tearing all of your hair out).

And you’d put hours into hand beading the neckline of your dress. Adding puffs to the sleeves and just enough ruching that you looked elegant and nouveau without tipping toward gaudy. 

The fabric wasn’t new, you’d had to scrape together a nice gossamer you’d bought secondhand from a modiste (who had decided it was already out of style for her customers), a simple dress you’d already owned, and some cast-offs that Margery who worked down the street from you as a seamstress had been able to snatch without her mistress noticing. 

But by God, it looked like it had come straight from one of the French modistes on Bond Street.

You were terribly pleased with yourself.

The street was packed with fellow theater-goers in their own finery, and no one gave you a second glance or questioned your presence as you made your way through the crowd. You were already smiling as you walked around the corner of the Lyceum when you saw Anthony waiting outside a side door.

“Miss,” He greets you as he bows slightly once you’re standing in front of him.

“My Lord,” You reply, dropping into your own curtsy as you try not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Anthony Bridgerton looked like he was born to attend the theater. Or any of these events for the aristocracy. A waistcoat and tails were surely invented with him in mind, and you were not ashamed to admit that he made a dashing and unbelievable handsome image as he stood before you.

“This is…” Anthony starts to say before he trails off.

“Strange?” You offer with a wry smile.

“I was going to say it’s nice,” Anthony says.

“Oh.”

You didn’t know what to do, or to say. You had no clue how proper ladies behaved, or what exactly you were supposed to do in the presence of a gentleman within the confines of propriety.

“I’ve never had to pretend to be a lady before,” You quip as you tug at the shall you have draped over your elbows, the scrap of fabric you’d had left over from your dress.

“You are a lady-“ Anthony replies, already beginning to protest. 

“No,” You reply, laughing slightly. “I am not.” 

And you’ve never minded before. Unlike some of the other seamstresses or tailors in your acquaintance, you’d never felt a need to dream of a life in the upper echelons of society. You’d never understood their jealousy towards the people who bought the clothes you made. The way they yearned for a life they could never have.

And you weren’t fanciful, you weren’t foolish enough to believe that Anthony would offer that life to you. That he could offer it to you. But you did find yourself wishing he’d spotted you from across a ballroom instead of across the shop floor. That there could have been a semblance of a fair shot for the two of you.

But you pushed those thoughts out of your head. It wouldn’t do you any good to ruminate on the could have, should have, would haves of life. 

You were determined to enjoy your evening.

“I’m sorry we can’t watch from the audience with everyone else, I feel like I’m depriving you of the proper experience,” You tell him.

You’re not ashamed of yourself, but you can’t fully put out of your mind the inkling of fear that Anthony will be disappointed once he comes to truly know you. And see the fully unpolished person that you are.

“I don’t care as long as I’m with you,” He tells you gently, taking your hand in his own hand and squeezing it. 

“But are you absolutely certain you don’t want to sit in a box? It seems a terrible waste to hide you, especially when you look as lovely as you do tonight,” He adds. 

“I’ve never been to the theater, I’d much rather watch the show than be the spectacle,” You admit. 

“Then it’s a good thing I got us the best seats in the house,” Anthony replies.

Anthony offers you his arm and you know enough to intertwine your arm with his as he opens the door for you and leads you into the backstage of the theater.

You make your way silently past workers moving sets and candelabras and rigging lights. You watch actors in elaborate costumes muttering to themselves or having hushed conversations with each other all while you watch on in awe. 

You suddenly remember who you’re with and quickly shut your open mouth as you glance over at Anthony sheepishly only to see him watching you with a pleased smile.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never seen such beautiful clothing up close,” You tell him quietly.

“Of course, would you like to see it even closer?” He asks as he’s already beginning to pull you towards an actor.

“Oh heavens, no,” You protest quickly as you pull him back before you find yourself being introduced to some highfalutin Shakespearean actor. “I can’t-I don’t-” 

“It’s alright, we don’t have to,” Anthony replies. “Maybe next time though,” He teases as he pulls you back along the edge of the backstage.

“So where are these best seats in the house?” You ask as you glance around. You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, but after refusing to sit in the audience you seemed to have forgotten that there aren’t exactly other seating options.

“Follow me,” He says as he leads you towards the edge of the stage.

“William,” He greets a young boy. “Are we alright to go up?” He asks.

“Of course, sir,” the boy replies with a nod.

“Watch your step,” Anthony says as he offers you a hand to help you step up onto the ladder leading up to the catwalk. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“This isn’t my first time on a ladder, Lord Bridgerton,” You reply as you grab a fistful of your skirt before beginning your climb. Unaware of the fact that your now exposed shins are directly in front of Anthony’s eye line, or the effect that they are having on him.

