#I’m annoyed cause why is this urgency my issue?

[princesscallyie]

It’s seem like I can’t escape the “people don’t want to come to work so now I gotta do their mess” shenanigans…

[comatosebunny09]

misunderstanding | sylus

summary: it was all because the shopkeep got a little handsy. a little too comfortable, purring his name like that. he shrugged her off; did you not see that part? genre(s): romance, angst warning(s): alcohol, drunk reader, self-esteem issues, insecurities, language, short and sweet notes: inspired by that one scene from fifty shades of grey.

Imagine calling Sylus while you’re drunk off your ass.

When you’ve thrown back one too many long islands, and while your friends are all inside, shacked up with their significant others and happy. You toddle outside for some fresh air and a break from your own head.

His voice breaks through the static, all heavy with sleep. But he answers so quickly because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Been brief with your texts, ignoring his phone calls, and going out of your way to avoid running into him. He’s given you your space—minus Mephisto perched outside your window each night, watching you like a hawk.

“Hello?” Sylus husks, bed sheets rustling in the background as he maneuvers himself to sit up.

Somewhere far off, you feel bad for waking him. He already sleeps like shit. But you have liquid encouragement on your side, so you shove that guilt down, down, down in favor of poking the proverbial bear.

Your words are all blurred together, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you prop yourself up on a safety bollard, holding your phone to your ear with two hands.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I—What?”

You swallow thick. Feel the world swirling and your body teetering, but you press on.

“Why don’t you like me, Sylus? Am I not your type? Is it ‘cause I’m not rich? Not skinny?”

He laughs, all incredulous on the other end. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in the stillness of his bedroom, disbelieving of the shit spilling from your mouth. And so early in the evening, too.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Me. I mean, am I annoying?  I kinda am. I talk a lot. But that lady—the one from before. That shopkeeper chick. She was really hot. Like, supermodel hot.”

Your name comes out in an exasperated sigh. “That’s what this is about?”

You confirmed his suspicions. Why you’ve been playing keep-away. Ever since you accompanied him a few weeks back to gather some intel from a verified source, you’ve been acting distant. All because the shopkeep got a little handsy. A little too comfortable, purring his name like that. He shrugged her off. Wordlessly put her in her place. Did you not see that part?

Sylus doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“No, no, wait. Lemme finish. She seemed more your type. Like the kinda chick you’d be into, ya know? You two’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

He groans, and this time, you picture him hanging his head low. His long fingers splayed over his face in exhaustion.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”

“Mind your business,” you say around a hiccup.

And you’re catching yourself on the bollard, giggling stupidly at how pathetic you must look. Trying to catch your footing like a baby fawn.

“Only had one or two. Maybe three or six. I’m a big girl. A big, un-pretty girl, according to Mr. Sylus.”

A car honks in the distance. You barely stir from it, eyes shuttering as your head falls onto your arm roosted on the bollard.

“Where are you?” Sylus prods again.

There’s a little more urgency this time. A little more concern lurking beneath the tenor of his voice, and the sleep’s almost completely vanished from it.

“Out.”

You burn hot. Sway as the alcohol thickens in your veins. Something of a smile twitches your lips. For a second, you’re convinced he actually gives a shit about you.

“Sweetie, please. I don’t have the patience to entertain your mind games today. And stop putting words into my mouth. Not once have I ever referred to you as ‘un-pretty.’”

You snort. Stumble away from the bollard to lean against a brick wall. It’s cold and raw against your bare back. The world’s a pretty bokeh of light around. Maybe you did have a little too much to drink.

His voice drops an octave. Skates between sincerity and something dulcet; doting.

“You’re anything but. You’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. Incredibly resourceful and infuriatingly kind. You’re tough. And you don’t talk too much. In fact, I wish you would spend more time talking about yourself.”

Your lips crook with a smile. Your eyes begin to water. Your cheeks are warmer now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words spuming so effortlessly from the other end of your phone.

You hear fabric rustling. Hear his mattress creaking and things being jostled about in the background. Drawers. Clothes. Shoes clicking against marbled tiles.

“Tell me where you are,” he asserts. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, no!”

You wave your hand dismissively like he can see. You feel bad enough having dragged him down with you. Having dredged up your insecurities and projected them onto him like that. No reason to make him leave the sanctity of his bed to entertain your foolishness.

“It’s cool, Syl. I’ll catch a cab.”

“I’m not asking,” he clips in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

You swallow, suddenly feeling cold sobriety creep in. Metal jangles through the static. Keys. Car keys. A door shuts, followed by an engine stuttering and drawing a breath in. He taps a few buttons on his console. Releases a sigh.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Don’t go running off with any strangers, alright, sweetheart?”

Something warm spills into your tummy. You slide down the wall onto your ass, holding your head in your hands with your phone propped to your ear using your shoulder.

“Sylus, really. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good—”

“I want to,” he insists. Already peeling out of his driveway and zooming through the streets of the N109 Zone. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

You sigh at your own stupidity. At your own pitifulness. Making him come play knight in shining armor like that. All because you couldn’t hold your liquor. Your tongue. Though, you can’t stifle the tiny ping of hope resounding in your head.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But can we get ice cream when you get here?”

He chuckles, the sound of it brassy yet comforting through the drunken slurry of your brain.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

masterlist

[trinketstealingzombie]

Following up on my last post :) Let me know if you want a part 2!

Of course you noticed when Stanford started acting strange. Even after only knowing him for a few months you notice the variations in his usual behaviour. Being two of the only sane people in gravity falls, you and Stan often met up for some much needed social interaction in between lengths of research. Being the good friend that you are you decided to bring him some warm chicken soup with the secret intentions of finding out what the hell was wrong with him.

“Stannnnn” you called knocking on his front door balancing soup in one hand while you abused his front door. The house sounded quiet but his car was in the driveway. You see the shuffle of a shadow and bang on the door again.

“I know you’re in there bum.” You say slightly annoyed.

“If you want me to leave just say so, don’t play gam-“ your stopped mid sentence by the opening door swinging out an inch from your nose. Good lord he looks… yellow? He’s leaning up against the door frame if almost for support but by the look on his face you can tell he’s trying to be cool. There’s something foreign about his smirk and the devilish look in his eyes.

“Stan. Finally. I brought you soup!” You display your steaming tupperware waving it around his face. His eyes are distant as if he’s not listening causing a frown to tug on your lips.

“Come in.” He says. Turning, he heads inside. After closing the door behind you, you take in the state of his house. Slightly destroyed with some feeble attempts to amend the carnage . Cups of who knows what lay abandoned on the floor, the tables (or really any flat surface) lay covered in papers and diagrams scrawled depictions of otherworldly figures.

“Sorry I have not been feeling… much like myself lately” Stan’s says with a wave to the cluster of mess. His eyes land on the soup. He’s body reacts with a growl and a slight salivation.

“Don’t tell me you forget to eat Stan you numb scull” you say digging through the cabinet for a bowl or two while he watched intently . Normally you would not be digging around in his kitchen but something in the air fills you with a sense of urgency. You start to ladle out a portion.

“You’re right I’m such a numb scull, that must be why after all this time you’re the only one to come check up on me!” He says and you stop in your tracks.

“Stan…” you almost at a loss for words. All this time? How long has he been… troubled?

“Are you alright ?” you say gently looking directly into his eyes and finally you get some recognition. Stan looks straight into your eyes giving you a glimpse into the yellowish tint held in them. You wait for him to respond as he stands distracted in some far off thought. Too far for you to see in his eyes or any twitch of the face.

“Of course I’m alright darling” he says. You return to the soup sliding him a bowl. You hang you head to cover the blush. Darling. He must not be thinking straight. He immediately digs in ravenously devouring the soup. He asks for seconds. Thirds.

“Stan I’m really getting worried.” You say a slight waver in your voice. In the past you have had experiences with mental health issues. You have seen them manifest in the people you love. You glance again at the piles of papers note his erratic behaviour. You’re suddenly desperate to help him.

“What do you need me to do. I can help you please. Do you want me to help you tidy up a little bit.” You say as gently as you can. He looks distant for a second then his eyes skim over the room as if seeing it for the first time.

“I have been engrossed in my work. I have lost sight of my priorities in wake of a new discovery” He rises from the table where he was siting. Making his way over to you.

“Stay with me darling” he mutters his breath close to you neck. He moves closer to your ear.

“Stay.”

[faulty-writes]

I want, no NEED more of that sweet, sweet Monoma vs. Iida love triangle goodness! Headcanons, a scenario, something to satisfy this unexpected craving!!

Let's see what I can do about this. I was going to write headcanons but I guess my brain couldn't comprehend how to do that so I guess you could call this...a little classroom scenario. I'm not sure but enjoy it nonetheless.

It came as little surprise that Tenya and Neito felt something towards you, but you never imagined it turning into a battle to win your affection. But then again, while Yuuei mainly focused on hero training. There were situations where students were put in competitive positions.

Of course, these moments could also take place outside the designated training areas. "What's the matter dear class A? Oh, don't tell me you're threatened by a possible blooming friendship between myself and the lovely Y/n?" Neito stated as he proceeded to lay his hand on the small of your back and took it upon himself to cradle your hand in his free one.

A rather embarrassing position, especially knowing that your classmates were glaring at the display. But somehow Neito's taunting always seemed to strike every last one of your classmate's nerves and considering that the blond did it on purpose, their reactions were understandable. But even so, the president of class A, Tenya Iida while disliking this taunting as much as the rest of his fellow classmates was at least formal about expressing it.

Though you were almost surprised by his slightly defensive nature and how his shoulders squared when he approached Neito. "Pardon, but I do not believe you are in the correct classroom," he stated just before he tilted his head and adjusted his glasses by pushing them back to their proper position on the bridge of his nose.

You were a little impressed at how composed Tenya was even when it was obvious he wasn't the happiest at the moment. When he lifted his head back up and looked into Neito's eyes, it only seemed to bring a smirk to the blond's face. "Oh?" he replied, seemingly not taking Tenya's words seriously.

"Please release Y/n and be on your way," Tenya stated as he reached over and placed his hand on your shoulder. You could tell there was an urgency associated with his touch and through the way his fingers seemed to curl and tremble slightly. As if holding your shoulder was the only thing he could do to prevent himself from growing violent or punching Neito.

You decided to remain quiet, despite your rapid heartbeat and heated cheeks. Anyone in your position would react the same way. Essentially having three hands on you while frustrated tension filled the air. But you wondered if somehow Tenya felt threatened by Neito or the fact that Neito was taking your attention and time away.

The thick tension continued to grow into something more awkward, but that could be due to the silence that accompanied it. You didn't dare move, but you did glance between the two boys. Each one locked into some type of staring contest with the other and your fellow classmates seemed just as confused as you were as to what would happen next.

"Heh," Neito seemed to break the silence first and finally released you. However, in doing so he seemed to push you away from him a little too carelessly which caused you to stumble back. Despite relief filling you for a brief moment before you found yourself crashing into someone else.

"Ah!" you couldn't help but exclaim in surprise. However, such a feeling quickly faded when you realized it was only Tenya. Unlike Neito, Tenya seemed to carry a sweeter scent to him. Somewhat like lavender and though it was relaxing, you couldn't help but feel that same heat rush back to your cheeks.

Seemed any close contact you made with either of the boys resulted in this reaction. "Do not release them in such a manner! They could have been harmed due to your careless action!" Tenya scolded as he proceeded to chop his hand through the air. But once more, Neito seemed unphased and a soft laugh escaped him.

"Oh? Perhaps you're merely jealous that dear Y/n seemed to fall submissive to my touch," he shot back and you heard a struggled noise come from Tenya. Although it was almost amusing to see his dropped jaw and overall horrified expression.

"I...d-do not speak in such a manner! I do not hold any vulgar intentions when it comes to the matter of Y/n!" Tenya exclaimed and whether it was his intention or not. You felt his grip tighten on you, pulling you even closer. The fabric of Yuuei's signature gray blazer pressed against your cheek and that lavender aroma grew stronger.

"Oh, my apologies," Neito began as he pressed his hand against his chest. "I didn't think the members of class A could sink any lower when it comes to the matter of courageous acts," he stated. Implying nothing more than that Tenya was simply too afraid to act on his hormones which yet again seemed to throw the otherwise mature student off.

"I..." Tenya was usually never at a loss for words but it seemed somehow, Neito could actually best him. Yet again another smirk appeared on the blond's face and he took a step forward. "Hey, why don't you beat it and leave the prez alone!?" Kyoka spoke in Tenya's defense which seemed to prompt Kaminari and Eijiro to speak as well.

"Yeah, what's your problem man!?" Kaminari exclaimed before Eijiro spoke. "Seriously man, you have some issues. Leave Iida and Y/n alone!" his words came out with a slight growl which was somewhat surprising given Eijiro's carefree nature. "Now, now," Neito stated as he raised his hands up, almost acting innocent.

"Is class A really threatening a member of class B? How terrifying," his words were coated in sarcasm. You blinked, wanting to speak up but also not able to take your eyes off Neito who approached you with his hand stretched out. "Hm?" for a moment you looked surprised, but it appeared as though Neito wanted you to take the offered hand.

Tenya didn't seem so sure it was a good idea but he didn't fight when you stepped away from him. "I think dear Y/n is the only one of you I can actually stand," Neito stated when you finally laid your hand in his. He then leaned over and brought your hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your knuckles which yet again seemed to upset Tenya.

But the fact Kaminari and Eijiro held him back went unnoticed by you. Though you did catch the way Neito's eyes glanced over your shoulder and how a satisfied expression sparkled in them. Then he lowered your hand and turned to walk away. "Goodbye class A," he said, once more using a mocking sort of tone before he looked at Tenya.

"Oh, and goodbye to you too...Iida," he said with a chuckle before finally exiting the room. You stood there slightly confused before your body was pulled back causing a gasp to escape involuntarily. This was followed by a grunt as you found yourself yet again pressed up against Tenya.

The only difference was this time he was grasping the wrist of the hand that Neito kissed. "Huh?" you blinked and tilted your head to look up at him. "...Iida?" your voice was soft before you watched him look down at you.

"Y/n," he stated, "May I escort you to the restroom?" he questioned and you could feel the way he slid his thumb along the pulsing veins of your wrist. "Huh?" you replied as you titled your own head in confusion. "What do you mean?" obviously you were confused by his request.

Especially because you didn't ask for him to escort you anywhere, let alone the bathroom. "I do believe it's best you wash your hand due to Monoma's contact with it," he replied and you couldn't help but look at Tenya with a now annoyed expression. However, his own expression didn't change.

Still, maybe the reason he wanted you to wash your hand was simply that he was jealous Neito had kissed it in the first place. You took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. "If it makes you feel better Iida...you can walk me there," you replied, though you couldn't help but fear this small rivalry of affection would interfere with your everyday school life.

[deitysnips]

Regrettably Attached Pt. 1

Stark!Reader x Loki

Word Count: 2958

Authors Note: I wanna thank you guys in advance for reading this. I haven’t written anything in probably 6 years so it might be a little sloppy. I am open to suggestions and any fixes you guys can bring to my attention!

Summary:; You’re Tony Stark’s younger sister and you are somewhat part of the Avengers, but behind the scenes, not necessarily on the front lines unless you’re needed. This is an UA where Loki is living in the compound living under strict supervision and the reader slowly starts falling for the God of Mischief after hating him due to, yaknow, trying to kill her brother and some of her closest friends, but that quickly turns into lovers(obvi)

Growing up as Tony’s sister was and still is kind of terrifying. Tony has always been such a “smarty pants” for lack of a better phrase. Even with him being a child prodigy, you two have always been close and you would want it any other way. You grew up following in his and your fathers footsteps.

Years past and you have graduated with multiple engineering degrees and even though your mother and father weren’t here to see it, Tony always made sure you knew how proud they would be of you. No graduation, presentation or ceremony went unattended by the now Iron Man. So it was no surprise when Tony asked you to join him and the other Avengers at the compound to help with logistics and help Tony and Bruce create safer suits.

“Hey Kid! Get down here, we need your help!” 

It’s been 5 years that you’ve been living with Tony and still, nothing surprises you.

“Hold on! I just got out of the shower!” You shouted from your cracked bedroom door. You quickly put on some extremely worn jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that you MIGHT have stolen from your older brother. You cracked open the door once more and yelled to Tony

“Is this a no shoes project?!” You sat with your head out the door tapping your fingers along the door frame when someone threw what seemed to be a wad of paper at the back of your head. You groaned and sucked air through your teeth. “I swear to the gods, Rogers, if you don’t stop throwing shit, I’m gonna curb stomp you” You said as you turned your head to send a glare towards Steve. To your unpleasant surprise, it was not Steve, but the annoying, somewhat attractive God Of Mischief, Loki

“Oh, my dear, Mr. America isn’t the only one who likes to get under your skin” Loki said very nonchalantly while leaning against his own door frame. “Now if you don’t mind. Stop that obnoxious yelling. Some of us are actually trying to work and not be babied by their dear brother.” Loki glared at you from where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. 

You and the god have never been on good terms, even after the pleading Thor gave you when he brought him back from Asgard after its destruction. You wanted to believe him when he said that his brother had changed and was working towards being a better ‘person’, but it still left an unpleasant taste in your mouth since, you know, he tried to kill your brother.

“Get fucked, Loki.” You stepped out of your room, body completely turned towards the man in front of you. “I have told you multiple times to leave me alone. Tony might be okay with you being here, but I certainly don’t give a shit what happens to you.” You spat at him with venom and malice in your voice. Tony told you time and time again to try to be civil with Loki, but you never listened. You just couldn’t. 

You continued to stare at the slimy, yet oddly handsome man-god thing in front of you and if looks could kill, he wouldn’t be breathing.

“Hey, kid, did you not hear the urgency in my voice or do you enjoy giving me a heart attack?” You jumped when you felt your brother out his hand on your shoulder. “I told you that yes, you did need shoes. Bruce and I really need your help on the Mark VII suit- wait, sis, are you alright?” Tony studied your face after turning your shoulder towards him with a worried expression

“Yeah, I’m fine Tony. Let me just grab my shoes and I’ll be down” You pulled away from your brother and ran into your room, slamming the door behind you. You sit with your back against your door and hide your face in your hands, groaning loudly.

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?” You whisper softly to yourself. You’ve been at such a crossroads when it comes to the trickster god. You hate him for what he did to Tony and your friends, but at the same time, you can’t help but have this… attraction to him. The sharpness of his jawline, the softness in his bright blue eyes, or the way his lips curl up into a cheeky little smirk when he does something that riles you up. It’s been a year and a half since Thor brought Loki back, and you still haven’t adjusted.

You let out a long sigh of frustration as you stand up and walk to your closet pulling out a loved pair boots. After you pull your shoes on, you finally find the strength to walk out of your room and start heading towards the workshop to find Tony and Bruce. You make a pitstop to the kitchen to grab some coffee and a small snack

“Hey FRIDAY, can you ask if Tony and Bruce want anything?” You call out into the empty room while making a PB&J sandwich”

“They both say nothing at the moment other than your presence, Miss. Stark. Mr. Stark said it is very urgent and they need you down there quickly” 

You groan as you toss the butter knife into the sink and start walking down the stairs to the workshop. Once you enter you see Bruce leaning over one of the tablets with his hands running through his hair.

“Alright, what did I miss?” you say as you take a bite of your sandwich, causing the men to look up at you, seemingly irritated. “Whoa whoa boys, what the hell?” You raise an eyebrow at your brother who’s sitting across from Bruce, impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk. Tony sighs and stands up to walk over to his computer, pulling up the internals of the suit

“For whatever reason, the suit keeps overheating after about 10 minutes and we cannot for the life of us figure out why” Bruce says while Tony is flipping through all the internals for you. You can’t help but smile and giggle a little bit.

“Alright kid, what's so funny? Tony asks, slightly glaring in your direction.

“Oh no, nothing. Nothing at all. But, uh, unrelated, how long have you guys been working on this?”

“A couple h-” Tony goes to speak but is interrupted by the suit powering up, seemingly without issues.

“Big brother, you’re a terrible liar. When I woke up yesterday morning, you both had already been down here working on it. It was a simply missing variable and a loose connection.” Tony and Bruce both keep switching between the suit and their respective computers trying to figure out how they missed such a small thing.

“How the fu-” “LANGUAGE!” Steve yells out as he stares coming down the stairs. Tony rolls his eyes and starts going through the internals again before smacking his palm to his forehead. “Thanks kid”

“No problem old man, now go get some rest.” You say, patting Tony on the back.

“Hey, can I talk to you really quick, Squeak?” You groan loudly at the nickname that the team gave you when you first showed up. You were so nervous about making a good impression, that when you started to speak, all of your words got stuck in your chest and all that came out was a little squeak.

“Yeah Cap, maybe if you stop calling me that god awful nickname, like I've told you to do multiple times!” You both start walking up the stairs and you playfully push Rogers shoulder, knowing it won’t do much. 

Once you make it up the stairs, Steve leads you to the living room and sits at the couch across from your favorite chair

“Alright, if this is an intervention, I’m leaving. I get I shouldn’t be smoking bu-” You stop talking when Steve lifts his hand up and just stares at you with a dumbfounded look “This isn’t an intervention, but maybe it should be- yo- what?!” Steve gets a little loud at the end of his sentence, catching the attention of Tony and Thor who are in the kitchen making some lunch

“STEVE SHUT UP” You blush slightly and hide your face in your hands again.

“Conversation for another time, anyways” Steve pulls your hands away from your face and makes you look at him and quietly says your name “What was going on earlier when Tony came up stairs? I was in the bathroom down the hall and I heard you yelling at someone? Was it Loki again?” You avoid eye contact but nod slightly. Steve lets out a small sigh and sits back

“What he did wasn’t even terrible, Cap. He threw a ball of paper at me and basically told me to shut up. I just get so irrationally angry at him for what he tried to do to my family. Tony is all I have left. I know that everyone has told me to make nice and just fake it for the sake of all of us being here almost all the time, but I can’t. I'm just so confused and..” You stop yourself and look up at Steve who is intently listening.

“What are you confused about, doll?” He raises an eyebrow and you start blushing again.

“I- I don’t wanna talk about it..” You whisper softly and glance over to where Tony and Thor are at. As much as Tony begs you to be nice and try to be civil, he would not hesitate to beat your ass if he found out that you were harboring a crush for the trickster. Steve leans in and whispers

“I think I know. I may be from a different time, but I know a crush when I see it.” He pulls back and smiles at you and for whatever reason, this makes you angry.

“WHAT?! You think I have a little schoolgirl crush on that fucking murderer?! HE TRIED TO KILL TONY MULTIPLE TIMES!” You yelled at Steve as you stood up, tears stinging your eyes “I would NEVER mess with the likes of Loki, whether he's a God or a prince of whatever the hell he is!”

“Squeak, now hold on-”

“No, Rogers- Leave me alone!” You storm away from him and go up the stairs leading to your bedroom. Once you get to your door, another wad of paper is thrown in your direction, but this time you catch it. Turning towards where the paper had come from, was he himself.

“Hello, darling. I heard you and Rogers speaking about me” He smirks ever so slightly and starts slowly sauntering over to you. Once he gets close to you, you pull a dagger out of the sheath around your thigh and press the tip to his chest

“I suggest you leave me the hell alone, you psychopath.” You grit your teeth as you finish your sentence and Loki puts his hands up in defeat and takes a few steps back

“My my, little one. I didn’t know you could be so feisty.” He chuckles slightly and crosses his arms over his chest. “I just wanted to have a civil conversation and see if we can come to an understanding about where my loyalties lie and try to get your tiny Midgardian brain to understand that I’m not the same person I was.. Before” 

You sheath your dagger and pinch the bridge of your nose hopeful to fight off your frustration.

“Look, Loki. You may not realize the severity of what you did, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna accept that you’re some righteous person-god- whatever the hell you are.”

“Oh, good heavens, no. I’m not righteous whatsoever, darling. Never have been, never will be. But” He points a finger at the ceiling and smiles “I can promise you that I do not plan to murder anyone… in this building” 

You smirk softly at the humor in the tricksters voice and cross your arms over your chest. 

“So how about that conversation?” You gester to him to come in your room but when you look back at his face he has a rather dumbfounded look on his face

“What a minute, 45 seconds ago you had a bloody dagger to my chest, ready to skin me alive, but now you want me to come into your room with you?” Loki walks closer to you slowly still with that dumb look on his face.

You place your hand back on your dagger and laugh “Just because I’m inviting you into my room, doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to stab you if you give me a reason to.” You wink at him and walk into your room, where you kick off your shoes and lounge in the recliner at the far corner of your room. 

The rooms at the compound were not small by any means. Each room has a giant California king size bed, a double walk-in closet, its own little mini fridge, plus enough room to have 2 Hulks lay side by side on the floor.

You have yours decorated in your signature color, with white accents on the furniture as well as copious amount of liquor bottles on the top of your bookshelf.

Loki saunters in after a few seconds and takes a seat on your bed, directly in front of you. It seems like he’s… admiring you? He won’t look away and seems to be studying your face, how your wavy hair falls softly from the messy bun on the top of your head, how your eyes sparkle with the sun coming through the windows, how your lips are just a subtle rosy color, indicating that you either suck of chew on them when frustrated.

“Are you gonna say anything or are you just gonna sit here and stare at me all day?” You blush softly and stare right back at him

“My dear, if I may be rather brash, it just seems like something seems of worry to you, my apologies. But, yes, where would you like me to begin?”

You and Loki sat there for 3 or 4 hours talking about what really happened when Loki invaded New York, what happened to his mother and how Asgard was completely destroyed by his and Thor’s elder sister. Half way through the conversation, you had pulled down a rather nice bottle of Whiskey and two rocks glasses, pouring both of you a drink while Loki was reliving what he described to be the most painful part of his life. There you sat with the man you had sworn to hate until your last breath, actually feeling sorry for judging him so harshly. But who can blame you?

“Wow” You said after he had finally finished. You looked down at your glass and it was empty. While Loki was explaining everything to you, you had finished 4 or 5 full glasses of whiskey and were starting to feel a little tipsy

“Loki, I am so indecently sorry. All of the times Thor and I had talked about what happened, he never once told me how hard you took everything.”

Loki scoffed a little and looked at his glass “Well, my story really isn’t for my brother to tell, and he never really understood my feelings on the matter. I never really spoke to him about it. It was really only me on my own.” He shrugged softly and finished what liquor he still had in his glass “I really hope this changes your viewing of my, darling. I truly meant what I said. I have zero intentions of harming anyone in this compound.”

You shook your head a little and pushed the hair that had fallen into your face back “But why tell me all of this? Why tell the one person who probably hates you the most in the tower all of your worries and how at fault you feel?” You looked up from your glass when he chuckled.

“My dear, I know you don’t truly hate me. You hate what I did to your brother and the Avengers.” He leaned forward to be at eye level with you and spoke very softly “Do not forget, little one. I can read minds, you know” He winked at you and sat back in his chair

“I- you what now?!” You sat up straight and your face became very flushed. How could you have been so naive? Thor had mentioned it a couple of times that he believes his brother could read thoughts, but you never took it to heart.

“Miss. Stark, it seems as so Mr. Stark is worried about you. He has no idea where you are and I didn’t think to make him privy of your location.” FRIDAY interjected before you or Loki could say anything regarding the mind reading matter.

“Thanks, FRIDAY, can you tell him I’m up in my room? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk after the amount of alcohol I’ve drank” You chuckled slightly and rubbed your face with your hands.

“Right away Miss. Stark. Oh, it seems as if your brother is coming to see you.” 

You internally began slightly panicking because as much as Tony wanted you to be civil, I don’t think he would want you damn near wasted with the God Of Mischief in your room.

“I shall be on my way, darling” Loki stood up and walked over to you. He rests his hands on the back of your chair and soon your face to face.

“Conversation for another time” He quickly places a kiss to your cheek before disappearing in a green cloud.

What the fuck is happening?

[andilovetowrite]

39 and 47 from your prompt list? Peter Parker x reader!! Maybe reader has long hair n it gets stuck in his shirt or something 🥺😭🥺😭 super fluffy

Always Stuck

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Getting your hair stuck in everything was a pain. In ice cream or your lipgloss. In the car windows and your hairdryer. But just this once, you didn’t mind it getting stuck somewhere.

Prompts Used: “I don’t want to risk our friendship, but I can’t keep this hidden anymore.” and “Because I love you.”

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff and a bit of angst. A few bad words here and there as well.

Word Count: 1.7k

Here is my Masterlist, and my prompt list :) Hope you enjoy this one!

Damn it”, you muttered, pulling your hair out from under the pillow. Having long hair, especially for someone who hates tying her hair up, was a bit of a pain. Constantly pushing it out of your face, as well as trying to keep it out of everything else, had become a part of your life.

So why didn’t you cut it off? Well...because of Peter Parker. Peter was your best friend, a partner in crime, the Batman to your Robin. You had known him from pre-school, where he would come in with colossal building blacks falling from his backpack and an Iron Man lunch box in his hand. As time passed, the friendship between the two of you deepened, and by the time you both were in high school, your feelings towards him had morphed into something much less platonic.