“So how does a Viscount befriend a stagehand?” You ask once the two of you are sitting on the small bench along the catwalk, a blanket already draped across the seats when you reach the top of the ladder, a detail that did not escape your notice.

“It’s a long story,” Anthony replies as he rubs at his ear.

“Does it have anything to do with the opera singer who used to be your mistress?” You ask teasingly. “I can read, you know, and there is nothing seamstresses love more than reading the gossip sheets about our customers.”

“So you’d read about me,” Anthony replies, waggling his eyebrows at you in a ridiculous manner.

“You have chosen a very interesting part of my response to latch on to, Lord Bridgerton,” You reply with a scoff. 

“You don’t need to worry about upsetting me,” You add. “I wouldn’t expect you to have never touched a woman before, that hardly seems fair.”

“The play’s about to start,” Anthony shushes you with a grin as he gestures towards the stage.

The moment the music begins and candlelight illuminates the stage your attention is immediately focused on the stage in front of you. Even from the side perspective of the stage, it’s not difficult for the production to become your sole concentration with the actor’s convictions having you completely riveted.

Thank God it’s Shakespeare and not an opera, the Old English is tricky enough for you to distinguish let alone a different language. You would have been completely lost.

“Is he truly mad? Or is he just pretending to be?” You whisper as you lean over to Anthony in the middle of the performance.

“He is pretending for the others, but that is a point that scholars often debate,” Anthony replies as he turns to you, your own gaze still completely focused on the actors. 

You’re invested. And even though you harumph quietly to yourself when Ophelia drowns herself you find yourself deeply emotionally invested in the story.

Your every reaction is written all over your face, and you wince when you ought to, groan quietly when things don’t go the right way, and even gasp quietly when you realize how the story is going to end. Anthony finds himself watching you more than the play. Maybe because he’s already seen Hamlet and knows how it ends, but mostly because you and your face are far more compelling. 

It’s easy for Anthony to see that you wear your heart on your sleeve. You're so open, and your emotions play over your face even just at watching the fictional story that is unfolding before you. He understands why you're guarded. Why you feel like you need to protect yourself, but also sees what he had never quite been able to put a finger on before. The reason he had found you so captivating in the first place.

Your every move, your every word, you are unafraid to be yourself. His world is chalked full of people telling him how to behave, with expectations of who he is before they even meet him. Every young lady his mother has foisted upon him is so completely terrified of being a person because they’re all worried that suitors like him won’t like them if they are themselves.

You do not have that problem. You are unapologetic and unflinching in the face of a world that will do anything in its power to crush that down inside of you. You’re a bloody miracle and Anthony has no idea how you’ve made it this far in life.

And he’s also desperate to ensure that you remain so. And terrified of what might happen to you if he does not protect you with everything he has.

In the end, you're clapping just as loudly as the audience as you stand to your feet. Anthony stands beside you, applauding as well, though not nearly as excitedly.

“I would very much like to kiss you,” Anthony whispers in your ear. His warm breath tickles the exposed skin at your hairline.

“You can,” You reply in your own hushed tone as your head turns to look at him. 

Your eyes meet his as you grant him permission and suddenly his hand is coming up to the side of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. 

You know this is a terrible idea. That nothing good can come from this thing with Lord Bridgerton. That one way or another you’re going to get hurt. That the damage is only reaching deeper and deeper the more time you spend with this man. This man has everything he needs to ruin you.  

But with his lips on yours, it’s hard to feel like this is anything other than right.

Like you’re meant for each other. 

[niderofalltrades]

Nider blinked and seemed disconnected from the very second he heard the word 'behemoth' from the hacker. Since this, it might seem that he still listened to his partner, in reality his mind is processing the bomb that just dropped from out of nowhere, like a RKO.

That was very hard to learn from a casual talking where the bard was just teasing Lucas, especially when the later explicit say he wouldn't tell about his 'health problems'

Because, yes, transformation can fall into this category in a certain manner, and so he was a bit confused. Was he opening or did he just slip something he didn't want to.

Anyway, before Lucas could say more after a few minutes, the Aasimar put his left index on the other forehead and said :

"Wait, wait, wait... You ARE a behemoth? And you w- what the FUCK have you just drop ?!"

@niderofalltrades said, "You don't cry, you storm off the room, which is a bit of a problem when that room is OUR room."

"Listen I still cry. Thats the same thing." It absolutely isnt but hes not gonna change his answer now.