Peter knew how much you loved having long hair, and even if it did give you trouble now and then, he knew you would be unhappy if you cut it off. Your mother had long hair too, well… before she died, and she loved that you grew your hair out to match hers. You remember that you had vowed to have long enough hair to cut it off and give it to her once her chemo-therapy had stopped. Sadly, she didn’t live long enough for that to happen, as the cancer got too her much too quickly. Nevertheless, you had still kept it, not wanting to chop off a piece of yourself that connected you with her.

You might say that that was the only reason for you to keep your long hair…. But it wasn’t. As you were saying, Peter Parker played an important role. He loved your lusciously long hair. A lot. Whether it was just combing his hands through it or styling it when he was bored, he loved playing with your curls. After the patrol, when he came in through your window, it was only a matter of time before he was nestled up next to you, hands entangle in your hair as he fell asleep. So, you didn’t have a strong need or urgency to cut your hair...until today.

It was like the universe was screaming at you to lose your mind. Starting in the morning, you had gotten out of the shower, and while drying your hair, almost half of it got sucked in by the annoying machine. Wasn’t the best start.

Fast forward to an hour later, while you were at school. You hadn’t seen Peter around all day, and you didn’t even have any classes with your friends, so you weren’t in the best mood. Bring out your lipgloss; you looked into the mirror, grimacing at your dry lips. Smothering on a thick layer, you turned around, only to be hit with a strong gust of wind. Blowing hundreds of strands of hair into your face, about half of them stuck to your lips, making you huff out in annoyance.

Since most of your face was covered by your unruly hair, you tried to maneuver yourself to the washroom, hoping to regain your sight, but instead banged into the lockers, causing a loud BANG to go through the hallway. Students voices began ringing out, and soon enough, a flash went off infront of you.

“Get out of my way”, you growled, pushing aside the crowd as you sought out MJ. She frowned apologetically, moving both of you to the bathroom, where you spent the next twenty minutes cleaning out your face and hair from the lipgloss residue and grumbling about how annoying your classmates were.

Not wanting to get any more attention, you decided to leave for the day, as you bid MJ goodbye and began walking to the bus stop.

You would’ve thought that’s enough for the day, right? Nope. While getting onto your bus home, the doors closed...way too fast. Since you were in Queens, the weather was unpredictable. One minute it could be bright and sunny, next? Rainy and gloomy. Today, however, was one of the windiest days ever. So when your were trying to haul your bag into the moving bus, your hair got caught in the door, leaving you wide eyed as you tried to pull it in. People began whispering around you, as you grit your teeth. Pressing the red button to stop the bus, you got off, deciding to walk the next 30 minutes back home.

And what a long thirty minutes they were. You decided to grab a coffee to cheer yourself up, but, as luck would have it, you spilt it when you stumbled on the side walk. Now, was your hair not only covered in lip gloss and pulled apart to look frazzled, but it was also soaked in cold brew.

Taking a deep breath as you entered the house, you ran straight to the shower, dumping your stuff on the ground the minute you walked in. You decieded to shampoo your hair nicely today. Not that you didn’t like the smell of coffee in your hair, but you needed to wash it.

Besides...Peter was coming over tonight. Now, you would’ve thought that washing your hair would not be an issue. You have been doing it your whole life. But boy oh boy, were you wrong.

Squirting the liquid into your hands, you started massaging your scalp. You sighed, finally peaceful after the day you had had. But then… tragedy striked. As you started to wash it out, your eyes began stinging.

“Wha-”, you said, rubbing the water out of your eyes, but it just made it worse. “Holy shit, what is thi-” Stumbling out, you tried to reach for a towel, but your hand got stuck in your wet hair, making you trip. Grabbing onto the lever next to you, the water suddenly became scorching hot, making you cry out before running out into your room. Reading for whatever cloth was next to you, you rubbed your face furiously, until the burning sensation stopped.

Taking a deep breath, you walked back into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and looking at the mess you made. Watching closer, your bloodshot eyes widened as they looked at what you used.

“Shoot, that’s Y/D/N’s shampoo! I used a dog’s shampoo, damn it!” Pissed off, you walked into your room, slipping on your comfiest clothes before putting your stud-ridden hair in a towel, not wanting to see it anymore. Crawling into your bed, you closed your eyes, feeling the tiredness hit you like a wave, and before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

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

“Hey Y/N”, Peter’s voice floated in through the quiet air of your room. You slowly opened your eyes to see Peter’s face, his lips in a cute smile and his brown curls hanging down his forehead as he looked down at you.

“He-hey Pete, when did you get here?”, you asked, drowsily.

‘Bout an hour back”, he whispered, picking up some things on your desk as he organized them. Pushing yourself up, you looked around your room, shocked to see it so clean.

“Wha-why is, why did you-”

Peter sighed, smiling at you. “MJ told me what a day you had, so I decided to help you out a bit.” He chuckled, smirking a bit. “Especially after your room looked like a tsunami hit it”

“But still, why would you go through that trouble? You must be tired, right? To-today was training-”

“Because I love you. And you always help me out like this when I have a tough day”, he said, shrugging his shoulders. For a second, your heart had skipped a beat, but then you realized that he said it as a best friend. A friend. You wanted to say it back. Say what you’ve been meaning to say. But you just smiled back, opening your arms so he could crawl in, hugging you against his buttoned-up chest.

You huffed out, the buttons digging into your cheek. “Peter, take this off, why must you wear a shirt? Go get a sweater or something”, you said, knowing he left about 5 of his jackets here for how much he slept over at your place.

But all Peter responded with was a loud, exaggerated sigh. “But whyyy. I’m comfy?”

You laughed quietly at his tone, so you started to get up to get him one, but was pulled down. Sitting up back, you realized your hair was caught in his shirt, pulling it up, exposing his taut torso.

“Peter! My hair”, you said, trying to untangle yourself, but only making it worse.

“Huh, oh”, he said, leaning up to unravel your hair, making his face only a couple of inches away from you, letting you see his freckles that adorned his skin.

Too shocked, you just sat there, as Peter’s finger worked his shirt, since, at one point, he realized it would just be easier to take it off. So, you sat there, your body hot and face possibly red, while your (chiselled and muscular) best friend untangled your hair.

“Okay”, he said, leaning back. You stuttered, looking at your hair then at Peter, who just realized he was topless. You could see his cheeks turn pink, and his pupils dilate as he looked at you, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I don’t want to risk our friendship, but I can’t keep this hidden anymore. I-” you looked at him, feeling a surge of energy go through you, “I really like you, Peter. Hell, I think I love you.” You sighed, worried when he didn’t say anything. “Peter, please say something-” You looked away, tears pricking your eyes. “Damn it, I shouldn’t have said anythin-”

“I love you. Too. You are-I can’t. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to tell you but I-”

You would’ve loved to hear what else he was talking about, but your mind had other things to focus on. Like his lips. Kissing him lightly at first, you deepened it when he didn’t pull away. You felt his hand sneak into your hair, and for the first time, you didn’t mind it at all. He pulled away as he caressed your face.

“Oh my god, I love your hair…”

You laughed out loud, hugging him. “Is that the first words you wanna tell me as a couple?” You pretended to act hurt. “One might even choose to believe you like me for my hair”

He smirked, whispering in your ear. “Oh no, you got me. I am deeply in love with your hair, not you too much. Sorry you had to find out like this”

You became serious, hugging him more tightly. “I was gonna cut my hair today. Thank for-”

“I’m glad I was there to protect the love of my life”

“You are talking about me right?” you asked, looking into his playful chocolatey eyes.

“Who else?”, he asked back, winking…

Thank you so much for requesting this Anon! I loved writing it, and even though I myself don’t have long hair, I highly respect anyone who does, because it's a lotta work. Anyway, my requests are still open, in case you wanna send in ideas that you may have, or just wanna chat. Until next time 👋

Tagged: @idkatee @eternalscribblesforthesoul @loudbluepancake @poisondevotion @scram1326 @t-hollanderr @305weasley @starknik22 @marvelfansworld @lou-la-lou @lomlparker @marvelfansworld @wowitsel @vanteguccir @fullcheesecakeengineer @ladykxxx08 @allegras-sunflower @a–1–1–3

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 2 ~Words~

Picture Source

Previously in Stories She Wrote ...

Claire ignored the jest. "So you really think I should publish my story?"

Her friend nodded excitedly. "Absolutely! You should have let me read it sooner. From what I've seen so far, you have good, solid material, and I'm convinced, when I read the rest, it will not disappoint." She stood up and smiled. "Come on, in as much as I'm all fired up after reading your story, I'm famished." She got up and left the room.

Instead of moving from her position, Claire stared at her work for a few seconds and just breathed. Although Willie and Annalise were sincere with their praises, she couldn't help but still feel nervous. This next step in her life could either turn out to be huge, or it could get her mocked out of a dream career she loved. 

Pushing aside her doubts and thinking of Jamie, she quickly compressed a copy of her story's file and sent it to him via email to read, hoping he would like her written work too

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

 WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL & LANGUAGE CONTENT

  Jamie walked into his cottage and was greeted by his dog Rollo and cat, Adso. He tossed his keys on the dining table as he absentmindedly rubbed his pets alternately behind the ears and scrolled through his phone. He smiled. There was an email notification from Claire and a text letting him know she would be calling after dinner. After turning on his laptop, he shrugged off his jacket, placed it on the back of his chair, and then went to the kitchen to feed his companions, thinking his own dinner would have to wait, too eager to read Claire's email. 

Feeling the chill, he put firewood onto the grate and set it alight, before making a mug of black tea and heading back to the dining table. Once there, instead of immediately opening his email, he stared at his desktop photo. It was of Claire, wearing nothing but his shirt and sitting cross-legged by the fireplace with a bowl of breakfast. Without conscious volition, he touched the picture on the screen and then brought his fingers against his lips. Miss you, Sassenach. Although work and obligations had filled his days, time seemed to go so painstakingly slow, his mind constantly wandering to her. It pained him not to have her by his side, but he knew it was a little sacrifice for what lay ahead of them.

Sighing, he opened the email. Please read and tell me what you think, love C, it said. 

After clicking on the attachment, he extracted the content and found a file with Word documents. He enlarged the first page, skimmed through the paragraphs and realised it was Claire's work. After taking a sip of his tea, he proceeded to read from the beginning.

A few paragraphs later, he was hooked. Not because Claire wrote it, but because of the beautiful marrying of emotions with words. He was instantly captivated. How could she have downplayed her talent when she had this innate gift? She once mentioned, there were talks among her peers, that editors were just frustrated authors. Weel, not this editor! he thought. But more than the mental images her storyline evoked, it was the words that moved him. It was as if he was reading a personal confession disguised in the characters she'd created and it spoked straight to his soul. He continued to read, and when he came upon a particular plot, his eyes slightly misted. 

From across the room, her gaze locked with his, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. A live wire crackled and sparked, launching showers of tiny fireworks to light every dark recess of her weary soul. 

It was always going to be like this every time she saw him, she sighed. After all these years, nothing had changed. 

In their youth, she'd believed, they were bound together, not by something tangible, but by a profound, powerful connection that is ancient and older than the planets. It was as if she'd envisioned them a million times aeons ago and the stars finally heeded and arranged for their paths to cross. 

It had started with a touch, a soft kiss, a subtle stirring of their souls, and as if by magic, their story began to write itself from thereon. His strength had been her protection, her heart, his shelter, and in each others' arms, they were home. For at one time, love between them had been powerful than the fate and deeper than a naked eye. But that was then, she reminded herself ...before he found out she was from another place and time. Out of this tragedy, which altered the course of her life, was the infinite curse she must bear alone. But she couldn't blame him. It was her fault.

As a tiny sob escaped her throat, a man bumped into her, jarringly breaking her reverie. Annoyed with herself for feeling weak, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. And as she slowly made her way over to him, she hoped and prayed her face would not betray her emotions. There comes that significant point in life when one had to choose to either turn the page, write another book or simply close it. She chose the latter.

Jamie's heart drummed, and he puffed out a lungful of air. Settling back on his seat, he rubbed a hand over his face. He had this sudden burning urge to bundle Claire's story and gift it to the world. Why has she waited this long to pursue her dream? This is bloody insane! In each of the characters, he saw her - beautifully flawed and full of heart. She wielded words in her story as if she was tearing apart her own issues and exposing her loss and regrets, the courage and honesty so palpable, it jumped right off the screen. Och, Sassenach!

He needed more time to go through the story at a leisurely pace, so he skipped a few chapters out of mere curiosity and what he read next, made his heart rate doubled.

As soon as they were alone, she grabbed at his belt, her shaking fingers tugging the zipper. She'd waited for far too long and needed him now. Dropping down to her knees, she lowered his jeans to take him fully in her mouth, feeling him throb and jerk at her touch ...oh how she'd crave for the taste of him. She was hungry, oh so hungry, to feel his most private pulse beating against her palm. Despite the urgency she was feeling, she didn't rush as she wanted to savour every moment and taste of him.

He swallowed and realised his jeans were becoming too constricted. Ah Christ! There were only so many blows to the system a man could take and what he just read sent all the blood in his brain rushing southward so fast it nearly knocked him out of commission. Who would have thought a sex scene in a romance story could affect him so much?

He read a few more excerpts from the story, and when he eventually looked at the bottom right corner of his screen, he realised it was nearly ten. He'd been so engrossed with reading, he hadn't noticed the time. Claire was supposed to call. But maybe she's fallen asleep.

Reaching for his phone, he got up, shifted the bulging discomfort in his jeans and headed for the fridge. As his screen lit up, he tapped Claire's name and waited.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice thick and muffled, causing a sudden pulsing rush of longing in his stomach. A fog of cataclysmic lust descended, increasing the weight between his legs.

"Sassenach?" He grabbed a tin of beer, popped it open with one hand and made his way to the living room. "It's me." 

"I know." She yawned. "What time is it? Are you just coming home?"

"Ummm, no. I got yer email earlier." Smiling, he sat on the armchair and toed off a shoe. "I got caught up reading yer story, I forgot the time."

"A long day then. Sorry, I was supposed to call, but ...." He heard some rustling sound and then quiet.

He got his second shoe off and rested his feet on the coffee table. Right now, he wished he could teleport himself to Claire's side and slip in bed next to her. He'd wanted to come to London, but he'd been advised by Willie it was still too soon, and coming along could trigger his PTSD. Although the nightmares had stopped and he'd been following the meditation exercises Claire had told him to do, there were still times when panic attack got hold of him. They weren't as bad as before, but still, it was there lurking, ready to pounce at any time. He hadn't dared told his sister, Jenny, in case she nagged him to attend the therapy conducted by her friend Geneva. He knew what his sister was up to, and he wasn't about to fall for her matchmaking schemes.

He was just contemplating the merits of dropping everything and flying to London when he realised Claire had gone too quiet.

"Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did ye just fall asleep on me?"

"Oh, umm, a little," she responded, utterly lacking in apology.

"Shall I let ye sleep? I can call again tomorrow."

"No!"

Relieved, he smiled. "So working too hard, I presume?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "Worked for seven hours straight. Then had too much food and wine, and too little fresh air. It made me drowsy afterwards. It's Willie's and Annalise's faults. They overfed me over dinner." 

"Mmm, in as much as I appreciate why ye're doing it, I dinnae want ye to become ill because of it." He heard another yawn and imagined her long, lean body stretching, her hair all wild against the pillow and her breast bare. When he realised where his mind was wandering to, he immediately put a stop to it. Christ, get a grip! With a steel will, he extinguished his filthy thoughts. "Ye should take care more of yersel', Sassenach."

"I'm fine ...honestly."

He was unconvinced but didn't push. "By the way, I read yer story. It's bloody good. No ...correction. It's great!"

"You like it!"

"I love it. Was that a story ye wrote a while ago? Or did ye write it recently?"

"A while ago," she hummed, her words muffled as if she had a pillow over the phone. 

He loved the way she sounded when sleep laced her voice. 

"Hmmm, a question ...how'd ye learn to write a sex scene like that, when ..." He needed a couple of seconds to find the right words. "...when ye were a virgin before we met."

"I might have been a virgin, but I never said I was a nun." 

He laughed out loud. It couldn't be helped. Though Claire could be shy at times, she always spoke her mind. "I'm sorry I didnae mean to laugh, Sassenach," he apologised when he finally sobered up. "It's just that ye wrote the sex part so vivid and graphic, it made me wonder how ye could have known the mechanics of lovemaking when ye were still a virgin at the time ye wrote that story."

"Well, I suppose I should confess ...before I met you, there might have been on a few occasions, that I had ..." 

"Watched porn?" 

"Yes ...but for research purposes," she said rapidly, her voice not sounding muffled anymore. She must have rolled on her back. "But what I meant to say was, I've had ...um ..." She trailed off.

He frowned. "Had what?"

"Physical contact, of course!" she replied with mild exasperation. 

Something heavy rolled over in his stomach. "Excuse me?"

She sighed. "When I use to date, dates sometimes end up in making out, kissing and petting, and I sort of got the gist of what normally happens afterwards." He heard her swallow. "I -I mean nothing happened of course ...at least, not in the biblical sense anyway. W-what I'm trying to say is, before we met ... I've never made it to the Old Testament with anyone. B-but you ... you're pretty special because you and I ...well, we're almost at the Revelations."

What the hell? She was rambling, and he realised she was becoming flustered. Her attempt to calm him down using the books of the Bible for analogy put a dent on his jealousy. He puffed out a breath. "I get it. I get it. Just do me a favour, Sassenach, will ye, huh? In the future, dinnae mention physical contact with other men ever again to me even if it's no' the biblical variety. It's bad enough we're separated, and here I am missing ye loads ..."

"Sorry, but you did ask how I knew about the mechanics of ..." she stopped and then sighed. "Let's change the subject, shall we?"

"Of course." He slugged back a mouthful of beer and placed it on the coffee table, before leaning back once more on his armchair. "We were talking about yer writing. I've read a few chapters, and I'm really enjoying it. Cannae wait to read the rest."

"I'm glad. Willie and Annalise liked it too," she replied, a smile in her voice.

"I'm not surprised. Ye should have published it a long time ago. Ye have a gift, Sassenach, one that I'm verra proud of." 

"Thank you. Writing does take a bit of time, and I needed a job while I was at it. I'm still glad I waited, though."

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat and paused, contemplating if ... "Are ye in the bedroom? Or did ye fall asleep on the couch?" 

"In my bedroom. I couldn't stand watching a movie with Willie and Annalise when all they do is snog in front of me. So I left them to it, thinking I'll rest my eyes for a few minutes before calling you. And that's when I fell asleep." Ah, the poor thing, she must have been so tired. At least she sounded a little more alert compared to earlier. "Seeing them cuddled up like that made me miss you loads," she added, huskily, "...and think of our time together."

Ah, hell! Her voice wasn't the only thing that was alert. His cock suddenly needed a wee adjustment. Again! He unzipped his jeans, purely for ease and comfort and to give himself room for a breathing space.

"You should sleep in tomorrow and get some fresh air too," he suggested, inhaling deeply through his nose as he felt the effects of the beer, reminding him he didn't have any food in his stomach.

"Definitely, I will have a sleep in." She drank something audibly and let out a sigh. "As for that fresh air, it will depend if it's raining or not. Annalise mentioned we're in for a horrendous weather tomorrow." He heard another delicate gulp.

"What are ye wearing, Sassenach?" His words came out before he could think and put a stop to it. It sounded much more sexual than he'd intended, gruff and hoarse, his dirty mind wandering to that explicit scene he read earlier.

There was a few seconds of silence. "Why?"

"Because I want to know ...if ye're warm enough."

"I'm warm enough." 

"So what are ye wearing?"

There was another moment of silence before she replied. "Oooh, I know what this is, James Fraser" she throatily laughed into his ears. "And, we are so not doing this." 

"Doing what?" he groaned, this time pulling out his cock. He couldn't deny himself any longer, when this woman on the other end of the line, rained havoc to his good sense. Running a calloused hand down the length of himself, he gave his throbbing erection a nice hard squeeze. "I'm only asking solely out of concern for yer health. It's cold, and I worry ye might catch ...umm ...pneumonia." He almost laughed out loud at his lame logic.

"Pneumonia? You don't have to worry, Jamie. It's warm in the apartment, and it doesn't take much to heat a small place,," she said with a hint of amusement. "And I'm not naked ...not totally anyway."

"Oh," he gritted, fisting his cock from the base to the head, as a blow of harsh breath escaped his mouth. He felt like a depraved, desperate man, but it couldn't be helped when his cock was so achingly stiff, and he wanted relief. No amount of wanking in the shower earlier had eased his need for her. In fact, it only intensified it.

As he continued to stroke himself, the house's interior closed in around him, the sounds of fire popping doing nothing to reduce the extreme feeling of airlessness. At this moment, as far as he was concerned, they were the only two people in the whole wide world awake, right here and right now, and he would die if he didn't get any release soon.

"I'm wearing undies," she finally said.

Allelujah! His fist tightened around his hardness, moisture seeping from its head. "Ah, Sassenach," he murmured. He imagined her, stretched out on her bed, the duvet kicked off, and how she had looked in those tiny cotton knickers. "And a pyjama top?" he muttered. 

"No," she sighed in sweet response, a slight shyness creeping in her next words. "I forgot to turn off the radiator before I went to bed. It's so warm I must have yanked off my top while sleeping." 

"Sweet Jesus!" He stilled his hand and cupped his balls, seeing her creamy breasts in his mind's eye. 

"Jamie ...what are ye doing? I mean, I think I know what you are doing. But I've never done this before," she whispered. "Maybe I should go and let you ...um ...finish your business?"

"No! Please." He closed his eyes and slumped deeper into the armchair, his feet spreading apart and his head falling back. "I need ye." 

"I ...I don't know how ..." 

"Sassenach." Saying his pet name for her was a mild distraction from the throbbing ache in his hand, as he swiped a thumb over the head of his erection and spread the moisture seeping out. "My cock is so rock hard, I think I might black the fuck out from wanting ye. Dinnae torture me by leaving me hanging."

Her breath hitched, and it was the most beautiful sound in his ears. "So you really are touching yourself?" she asked on a huffed breath.

"Jesus, Sassenach! Ye have nae idea, do ye? I wank every day and night to yer image in my head ...stroking so hard I can hardly breathe, thinking of our last night together ..." he swallowed with difficulty, his hand busy fisting himself. "It's so lonely without ye, and every waking moment is filled with thoughts of ye naked in my bed and every night ye haunt my dreams. What I would give to touch ye right now and plunge my cock between yer thighs." 

She gasped, and he wished he could feel her hot breath on his neck. "Jamie ...I don't even know what to say ... I ...this is out of my comfort zone.." 

"Touch yersel', and tell what ye're thinking," he commanded as he closed his eyes, the heels of his feet pushing against the floor and his muscles thighs tightening hard. "Have ye ever touched yersel'? Tell me." 

"Before you came along, there's been no one, and you know that," she said haughtily. "Giving myself an orgasm is the only reason why I remained a virgin for so long. I call it self-service." 

He let out a burst of pained laughter despite himself. "Ah, Christ, I'd love to kiss that smart-arsed mouth while taking ye hard ..." 

"I like it when you ..." she cut in, and he held his breath, agonisingly waiting for her to complete the sentence. "...kiss me between the legs." He heard her voice fade a little and swishing movements. "I think of you doing that when ...um, my hand is between my thighs."

"Is yer hand between yer thighs now?"

"Y-yes ..."

"Slide yer fingers in, Sassenach. And tell me ...are ye wet?"

"Yes ..." she softly moaned.

"How wet?"

"Very."

Ah, fuck!

He always thought dirty talks were arousing, but each shy admission by Claire was too bloody erotic for words, it made the already taut and strained tether of his self-control about to snap. He uttered her name with a litany of invocations to the saints, his hips shifting against the soft of his seat and his breathing becoming heavier. "Ye ken what I'll do to ye when I get to finally see ye? I'm no' letting ye out of bed," he groaned. "I'm gonnae worship that beautiful body of yers with my mouth until my lips are branded to your skin, and yer scent embedded in mine and yer taste in my mouth. Ye still have yer fingers inside ye?"

"Yes ..."

"Now imagine it's my tongue lapping ye up."

She sobbed, a whimpering sound full of longing and his heart twisted in a knot, creating a cluster that descended down to his belly and found its way to his cock, making his balls draw higher. His exhale came out like an animalistic grunt as Claire's breathing became more shallow. She gasped out his name, a soft plea that he badly wanted so much to pacify.

"Oh, sweet Lord, I want you so much, Jamie. I miss your hands on me," she whispered, her voice enveloping him, he could almost feel her breath on his heated skin. "Please don't stop talking ..."

"Ye think I could stop, Sassenach? I'd sell my soul just to hear ye come." Something told him the cries coming from Claire's mouth would ring in his head for days to come. Broken, sweet, desperate moans, interrupted by her breath hitching. Like she was drowning, just like him. "Ye miss me touching ye, is that right? Weel, let me tell ye something," he said hoarsely. "I spend every night looking at the bloody ceiling of my bedroom, envisioning yer sweet tits bouncing like wee temptations while ye ride me on my creaky bed. It hasn't creaked the way it used to, ever since ye left. And on some nights, I would lay on my tummy and grind myself against the mattress just to hear it creak and pretend it's not the bed I'm fucking," His hand went into overdrive stroking himself, fast and relentless. "But we both know we want the real thing, don't we now?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she whispered in a husky loop.

"Jesus, so sweet, my beautiful Sassenach ..." A drumming began in his head, inflicted by the raspy sound of her voice, the way her breath became laboured when he talked dirty to her. 

The pressure within him rose, and his breath came out in short, head-spinning gulps of air, his senses more heightened for knowing who the cause was for his predicament. Claire. Ah, Christ, he'd never anticipated for the possessiveness that tightened around his heart with a permanence that didn't alarm him. In fact, he'd always known, right from the beginning, she was the one for him. She was the only one who moved him to take a risk in love, to abuse his body for relief ...

"Jamie ...oh God ..."

Hissing out a wounded groan, Jamie fisted the base of his cock and pumped furiously. "I'm here, Sassenach," he whispered. "I hear ye. Always here for ye."

"I'm coming ..." she moaned. "Oh, my God ..."

His heart expanded as he listened to her, her breath shallow, his name a whisper, and he could picture her, turning and twisting against the sheets with her hand between her thighs. He was so close, it hurt. When he couldn't hold off any longer, he let go, his own orgasm coming in full force, spouting out of from his cock, seizing his body in an almost paralysing bliss. It went on forever, his seed spurting into his hand and thighs, his shouts reverberating off the walls and ceiling as the pleasure surged through him and rearranging everything in its route.

Finally spent, he slumped back on his seat, his breathing coming out in choppy waves as his chest rose and fell. After a long stretch of silence between them, he put down his phone and whipped off his shirt to clean himself up. By the time he grabbed it back and placed it against his ear, Claire's breath was calmer.

"Jamie?" There was a trace of doubt or maybe guilt in her voice.

Knowing Claire's strict Catholic upbringing in the boarding school, he didn't want her thinking what they did was wrong as it would only cheapen what they just shared. He needed to reassure her. "Sssh, Sassenach, I ken what ye're gonnae say. What happened between us was ... incredible. And ye ken, why?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Because we love each other. Ye understand?"

There was a long pause before she replied and he imagined her biting her lower lip in contemplation. "Yes," she replied eventually, her voice barely a whisper. And after waiting a few seconds more, he heard her soft snore and even breathing.

Smiling, he murmured good night and turned off the phone. He was just about to close his eyes to savour the moment when the doorbell rang, and a spooked Adso suddenly leapt onto his lap. Bloody hell! He plopped the cat down, righted his jeans and quickly got up, and as he peered through the window, he saw Mrs Fitz, the owner of the Airbnb from across the road, holding a dish in her hands.

What the ...? He opened the door. "Mrs Fitz!" The scent of freshly baked apple pie wafted from the dish she was carrying, making his stomach grumble. "It's kinda late. Is everything alright?" he asked, eyeing the aluminium covered plate. 

"Aye, son," she said, frowning, her eyes bypassing him as if she was in search of something or someone. "I saw the light, and I thought ye might like a bit of pudding ...for after tea perhaps or for breakfast. Yer lass ...Miss Beauchamp, I mean Claire is not here so I thought I'd check up on ye."

Jamie thought the older woman was acting a bit odd, the way she was trying to strain her neck to look beyond him. "Oh, Claire ...I was just on the phone with her."

Both her eyebrows arched. Then the frown on her face dissipated, replaced with a relieved smile and a reddening on her plump cheeks. "Oh, of course. I thought I heard some strange sounds. Ye must have been talking to her." She pushed the dish towards him. "Very well then, now that everything seems to be in order, I must go." Without waiting for him to reply, she whirled around and hurriedly left.

As Jamie stared at her disappearing figure, it slowly dawned on him, Mrs Fitz must have heard the sound he'd made while in the throes of self-love passion. Groaning inwardly, he realised Claire's writing studio shed wasn't the only place that needed soundproofing. If Claire was going to stay with him, he needed to soundproof the whole cottage. Bloody nosy neighbours!

  Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the positive feedback from the previous chapter - what a warm welcome from my readers. So chuffed reading the comments and seeing the kudos. Kudos right back at you, you wonderful lot!

I'll keep this short and sweet because I have heaps of things to do, but before I go, I'm sending you all my best wishes during this very odd times. Keep the good vibes rolling, ditched the negativity and most of all, take care of your health. Until next time ... X

[spaceorphan18]

do u have a ranking of klaine kisses? it's a bit of a weird question, i know.

Maybe it’s a weird question? But I’m going to have fun answering. 

Unfortunately, no gifs, cause I’m too tired to go looking for them, I hope you can be satisfied with stills. 

So, there aren’t really a whole lot of kisses to talk about here, which is sad, and let’s not get into times they should have kissed (**coughtonguetiedcough**).  I’m also not including times when Blaine kissed Kurt’s cheek, or when they were in an intimate embrace but lips did not touch.  

Bonus Moment -- That One Time On Tour

Not really canon, but it was hilarious and unexpected and forever talked about it, so worth mentioning.  (It was when they were in Dublin, in case you want to go looking it up on YouTube.) 

So, here we go, from least favorite to favorite! 

The Pity Kiss (The Break Up) 

I call it a pity kiss - because this was the writers literally throwing us a bone before screwing us over.  I’m not a huge fan of it because it’s a tad awkward (and quick - hence no actual photo), and Rachel literally throws herself in-between them like a giant, orange piano. 

The Bird Inspired Kiss (The Untitled Rachel Berry Project) 

I’m actually probably more annoyed by this one than the Break Up one, but bleh, break up one.  First of all, it’s so weirdly edited, that you don’t really even see them kiss because it’s cut away so quickly (hence another moment too quick to still.)  On top of that, this scene was a great, emotional moment scene - where they should have shared a real kiss while sitting on those steps, and instead, the writers decided to tack on a lame joke and this unsatisfying quick kiss.  

The Throwaway Kisses (The Back-Up Plan) 

/

So, there are two quick, nothing kisses in this episode -- and they both have the same kind of function, so I’m talking about them together.  The first one I really, really love, the second is meh, mostly cause of how they edited the scene and it’s a weird way to cut it.  Mostly, though, what I like about these ones are that they’re nothing kisses you give your long-time partner.  It’s a sign of domesticity and comfort of being with your long-time partner, which is something that’s kind of cool.  We watched Finn and Rachel do this all the time in season 3, and Tina and Mike excessively do it in season 2 -- it’s nice that the gays get to be treated like normal couples. 

However, since they are kind of nothing kisses, they’re near the bottom, even if I think they’re important.  

Because of the Layers Kiss (The First Time) 

It’s essentially the same as the two above, but we get a clearer shot of it (not clear enough for me to still, though!).  It’s cute and sweet and the first tender moment we got since the first one! 

The Last Kiss (Dreams Come True) 

I kind of couple it in with the throwaway kisses, which all are here towards the bottom of the list.  I think it’s sweet to end the series on this note, a gay couple who is no longer afraid to kiss each other in the hallway, and a married couple who are now so comfortable with each other, kisses aren’t the be all and end all -- they’re just another way to show affection. 

The Married Kiss (A Wedding) 

So.... controversy time? I’m not the biggest fan of this one? Partly because they cut in the middle of it to go over to Brittana, partly because everything about it feels incredibly formal (which makes sense considering).  Out of all the ‘big’ kisses - I kinda wish this one had a little more behind it. 

The Experimental Kiss (Transitioning) 

This one is a little one-sided as it’s mostly for Blaine to confirm what his heart is telling him and Kurt’s just along for the ride.  I love the scene it’s in, and I love the moment, but I just kinda like the rest of them on this list just a bit more. 

The Reunion 1 (Love Love Love) 

Hell yeah, boys, you go get it.  I love the enthusiasm and passion of this one! It’s just so short -- just let them make out there in the courtyard some more - we won’t mind. ;) 

The Reunion 2 Kiss (A Wedding) 

I love Kurt’s sense of desperation and urgency and I love how Blaine just falls into it.  I do wish we had gotten a smidge more on the making-out side of things as it lingered, but I’m not really complaining.

The Sex in a Car in a Church Parking Lot in the Middle of the Day Kiss (I Do) 

The framing of this kiss is clearly hot, but it was more about the framing, and bodies, and clothes, and steamy window than it was about the kisses themselves.  The scene is amazing, but we didn’t get to see nearly as much making out as I (or America) would have liked. 

The Auditorium Kiss (The First Time) 

This is the kiss that made me fall in love with Klaine.  It’s passionate and in the moment and very romantic.  I’m knocking it a slight point for being weirdly off center - but they’re on a stage, and it still took my breath away, so I still love it. 

The Proposal Kiss (Love Love Love) 

This kiss was perfectly acted and shot, being the culmination of their romantic story (thus far).  I loved it.  It’s not the hottest kiss on the list, but it is the most romantic and it’s classically beautiful. 

Tina’s Dream Fantasy Kiss (New Directions) 

I’m still slightly shocked this even happen.  This is hot -- and the closest we ever get to see them fully in the process of having sex before it’s cut away or hinted at (even if it’s clearly at the very beginning -- and a dream sequence.)  Now, if Blaine would just straddle Kurt and they take off all their clothes.... 

The Make Up Kiss (New New York) 

So, what I love about this one was that it started out as a standard issue kiss, and involved into making out and neck kisses, which were clearly orgasmic by the look on Kurt’s face. I love the intimacy of it, I love the passion of it, and I love that it’s the end of a beautifully, emotional scene and explicitly is leading to sex.  Get it boys! 

The First Kisses (Original Song) 

This scene is really a thing of beauty.  The first kiss was deeply romantic, the second one was passionately hot.  Everything about this moment and these kisses were deeply satisfying -- especially since we had waited so long to see them hook up.  Really, the best kisses they had on the show.... 

Wait, a second... I’m missing one... 

The Elevator Kiss (The Hurt Locker, Part 2) 

I know a bunch of you are going to be screaming at me - cause I didn’t put the first kiss first, or that they still feel deeply uncomfortable about Sue being a stand in for the audience.  I do not care.  This kiss is hot -- like, I’m feeling things in my panties hot.  This is making out as it should be, Why did Sue bother to open the elevators - they would have done it right then and there.  This is my favorite kiss, because it’s hot and intimate and passionate it and lustful and making out and all the things.  

There ya go! :D Whoo - is it me or is it hot in here? ;) 

[gunsatthaphan]

I lately notice alot of negative Tharntype reviews and while i am lukewarm about the entire series, i can see why. It looks like Tharntype s1 was made for an entirely different audience (one that loves the tragedy and the problematic character types in it's bls), dramatic, intense, and dark (in my opinion, on of the darkest and i have seen alot).

Tharntype s2 is was made for fans who just want more domestic Tharntype moments. The drama here is dwarfed by the batsh!t insane stuff Tharntype s1 did. (Maybe that's why TinCan too, was more sweet and had to be reset, the author didn't write it alone 😀) 7years doesn't have the intensity nor the darkness but does still have something that i find annoying. And that is blaming Type for everything bad happening in the "perfect" relationship. He couldn't come to dinner to watch a proposal, (that's normal, he had work). He has to go to work during an off day and comes home late at night,he works in a hospital (dude hospital employees have insane schedules and it isn't Type's fault his boss was a bigot). I ain't gonna mention Fiat cause he is no serious issue .Lastly, Type doesn't want to get married because he is afraid of people looking down on Tharn. While that's an entire different issue, you don't just guilt trip him Tharn, and Tharn's urgency to marriege is so "no-one can still type from him". Tharn is possessive, ok good, so is Dean form UWMA .He too, is adamant on marrying his boyfriend, but does a FAR better job at reassuring him for the future than Tharn ever did. Sure, you will say, "Tharn is broken and sensitive about breakups" but this is Tharntype 7 years later... I ain't expecting him to pass over his trauma but atleast improve their communication. If he is afraid that after 7 years they will breakup, if they truly were that incompatible ,then marriage ain't gonna do crap. So please, blame Tharn a little but too.

If you are someone who was invested in the main couple more than the drama and the side characters (and the woohoo scenes), like Tincan, you will enjoy this season.

Oh! and! (I am the long Tharntype series review anon) i remembered something that i should have included to the negative points of the series that are continued in the second season and that is P'San still draws breath. He is still here, why, why isn't he dead? Lhong did awful things and got shipped abroad, so how awful characters are is measured by how much they affect the relationship of Tharntype.

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

hello anon!

thank you for your detailed review, I’m gonna try to articulate myself the best I can and try to not repeat myself lol.

it’s interesting how you’re talking about the different audiences for season 1 and 2 because that’s how I feel too. I noticed from the start that this season has a completely different vibe to it, it’s somewhat calmer and slower, which I like, but the drama feels unnecessary and far-fetched which gives me the feel of a classic old-fashioned lakorn lol. I don’t think they actually intended to direct it towards a different audience but like you said, it feels different. and not in a good way lol. They definitely did take the fan’s wish for more domesticity into consideration and I actually like how they’re implementing it bc I’m a bitch for cute domestic moments and they do have those but... the whole thing has a very unrealistic feel to it.

Which brings me to my main point; I said this a few times before but my main problem with this season (and I’m saying this as a long-time fan who is still very much attached to the show & the characters) is that the way their relationship is portrayed does not match the timeline. Idk how else to explain it but they are not acting like they’ve been together for 7 years lmao. And the main catalyzer for that is Tharn.

Type is becoming the scapegoat for trouble in paradise just because he’s facing trouble at work, some random guy won’t stop pestering him and he is hesitant about getting married, which is not the way to go and definitely not how a relationship between 2 grown humans after 7 (!!!!) years should be handled. It’s unrealistic and an odd mannerism on Tharn’s side. In ss1 he was painted as the “mature” one and Type as the “immature” one and now it’s the other way around which is....incomprehensible and kind of ruins the viewing experience for me as Tharn seems to be developing backwards? The only thing that still has me invested is Type’s character and his development. The way Gulf is giving him a more mature feel while implementing his core characteristics from season 1 is very well done and def my favorite thing this season. Also the story around his issues at work is something that I appreciate a lot. It’s interesting and very relatable (at least to me) and I love how he goes about the situation. His actions are reasonable and it strikes a chord with me personally since I’ve had similar experiences.

But regarding realism, that’s about it for this season lol. Fiat is being portrayed as the main problem but in reality it’s not him - it’s Tharn lol. Fiat is a broken and loaded character who admittedly has an interesting story but he should not be taken seriously by anyone other than Leo (and maybe his future therapist - Which is NOT me disregarding his mental issues; I’m just saying this in regard to the jealousy situation!). So Tharn seeing him as a serious threat, without any solid reason or proof at that, is beyond ridiculous... Yes, he’s always been possessive but after 7 years (!!!! can’t stress that enough), a person like Fiat should not be such a trigger for him in my opinion....

BUT before this rant gets more fired up I’m gonna stop here lmao. We still have 2 more eps left so let’s hope it will somehow come to a good end. Also we still have the special ep in February so we’ll see how that goes. But for now I’d say I’m neutral about this season. There are things that I really like but the overall frame is just not it. but oh well...

xxx

[atinybitofau]

[PART 7] S A N royal series au

RECAP: san is king of eden, you’re queen of elos under one nation along side 7 other lone kings. upon being invited to San’s kingdom, he asks for your help and you find some answers to your own questions.

• series masterlist •

⇩ PART SEVEN ⇩ , click me to read part six.

“Looking like fine wine, this afternoon, princess.” King San teases your choice of color. “I didn’t know you liked to couple match.”

You scoff your exasperation away and part your lips. “My choice of wardrobe is a mere coincidence. You flatter yourself too often.”

He licks at his lips. “On par.”

“What am I doing here, San?”

“Uh uh.” His eyebrow soars up on his forehead. “That’s King San to you. Must I remind you every time?”

Glancing at the curious eyes around you, you let image overpower and you’re forced to correct yourself. “Forgive me, your grace— King San, thou most noble, most sovereign, the mightiest monarch under the lord’s blessed eyes. I concede you’d be any more of that, oh mighty imperial prince.”

San grins at you again and it’s because of plain amusement. Where his kingdoms finest men watch you gloat for their king, he knows you’re only trying to press his buttons. Annoyed at most that he’s making you do the unspeakable.

“That’s more like it.”

You refrain an eye roll. “So what is so dire that I needed to travel 4 tiresome hours for?”

He nervously plays with the cuffs of his dress shirt, his own image changed in a second. “I have nothing to wear.”

“What?”

His eyes shift between you and his men uncertain of his reasons and how they might come across.

“What is it you need, San, I don’t have all day. I have a coronation to plan, my own dress as well— if you’re just wasting my time-“

“I want your advice on what to wear at your coronation.”

You glare into his honey eyes and realize he was being genuine. For once. It was quite amusing to see him this vulnerable. He pushes back at his tussled moussed hair before turning away in such shame of his request. You can’t help but giggle, hands behind your back peering over his shoulder on tip toes. He turns his chin out, your faces now inches apart and you decide to tease him despite your racing heart.

“Does almighty San need my help? From a helpless future Queen that he oh-so despises?”

“I never said I despise you.” He retaliates inching closer making you stumble back. “I simply detest your opinions. That’s all.”

“Well you killed my father so—“

“I did not! And soon you’ll find the reason. One day you’ll regret accusing me of such.”

You jut your lips at that. “For your sake, I hope I do.”

You stare into each other eyes with different notions. Both speaking of war but for now you see much different. In fact, you see the world in his eyes; Bright and bold while he stares at you with an unmoving twitch. He blinks once. Then twice till you finally realize you’re caught in each other’s gaze for long enough.

He pulls at his vest promptly before looking away and clearing his throat. “Will you help me or not?”

“Do you really think you’ll make a fool out of yourself at my coronation choosing your own attire?” You scoff unconvinced. “San, you do realize how out of the blue this sounds, right? And you understand my hesitation.”

He pricks at his teeth in clear frustration. “The men attending your party fit the criteria of social exposure. If it’s not already obvious enough, Princess, I lack in social settings. I, at least, deserve a well put together suit.”

It’s nothing but the truth. Because no one invites the royal family of Eden to their events. It’s just not practical. With all the broken treaties, uncertainties his ancestors gathered in the past, San was far from the luxury of being invited. It’s not that they weren’t interested. They were too afraid of what Choi San could do.

An image for an image.

Weird how you want to change that of all people. Even if circumstances prove to be different, you want San to feel welcome. You want San... particularly in close proximity to you..

“They bother you that much?” You dare to ask even if it seems like it’s a sensitive thing to him. His ego not as real as people like to think. “The things people say about you. How they look at you?”

He looks at you again and there’s fire in them you’ve never seen before. Dim and barely causing a singe. “I don’t want my kingdom to suffer the way I do. And if I have to make an image of myself granted the opportunity given, I will.”

Your lip nudges to the side, soft blush forming on your cheeks for no reason at all. “Asking me of my opinion on a suit and tie wont help that, I promise.”

He pouts almost. “Better than what I can concoct. I can’t even tell the difference between velour and velvet.”

“Yet you can tell the difference between a pretty face and an ugly one.” You roll your eyes, arms crossed over you chest.

“I can tell you we’ve both got pretty one’s. If that’s any consolation.”

“Both are not. Don’t kid yourself, San.” You joke bravely taking his arm to escort you forward— a gesture in tradition.

Your relationship with Eden’s King was not strong. It was not positive and it was not given a sturdy foundation. But the way you see him versus the way you feel are two different things set on two different platforms. Issues aside, you would’ve fell face first for San’s odd charms. His perpetual personality besides his dashing good looks— you’d only think of falling for a man like that. And if it’s a King you need, it’d most likely be San you do pursue. That’s no argument. However, that’s not how things were handed to you.

No, when San entered your life, he was nothing but a nuisance. The killer of your terminally ill father. The man who held the key to saving your dying kingdom’s future? Choi San was in full responsibility and he threw that right back at your face. You should hate him. You should loathe him and with every time you see him, you should be livid. You should be off the walls ready to hang him for what it’s worth.

With what time has given you, it’s in fact far from the case. The times you feel like you should throw San in a ditch, you think of hugging him instead. You wish for a smile to form on his face that you shouldn’t want. No, you actually like hearing him taunt you with that forbidden smile of his. You think it’s fun having him tease you. The bothersome choices in words the King of Eden has in effect keens you. King San reels you in like a river fish; aware of it’s death but chooses hunger first. You dove straight for the bait.

Playing coy, like a damsel in distress wanting nothing but his undivided attention.

Fuck you were falling in love with him, you fool.

You two enter a grand room. Grander than your own dressing room, ironically studded in velvet. No extravagant rocks to show and determine wealth but only fabrics of modesty. For someone who couldn’t tell the difference between velour and velvet, he wore the latter very often.

“Good evening, Princess y/n.” His maiden’s greet you kindly as you enter the room in arms link to their King.

You hold a scoff because even his seamstresses were beautiful. He really can tell the difference between an ugly face and a pretty one.

You curtly bow before shooing San away short distance. “Please tell me. How is your King to you? Unwell, rude, obscenely obnoxious?”

Eager to hear a response from that, you jitter. The women seeming taken aback at most but slightly disapproving too.

“Far from it, your grace.” They defend with urgency. “King San is anything but! He’s too kind to us. We forget sometimes we even serve the kingdom.”

Impressed by their sincerity for their King, you glance to San who seemed restless gazing at random materials. He was obviously too dumb to think otherwise. He was still thinking about what he was going to wear to your coronation. Which was, if you think about it, kind of genuine of him.

“We hope to serve you well too, your grace.” They share a quick glance before innocently batting their eyes at you. “What color was your dress, your majesty?”

“M-my dress?” Your quick to receive.

“King San has been refusing any suggestions to a color. He’s insisted we wait for you.” They whisper as if attempting to keep shame for their king.

You whip around to look at an empty-minded San who was roaming around the room, gawking at random textiles like he’s never even seen them before. Obviously still disregarding you.

“He has?”

“It’s beyond our judgement but we’re forced to believe he quite fancies you, your royal highness.”

You nearly choke on air before San’s attention span finally gets recharged. “Oh that’s right, Princess. I was meaning to ask you about the color of your dress.”

Oh my god they were being serious.

You chuckle awkwardly, the girls snickering at the sudden question. “Why is that important right now?”

His lips curl, red and moist from frowning this whole time. “Because I want to know. Is that forbidden?”

“O-of course not.” You stutter back. “I’m just taken aback, that’s all.”

He sulks in his chair, leg bouncing on the floor anxiously. He‘s throwing a temper tantrum right now. He can’t be serious.

You laugh sardonically again bewildered at his action. “San. What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“For an honest answer.”

Oh my god, he was being fucking serious.

His maidens giggle under their breaths and San was too oblivious to notice the hidden truth to their reaction. At this point you were. And your face was as red as the tomato’s that’s grew in Mingi’s gardens.

Maybe you two were getting too comfortable..

“San, I can’t tell you what color my—“

“I don’t like any of the colors then. They’re not pretty to me.”

You puff in disbelief. “Choi San, you’re not a child. Just because—“

“A child? Who’s acting like a child? I don’t see anyone acting like that here.” His eyes hood when he glares at you. “But the woman in front of me whining and throwing a fit like one may prove otherwise.”

“You have gotta be kidding— oh for fucksake, the color of my dress is gold.”

Almost immediately, San’s eyes scan the table in front of you and instead chooses a fabric hiding in the breasts of his vest. He was faster than the eye can blink and you don’t even get to see the color before he hides it in the hands of his seamstresses. You gasp showing betrayal at his actions.

“I THOUGHT I WAS BEING SUMMONED HERE FOR MY CHOOSING?!”

“Now I want it to be a surprise.”

Perpetual indeed.

“I hate you.” It was your turn to sulk. “I can’t believe you not only disrespect the honors of a woman but her time.”

San scoffs. “So dramatic, princess.”

The maidens gasp in the pause you two make. “Would you look at the time your highness’. We must ready for supper.”

The women now showing shy smiles, giggle on their way out. Finally being free from the public eye, you slap at his thigh obviously annoyed by him acting up all day.

“You are refutable, Choi San, absolutely refutable.” You resist the temptation to punch him till he bleeds. “For someone who claims to detest me, you really take making my life miserable to unspeakable lengths.

“Something I’d want to do often, now that I think about it.”

“How can you think this would be a good time to be cheeky?!”

“Because you always have impeccable reactions, Princess. How could I refuse?” He smirks, his smile definitely going to be the death of you.

p.s rough edit lol

@atinybitofau

[talkingtomyselfandotheroddities]

Talking to Myself: Anger Management (or Not Really)

There comes a moment in your life/month/day when you go green. And I don't mean:

become environmentally conscious, eco-friendly, warrior for better tomorrow (which is not a bad idea, maybe sans the warrior part: peacefully explaining and teaching is more my jam; I do understand the urgency of the matters like climate change and I understand some want to take a firm stand because the soft way didn't work, etc. - but this post is not about that);

as in 'green with envy' (it's a nasty thing, quite an issue to go through,   but this post is not about that either);

What I mean is: something happens/doesn't happen and you go: rooooaaaaar big green guy. Hulk, I mean Hulk (not UFO). Your blood is boiling with rage just like every gamma rayed blood cell of his. In an instant. Okay, so you get the picture. If you didn't experience that or don't fly into rage for you are a creature of calm and composed nature – you were born under the lucky star. Just remember bottling it up doesn't count. It's not calm, it's storm in brewing (again: different issue, talked about it before: keeping these in = not good).

Right, so for those not familiar with Hulk. Here's the newsflash: he's always angry. That's why I find him to be my spirit animal. I feel like I'm angry all the time and I'm sure it has something to do with years of unresolved issues (perks of growing up in not so... encouraging? healthy? normal? home). And how I hate the questions like: “Why are you so angry?” “Why did you get so angry?” Or statements: “You seem angry all the time” followed by: “Why?” If I knew “why”, I probably wouldn't be angry anymore. I don't know why this particular thing made me go from dove to gargoyle. On top of that I know that I can't stop it and that thought only fuels gargoyle to breathe fire and sulfur. And if someone tells me to calm down or asks the question that's fuel to the fire too.

I wonder sometimes if there's one reason that causes the outbursts. Is there a way to get to the bottom of this? Let's see:

Am I unable to take a failure as a lesson and move on to either repeating the task or moving on to something else?

Maybe. I do have to repeat it until it's not a complete disaster. I get stuck in the loop, I guess. But there's the thing: repeating the task until desired result could have either good or bad outcome.

Being stubborn and achieving the goal, tasting the victory is sweet.  Technically  it shapes your character to not to give up to easily when obstacles occur.

But obsessing over something to the point it gives you headache and takes joy from the process away – not so sweet. When you finally get there it can happen you've exhausted yourself so much that you can't enjoy the finish line. Anger siphoned it away and you play on repeat the trials that took that joy away focusing on failings and not the win.

There's a stigma put on failing. Even though it's natural part of the process: trial and errors. Isn't it after all? We wouldn't have so many discoveries if people weren't stubborn (and crazy) enough to proceed (sometimes like maniacs). I know, I know: the glorified image is “the successful ones”.

I'm not saying that now we have to go and celebrate every failure and fall that we take, but... shake hands with it. It's a learning curve. I know easier said than done. But it's definitely something to think about – it's a step to accept yourself   a little bit more, too. It's part of you. It's part of me. It does interfere with the yearning to be enough, to succeed. But maybe the key is – shifting the perspective: making space for both and not choosing between these two. I guess it gives us depth, structure, one dimension is a bit boring, each of us is predisposed to more than one choice.

Question is how can you switch the frustration with enjoying the ride?

It's not going to be a magic wand and star dust over your head that will shift    the thinking. Safe bet is: hard work. Loads of it. And guess what: there will be failure there.

Something made you lose it and instead of taking it in calm manner, listening to reason you flipped and headache's there. It's okay. Rome wasn't built in a day. You'll try next time. Tell yourself: those things don't define you, you define your path and things around you. Cheesy? Hell yeah. Stupid? Maybe. Did you say it? Did you think about it? Possessions. Items. Is your health and life not more important than a thing (you don't want to have a heart attack over a non functioning valve, do you? I get it, it's new, so? Take a look again, ah, wrong order, change it, check it and... et voilà!)?

You'll say: pot calling the kettle (I did go batshit crazy trying to put together the air mattress and a pump – it wasn't pretty). Well, I might just take my own advice. Cause it's helluva annoying to lose energy on the outbursts. And as much as I love Hulk, it's not very healthy or practical to roam the streets or socialise when you're walking chaos.

I know these are trying times. We're stuck at home either alone or with others. We're observing idiotic behaviours and unreasonable decisions of the ones around us and these circumstances they don't help keep calm and carry on. But it shouldn't be an excuse. Don't let idiots control your progress. I know it can be suffocating in four walls. I know it can be super scary about your future: saving, jobs, health wise, etc. it could be the trigger, I know.

I know that the feeling “Hulk – smash!' is strong and seems to be the right response. Again: not keeping negativity inside you – that's a right step. Unleashing apocalypse and pressing self-destruct button in the process – not really. So one step at a time. One outburst after another. Trying to shift the narrative: these things are not relevant, your health and existence is. Failing is part of the journey, but just a part, so taking another step is essential.  

Maybe that chain of more or less connected threads will be a start of a transformation from Hulk to Bruce Banner [scientist, smart guy 'n all, before he was radioactive green guy]. Maybe it will be effective on me? Maybe it won't,  but will help someone else? Then why not: those things don't define you, you define your path and things around you.

m.

[rockshortage]

Your video where hector got killed and gage was like "oh shit" gave me an idea: hector's limb issues doesn't get discovered until X gang betrays him and he gets an entire arm/leg/portion of him blown off in the confrontation at the plant and by the time its over gage is like "fuck fuck fuck oh fuck he's gonna die if aint already" but hector eventually comes to going on about some sciency shit he cant understand and acting /mostly/ fine

I was gonna show my approval for this scenario with additions in keywords as usual but that didn’t work and then this happened

There’s an explosion. A big ball of fire, pieces of shrapnel going everywhere. It’s not the first time Gage thinks that Hector needs to be more aware of his surroundings, but this might just be the worst possible instance of it. The leadership of the traitorous gang is dead, but there are still stragglers all about the power plant, one of which opted to aim not at Hector directly, but at the gas tanks he was taking cover right next to.

His body goes flying, and Gage has to tear his eyes off the scene so he can take down the bastard who caused it, before he gets the chance to shoot at Gage too. When the dust settles, he takes note of Hector lying there, his left arm a few feet away from where it’s supposed to be attached to.

Shit.

After making sure there’s no immediate danger anymore, he runs over, muttering a string of curses under his breath. Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, fuck, why now? Now that two gangs are working together in a common cause, the third gang is pretty much dealt with, they’ve practically won! And now Hector’s going to fucking die if he hasn’t already-

It’s hard to tell with his ears still ringing from the explosion and with all the fucking layers Hector wears, but Gage is pretty sure he’s still breathing. He tries to make sure it stays that way, properly positioning one of the tourniquets Hector is already wearing and pulling it as tightly as he can manage to staunch the bleeding. It causes Hector to rouse with a grunt, instinctively trying to pull away.

Gage exhales, relieved, as Hector lifts his head a bit. Then braces himself again when Hector turns it to look at the source of the pain.

“Scheisse,” Hector groans and lets his head fall back. “Not what I needed today. Ok, shit, where’s the rest of it…”

Hector raises his head again, and Gage stares at him. Hector isn’t freaking out or panicking or screaming or whatever the hell else Gage thought he’d do. He’s very obviously in pain, yes, but he sounds… more annoyed than anything.

Gage looks over to the rest of the arm, grimacing at the tattered ends of flesh and bone. Reattaching it doesn’t seem likely, at least not without ending up with a significantly shorter arm.

“Fuck okay, I’m gonna need a big vessel, sterilized, airtight seal, like one and a half to two times the volume of the arm-“

Gage doesn’t tune him out on purpose, but it’s hard not to with how absurd the situation is. Hector just survived an explosion point blank and lost half an arm in the process, Gage is kneeling in a sizable puddle of his blood and all Hector is doing is babbling on about bio-gel or whatever the fuck. He doesn’t seem like he’s dying at least.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Gage blurts out, maybe a little more aggressive than he meant to. It makes Hector pause, if only for a moment.

“Replacing the arm? Growing a new one? I’ve told you about this, Gage, though you didn’t seem like you cared-”

Gage looks at him like he grew a second head, his voice fading into the background again. Did Hector tell him? He’s pretty damn sure he’d remember something as important as that. Unless he meant that time at Safari Adventure, where he was saying some stupid shit about re-growing limbs-

“—didn’t want to annoy you—wait. Wait a minute, is this why you were such an ass about the bones?! What the hell did you think I made them for?”

Hector did make some skeletal limbs out of metal. Spent ages on his little project, and even longer perfecting everything. Hell, he even went through the trouble of peeling all the flesh off real limbs to make sure his replicas were as accurate as possible. Why not just clean those instead? And bleach them so they don’t stink up the place? Hector did probably mention a reason but it just seemed like a stupid excuse for wasting so much time and energy for his collections or whatever. And Gage generally didn’t care to listen to excuses.

Well, shit.

“I thought you were joking!" He says in his defense now, exasperated. Hector didn’t seriously expect Gage to just take him at his word, did he? Boss or not, Gage wasn’t naïve enough to just believe shit like that without any proof.

“Well, I wasn’t. Now, I either need to get back to fighting to keep the adrenaline going or the fuck out of here so I can crash in peace—” Hector keeps babbling and now makes an attempt at getting up.

Right, they’re still in the middle of this power plant warzone, and gathering a bit of an audience as it turns out. Great, this is gonna spread like wildfire. Gage clears his throat and helps Hector to his feet, keeping a close eye on him. Can’t have him collapse in front of everyone.

“You did enough fighting today, boss. The gangs can handle the rest of the stragglers.”

He has no idea how to feel about all this, but what matters now is that Hector is alive and that he needs some actual medical attention. Turning on the power can wait for a little while longer.

“Wait, don’t forget my arm.”

Gage sighs and bends down to pick up the severed appendage, eyeing the bloody stump warily for a moment. This sure as hell wasn’t what he expected to be doing today, but he figures it could have been worse. 

---

Not detailed:

gage going through a whole internal crisis the span of multiple pages about what he’s supposed to do now without an overboss in the time between the explosion and checking up on hector

accurate depiction of hector not actually being cool as a cucumber rambling about shit but rather trying to keep a horrible medical emergency at bay by means of keeping his mind occupied

general sense of urgency and confusing emotions

[facelessfrey]

Roswell New Mexico Season 2, Episode 3

- Surprisingly, that episode frustrated me a lot less than usual, so that’s nice. 

- Things I am still frustrated with though: Am I the only one annoyed with the random time jumps? Like each episode just jumps forward a couple weeks and it always throws me. I guess it makes the timeline more realistic but I’m always like “but I want to know what happened during those two weeks??”. This is minor but it always bugs me. 

- Anyway, Maria finally knows. Thank god! I am happy that she got to yell at Liz and Michael for that matter because she deserved to. I wish we’d seen more of her reaction to Michael though. I mean I get wanting to cut out a bunch of exposition that we already know, and we certainly got to see her initial visceral reaction to him showing up but still...I kind of wanted more, especially since they’d been playing parking lots for two weeks apparently. But I’m glad she got to be pissed. And I’m also glad that even through all of that, she still got to look out for Rosa and try and get her some help. I hope we get to see more of that friendship as we go forward because it feels more genuine to me than any of her other relationships other than perhaps her frenemy thing she’s got going on with Isobel. 

- I feel like this was the first time Maria became a real character to me, now that she knows too. She never quite fit in the show before for me because she was always weirdly isolated. Despite supposedly being friends with Liz and Alex and having a thing for Michael, she was always on the outside and not even a way where she knew it or the other characters were actively trying not to tell her. She just didn’t know and didn’t seem to know anything was really off and wasn’t curious at all and trying to figure it out. And that always felt off to me. Maybe it’s because OG Maria knew something was up with Liz in about five minutes and then kept at her until she found out the truth. But that’s because she was there when she got shot. That’s because they were high school best friends who saw each other every day and worked together. This Liz and Maria have never had that kind of relationship. We didn’t even get to see it in the flashbacks because Heather wasn’t available for that episode or whatever. So anyway, I’m glad she knows now and I hope it means she will continue to feel more like part of the show. 

- Moving on to Rosa, she breaks my heart, crying about wrecking her miracle. I see she’s seeing her dad again next week. I hope that since she’s going to have more support perhaps, that she’ll be able to get through everything she’s going through. 

- I also hope that now that maybe she’s told Liz something about what Max has been saying to her, that there will maybe be more urgency in saving Max. I feel like the show is missing some stakes or something to really push the characters forward. They’re kind of going along on their own character journeys but I feel like they really need a strong overarching plot to tie them together and give them purpose. 

- Isobel’s scenes this week actually made me almost miss Max. His twitchy mind calls to Rosa never much endear me to him but sibling banter wins me over. I like that they had him be there for Isobel during all of that. And sure, at home self abortions are not the greatest message but I suppose she at least made it vaguely political about Roswell/New Mexico. But mostly, I felt okay with it because of that speech she gave Max about why she needed to do it. 

- Also, Isobel showing the handcuffs and sex toys to Valenti was kind of brilliant. But I do wish that investigation was a bit more urgent as well. Maybe it will be come that. Who knows. 

- Liz and Jenna were a lot of fun in this episode. There’s usually so many just quick scenes in this show and no one ever hangs out together for long periods of time, at least this season. So it was nice to have some extended bonding over booze and firearms. Although I have no idea why Cameron is back again or what is going on with her sister still. What happened to Ohio?

- As for Michael, I did actually think his scene with Maria and making her breakfast was cute. And she wasn’t wrong, that was probably the most words he ever spoke to her, which might be why one of their scenes finally didn’t feel weird and forced to me. Of course that’s all over now since she’s mad at him over the alien secret now. I suppose it should be interesting to see if they try again once she calms down but I’m obviously more interested in the newly platonic bros. 

- I liked the Alex and Michael scenes tonight. I though it was nice to see them actually working through stuff together for more than thirty seconds. I liked that Alex just got up to leave cause he thought he’d been dismissed but then Michael came back out. I know they’re going off to that farm or whatever next week and that should be interesting. Even though that’s where Alex is going to meet Forest but we’ll see how it all goes. In any case, I’m just glad to see them spending time together because I think both they and we need them to build a friendship first before they ever try anything again. I think they need that base level of trust. 

- The stuff with Alex and his dad was once again weird. I mean I get why he did what he did but again, I’m just so confused on what Jesse Manes’ role is in this show. I just want him to be the “big bad” at some point but he’s just chilling in a hospital bed and I don’t know what they’re ever going to do with him. 

- The flashbacks were interesting. Though I’m mildly distracted by all the places I know these actors from. Haha. But it was fun seeing Jason Behr again. It was like one of the OG Roswell flashbacks again where they all played other characters. It was fun. I wonder if we’ll see him again. Also nice to see Michael and Max and Isobel’s mothers fighting so hard for them. That was sweet. 

- Sad there was no Kyle this week. Although at least I was spared from more insurance talk with Steph. So I guess that’s a win. 

- All in all, I thought it was a way better episode than last week and I hope I continue to feel that way because I don’t want to be infuriated by this show. Although, it does still have a massive amount of storytelling issues. But we’ll see. 

[captainkurosolaire]

Comprehend Don’t Glimpse (2/3)

Battered and banged up by stormed debris but overall made it to the city-gates. Reaching the Scholar’s Walk near side the Alchemist Guild he trotted to his origins.

Sure enough, the pricks from his childhood of the time were on duty. Sworn between the doors preventing escape or entry. They, however, didn’t recognize the grown matured Miqo’te from the scamp they brutalized and abused, no longer showing the same stance.

Their facial features were remorseless, entitled, so, they could be corrupt and play god, play above all matters. A thing that would be learned by the Higher’s of the City-State overtime. Complacency and status inflated ego.

The brash young Seeker bit his tongue and confronted them this wasn’t about him, not in a moment like this.

[Previous]

Each of them putting hands on their hilts from judging already the painstaking scoundrel before them. “What are you here for and holding ruffian?” A grotesque wrinkling Midlander in Brass on the left spoke first, this was the same one behind his helmet that tormented him.

The Captain needed to overcome the peril and rage of this confrontation and suck-up. He couldn’t show emotion. These were Brasses they were looking for any means to get a pay-grade or promotion. He couldn’t imply that he found this small-child in the confines of a crate that he intended on smuggling for a client, he had to make up something. To make matters worse, he was a different race entirely than the Hyur child he was holding with no characteristics of features. That was red-flags all over.

“An abandoned. I take it, ye’ll take care of it. Those are the reasons behind that door ye guard, no? She’s famished and been without a proper meal for a while so the sooner the better.” A sigh left the left man, as his head beckoned the right to step in. To retrieve the kid.

“Indeed, however, I have questions with you before I can simply, let you go... “ He was judging him based on his looks at his profile.

Kuro didn’t wish to make a scene or endanger this kid’s future. So he had to comply… Forking over the infant to one of the Brasses as they opened the doors and brought them to the caretaker and the other misfortunes.

The Brass of Left, stepped in trying to stay opposing and threatening with his sheathed blade towards the unarmed pirate who caught in a dangerous situation. If he objected and tried to flee or leave at this point, these heathens would surely reject the infant and punish it and neglect it of spoiled foods, this was often how it worked here.

They needed this reminder of power above a pirate or a criminal scum who to them was nothing but someone beneath them an advisory that fought against them. Giving them bad namesake, in any other situation the pirate would have been able to stay off the radar but he acted like this. His crew wasn’t aware and couldn’t back him either. The Brass squinches his visage to peer observantly, “What’s someone like YOU. Doing with a Midlander child, did you steal it? If I go search the case files, will I find this? What’s your possible connection, I find it highly unlikely you’re an upstanding citizen. You radiate bad-news.”

The pirate stuffed his hands in his pockets and quenched his fists in curls underneath out of sight to contain and recompose it took ever constraint not to give into fighting. Loosening and composing with an internal inhale and exhale.

Then he devised and put thoughts to actions seeing the background and hearing an unruly loud cry ringing through that made other cries behind the doors of the child who wasn’t being comforted by the other Brasses handle, he couldn’t entrust or leave this be. They were denying the kid luxuries because of who brought it in. He couldn’t allow someone like them to continue to playing guardians to promising lives, he couldn’t have his storied of abuse and neglect repeat through endless cycles. They were proven casket history, which repeats by their placement.

He also couldn’t afford to let himself get caught, he couldn’t explain or lie outright about knowing the parents they would background check and surely make him keep within the City-State… He needed to pull them away.

His trade was always speech and looking in the dark of others of what they craved the most and playing against it. There was an advantage, he knew them more than anyone by growing up around them.

“If ye hadn’t noticed by all the sand covering me, I ran into th’ situation among the midst of the Thanlans little off the bridge to soot-creek. Hard to tell but I think that a caravan may run off-course and broke through railing ye might want to get out there and check the scoped sight, more fellows could be trapped or endangered that sandstorm picked up violently have heard forecast haven’t ye? I was heading to make my rounds to the city-state coming from Horizon got caught in the thicket when I was on the bridge and found an injured lass clutching a cradle and that baby in. She selflessly wished me to get the girl safe away from it, she���s stuck and knew I couldn’t possibly get them both within my limited-focus, I’m merely one bloke after all.”

He played between the emotions and the story-telling, fully, himself believing every word of it. By blaming the force of weather that often obscured, he could use this to his advantage. He played off facts by explaining his appearance which rewrote any detective lens.

Often interrogation conducted on stories untold. Though maybe if a tale held urgency, he could most likely rewrite the issue. Blinding the Brass from notions.

The policed-figure of sorts, “So you’re implying people are still endangered? Leaving their Mother alone out there for what, a temporary shelter in us?” Quickly retorting, “Aye. I attempted to go against wishes but with how thick that sand is nothing is clear it seemed she was caught-stuck, surely she knew this. Who wouldn’t be brave for their kid and muster through their own needs? -- I think if we go now, we can still save them. Leviathan, I’d go… but well, I doubt that’s an option.” Everything was a CLUE when someone spoke. The Brass disdained and didn’t like troublemakers or those who had a prolific image of stereotypical traits. By playing that recording against him, it sounded whistles of ‘reason’ a means of manipulation.

He was far out of the clear though. He needed to play off the already corruptible tendencies and convince them to pry away.

“We shall wait until nightfall, it’ll clear by then and I’ll send this to HQ. Then we’ll validate and verify.”

The pirate lowly disgruntled a snicker and looked away with a lack of approval, The Brass had to reply, “What…” with a following of the pirate’s explanation, “That’s unwise, is that not? Wouldn’t that get you potentially in far worse down the totem-pole? Or stagnant, do ye wish to stay looking after spoiled-little brats that continue to annoy? Think if ye do this heroic act especially during a catastrophic sandstorm -- Even the Sultana would be obligated to discuss this on Royal Court I could see promotions, for acting favored. Maybe as Sworn-Elite or even grander promotions. -- There’s two of you, why don’t you take me -- an unarmed man barely passed his teens and confirm it yourself, if I’m lying you can take me in or easily apprehend me and still claim a prized recognition by jailing me especially if you believe, I’ve abducted. However, when I prove correct you’ll be able to get a medal for saving multiple lives in crossed danger and reunite a child and their Mother. Though if you choose to wait and let the storm continue to pulverize endangered denizens and have knowledge of it, you’ll be in far dire situations, cause keep in-mind now you have that runt somehow behind those doors and the caretaker knows now too. Yer words of explaining shall b’ hard t’ fall-out from this.”

He used his criminal-mind to talk to the twisted. Those who wished for fame and further power were more prone to halt here. Saying lowly, frustratingly. While acting with a hinted pitch of selling himself to a trip to the gallows, what pirate would willingly do that? His words struck true, mixing facts and conveying what was a lied short-tale and turning it into believability.

Kuro’s heart raced never being in this situation. Though he continued for what lay’s on the line.

The Brass thought among himself while his thumb stroked the shaft of his hilt upon curved gladius. Time froze it felt like or became excruciatingly slow. As tension built to his dramatic life flashing. Fear was raising but battling against bravery for what seemed like he was reclaiming his young-life. Others were in threat. The last thing he wanted was to play vigilante. The idolized were unseen-poison. He was a nuisance or the villain of the story to the public eye, enemy number one, as a voice louder than his own declared through law and brainwashing the populous on a massive scale. But dammit!

Those who turned to the petty crime were often broken into corners wishing to soar their freedom more than the word that spread around without weight. They wished to show or spread the embodiments of it. To be a painting they created and not one colored in or seen as but troubled scribbles.

All these thoughts came rushing in a flood before, “...Alright. We’ll see your merit stay here, I’ll converse with my colleague, it’s your word against our own but do not try to speak out about why we left our station. We go as I return with haste to this landmark you’ll show. If you prove dishonest, you know what’s inevitable for you. No one will hear from you again.”

[sign-from-god-complex]

Effort for Effort’s Sake

Summary: Logan is struggling and Roman wants to help.

Pairing: Ambiguous logince.

Warnings: General negative thoughts/anxiety and crying.

A/N: Gosh, it’s been a little hard to get writing done recently, but I’m trying my best!!! Hope y’all enjoy this one; it’s probably the most direct projection I’ve done onto a character to date, honestly. It’s hurt/comfort (as usual) so although it’s a little angsty I promise it’s not as bad as it may sound, hahah.

Tag list: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun​

——————————————————

Logan tapped his pen against the notebook in front of him—once, twice—attempting to find a good place to begin. The blank page was staring back at him, almost mocking him for his lack of progress and Logan resisted the urge to simply give up. He tapped again—once, twice.

His next assignment for his English class was due in less than a week’s time and though he'd been thinking about it for equally as long Logan had yet to actually accomplish anything, merely throwing away ideas and trying not to panic as the deadline drew ever nearer.

He set down the pen with a sigh, resting his head in his hands and running them through his hair.

He knew he was intelligent—his whole life he had been told that by every adult who had ever viewed his work—so why were things proving to be so difficult all of a sudden? For years things had been getting harder and harder. Logan was struggling to keep up with assignments, he was finding it hard to pay attention to lessons, and though he knew the material it seemed as if there was some sort of barrier preventing him from putting it on paper with any sort of coherency. He knew he had to complete the assignment—he didn't have time to be messing around—but he just... couldn't.

Slamming the notebook shut, Logan rose from his desk, reminding himself to breathe as calmly as possible despite the instinct to do otherwise.

Gods, he already wanted to take a break and he'd barely been at this for 15 minutes. He wanted to say it was just a bad day and he'd get it finished tomorrow but it wasn't true. He knew it wasn't true. Every day was a bad day now. Nothing was going to get done when he was feeling like this and he rarely seemed to stop feeling like this so nothing was going to get done. Just another incomplete assignment to go towards his quickly declining grades; all because he couldn't seem to start! It was-

There was a knock. Quick, enthusiastic and potentially a little bit annoying—Roman. Logan unclenched his fists though clenched his jaw, breathing in slowly and opening the door to Roman's excited rambling as he pushed himself into the room.

"You have no idea what happened to me today! It was absolutely ridiculous! I swear even I wouldn't have-" Roman cut himself off, suddenly looking alarmingly contrite. "I'm sorry, were you working? I... shouldn't have interrupted."

"No. Roman, I wasn't working. I should be working, but I was not."

The words came out more bitter and frustrated than he had intended them to, and Roman's facial expression shifted into worry.

"What does that mean, specs?" Roman asked, voice softer than Logan had ever expected him to be able to be, "You don't strike me as the kind of person who procrastinates. Is it just a bad day?"

Logan sighed, rubbing at his forehead. How could he explain to Roman how every basic task seemed to take an insurmountable amount of effort? How could he explain the way he had begun to panic at merely the thought of his responsibilities, no matter how simple or routine they seemed to be? How could he explain the way he could feel himself spiralling with no real way to prevent it until he finally hit the ground? He couldn't.

He couldn't.

"No, it was just-" He could feel tears welling up in his eyes and took a moment to attempt to stifle them, blinking rapidly in the hopes of keeping them at bay. "Um... I was-" His voice broke and Logan felt his cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. He should not be getting so emotional; he needed to get himself together.

Roman's face was openly concerned at this point, with just an edge of fear. Logan didn't blame him, he certainly didn't cry often. And he was crying—despite his best efforts tears were slipping out from behind his glasses, trailing down his cheeks and dripping onto the collar of his shirt. It was messy and uncomfortable and the way Roman was looking at him, with so much care and affection broke the final strand keeping Logan together.

He sobbed—once, harsh and sudden—and Roman was in front of him in an instant, hands hovering over Logan's shoulders as he struggled to think of what he could do to help. Logan's breathing was shaky but there, stuttering in between muffled cries, hand held in front of his mouth to keep as silent as possible—though he wasn't entirely sure to what end.

"I'm sorry, I-" Logan's voice was thick and he hated it. He hated feeling so out of control, so completely uncertain and unaccomplished. He was smart, he was disciplined, he was... falling apart at the seams, knowing no way to hold himself together.

Roman shushed him, his face stricken and Logan's breath hitched. He wanted to crawl into a small space and hide, cry to himself and the darkness until he awoke in the morning, unconcerned with the previous evening's events until it became an issue once again. It was an unhealthy cycle, Logan knew that, but he was struggling to find other ways to cope.

"Can I touch you?" Roman's words were soft but infused with a sense of urgency that Logan wasn't going to claim was entirely unwarranted. The regular panic and discomfort that came from that suggestion didn't come, so Logan nodded and in an instant Roman's hands were gripping his upper arms. It was a pressure, warm and grounding and Logan made a noise of which the origin or explanation he wasn't entirely sure.

He was pulled to the ground—steady guiding hands and gentle touches—and against Roman's chest. He was solid underneath Logan and he could hear his heart beat—once, twice—a constant noise to ground him and keep him here. There was a hand running through his hair and Logan only had a moment to feel embarrassed at how greasy his hair likely was before the movement soothed his thoughts.

His tears slowed in the wake of Roman's actions, Logan managing to distract his mind from his failings by instead focusing on the soft warmth Roman was providing, thinking solely on the repetitive motions and the rise and fall of Roman's chest with each breath. He breathed in turn—once, twice.

"I, um..." His voice was croaky as he spoke up and even the wake of everything that Roman had just seen, Logan felt a flash of shame. "I want to apologise, I-"

"No, none of that, specs," Roman interrupted—the words were kind and the movements continued, so Logan simply took another breath as Roman continued, "You're allowed to be upset, you're allowed to show your emotions and you're most certainly allowed to receive comfort when you aren't feeling your best.

"Now—" Roman gently pushed him away, the comforting acts ceasing and Logan couldn't ignore the way the entire room seemed to stutter—"I need you to tell me what's wrong, Lo. Cause I want to help you, but I won't be able to do that unless you talk to me. You don't have to do it right now if you don't feel up to it, but I... worry about you." He paused, his eyes warm with an emotion Logan couldn't quite identify. "I want you to be happy."

Logan nodded distantly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, brow drawn. There was a moment of silence.

"Everything is so... hard, Roman."

Roman seemed surprised by the admission, but Logan pushed on. "I can read an Agatha Christie book just fine but the second I have to write a single word it feels as if my entire body is turning itself inside out to get out of it. I understand the importance of the chores roster and I want so badly to assist you and the others in keeping our apartment clean and taken care of, but every week I feel a physical weight in my stomach dragging me down and every single task is like climbing a mountain.

"It's like that feeling of effort it takes to get up and take a shower but for every single action and Roman, I don't know what to do anymore." He glanced up at Roman then, eyes wet but tears unshed. Roman's expression was... sad—empathetic and loving. "I was aware that being an adult was going to be difficult, it's brought up routinely at this age, but this is not that. This... cannot be that, I cannot let it be that, because I cannot do this—not the ways things are going right now."

Roman drew him back into his chest abruptly, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, the other pressing Logan's head into the crook of his neck. It only lasted a moment, before Roman inhaled deeply and let go. His smile was weak and sort of strained as he regarded Logan but it was present nonetheless.

"Alright. Things sound overwhelming right now, yeah? Do you think you're up to going to the student health centre at school?"

It had crossed his mind, but at the same time that feeling of effort extended to getting himself help, and he wasn't sure he could be trusted to ever actually do it.

"If... you accompany me," Logan mused, "Yes. I think I would be able to do that." 

Roman looked slightly shocked at Logan's declaration but recovered quickly. "I would be happy to, Logan, but uh… are you sure you wouldn't rather have one of the others...?"

He shook his head decisively. "I would prefer the others not know about this."

"But-"

"Please." Logan felt the desperation filter into his words involuntarily and Roman exhaled softly. "Just for now. If anything does come of the trip to the student health facility I will inform them then, but I need a little bit of time."

"Of course," Roman murmured, "I didn’t mean to push you."

There was silence for a while, Logan intimately aware of how close the two of them were, but not particularly making any moves to do anything about it.

He could hear voices downstairs, so he assumed the others had arrived home at some point and dinner was in the process of being cooked—a reminder that the world was going on around their quiet little bubble, and they did have to get up. The idea was abhorrent, twisting his insides into knots, but Logan made an effort. He gathered himself up from the ground with a slow inhale, bringing Roman to his feet beside him with an offered hand and a tug.

"Would you..." Logan trailed off for a moment, unsure of himself but wanting to lift the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the two of them. "You were in the process of telling me a story as you arrived in my room this evening. Do you wish to continue it?"

Instantly, Roman lit up and with it, Logan felt the tension in the room dissipate slightly. He could catch a few tossed phrases as Roman began to speak rather rapidly, humming along to rhetorical questions and looking appropriately amused when Roman detailed the encounter he had been so excited to share. He let himself smile softly.

Yes, things were overwhelming right now but he had Roman now and that was, at least, a start. He was going to make an effort to cope better and with any luck, things were soon going to be okay.

[docfuture]

Princess, part 8

     [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly–going to try to get the next one out by mid-March.]

Previous: Part 7

      Journeyman ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as he looked at the picture Flicker sent to his handcomp.       "Yep, that's her," he said.  "Dr. Reinhart has a rep of knowing a lot about how minds are put together--and how to take them apart.  She seems to be effectively immune to mental influence and hostile probability manipulation--no, I don't know how she manages that--and I've heard enough complaints to believe that she can mess up Diviners and Seers just by being near what they're trying to see.  Not sure about Oracles.  Also, she's hard to kill.  If she's willing to help you, I doubt she'd be a weak point."       "That sounds good.  Except that the Database says her specialty is mind control.  But I guess she concentrates on defense?  That part wasn't clear."       "A lot about her isn't clear," said Journeyman.  "She is very good at using fear, though.  General opinions I hear about her are mixed.  I have connections, and while I keep them private, the general idea isn't a secret--I swap gossip, assistance, and so forth, move things around, and link people with what they need, all fairly quietly.  Dr. Reinhart clearly has connections, but nobody knows how they work.  She can show up somewhere, have coffee with a few folks, and sometimes everything stays quiet, and sometimes all hell breaks loose.  Odd accidents, fits of madness, sudden unexplained deaths from no obvious cause, and occasionally 'Blood--blood everywhere!'  And afterwards the details of what happened don't always add up.  Except usually some grim entrenched problem has disappeared.  That part is acknowledged, but she still really puts people on edge.  Oh, and there are rumors that she's seriously annoyed several intelligence agencies, but they're still trying to hire or co-opt her.  Jumping Spider would know more about that than me."       "Well, I needed to talk to Jumping Spider anyway."  Flicker frowned.  "Anything else?"       "I don't doubt Dr Reinhart's competence to advise you about social interaction."  Journeyman looked down.  "Motivation, methods, side effects?  That's over my head, but I would expect some warnings from your AI."       "Why?  Just her reputation?"       "Well... I know Doc is twitchy about mind control, and Dr. Reinhart apparently has issues with his methods.  And the spy stuff."       "She has a negative threat index--that means she's helping.  Doc is pragmatic about that."       "Up to a point."  Journeyman spread his hands.  "Anyway, that's what I can tell you.  Hope it helps."       "Yes."  Flicker sped up to virtual type a response to Dr. Reinhart, then slowed back down again.  "There.  She's traveling, and pretty inflexible about privacy, so it will be at least a few days before I can meet her, regardless."       She stood up from the high speed interface station and glided over to stop in front of Journeyman where he sat on the couch.  He watched her warily.       "Thank you," she said, and paused.  "I'm willing to at least consider rescheduling Speedtest, but I don't want to argue about it right now.   You don't feel safe here and you probably need sleep.  How much did you get last night?"       He shrugged.  "A few hours before you woke me up.  None since."       "Then get sleep, consult your Diviners or whatever, and we can talk more tomorrow."       "Might take a while to find anybody.  If I even can.  Tracking down Diviners is rarely easy."  He looked away.  "And Flicker?  I don't want to argue about it at all.  I'll send what I find to the Database.  Argue with Doc, or Jumping Spider, or Jetgirl, or whoever you need to.  Not me."       "I don't..."  Flicker stopped and swallowed.  "Argue isn't the right word.  It's just the one that sounded human to me.  And my anger isn't really at you, that's just where I attach it.  I think there's something wrong with my human emulation."       Journeyman shook his head.  "No.  Humans make mistakes, and they get angry, and no one should expect anything different.  Least of all me.  This isn't something we can solve.  Sometimes you can't get from where you are to where you want to be."       "And what I want is the problem."       He waved his arms.  "No!  I'm the problem.  I thought I could still finesse a way through, despite everything stacked against it, and I. Was. Wrong.  And that's why I have to go."       "Partner..."  She stopped again.  "Damn.  Having an emotional reaction to that word."       "...Yeah."  He blinked then raised his hand.  "I'm sorry I don't have any magic words for you.  Primum non nocere is all I've got left."       Flicker pulled off her glove and reached out to complete their fingertip touch.       "Take care," he said.       She couldn't find anything to say.  So she just nodded.  Journeyman took a deep breath and teleported out.       A faint whirl of disturbed air, then nothing.       Flicker looked around the room.  It felt far emptier than was reasonable.       *****       Evening back home, pre-dawn in Kenya.  Flicker didn't want to wake up Jonathan or his family, but Chaser was awake and running to greet her as soon as she slowed down.  Flying tackle and friend bites and his ridiculously tiny meow, and they played chase dance and dangle the fuzzy toy the way he liked.  Then he flopped down on her feet and purred as she held him.       Chaser wasn't her cat.  He wasn't anyone's cat.  He was his own cheetah.  But Flicker had rescued him as a kitten, taken him far away from the lions that had killed his siblings.  It wasn't clear what had killed their mother, but life was full of perils for cheetahs, especially when they had to share shrinking habitat with lions.  He stayed with the family of a park ranger, on land Flicker had purchased next to a wildlife reserve.  Extravagant?  Maybe, but it wasn't hard to figure out why she'd identified so hard with an orphan who had social problems with other cheetahs.       Time zones made visits awkward, and they still hoped to reintroduce him back to the wild someday, but in the meantime she could hold him close, and whisper that he was a good cat.  He purred and didn't mind her tears from trying to accept a present that had crumbled unexpectedly, and a hoped for future that had been a mirage.  He didn't judge, didn't care whether she was human or not; she was just his fast friend.       An hour under a slowly brightening sky made the world a slightly better place.  Still not good, but better.       *****       Later evening.  Ghosting through the darkness at 500 kilometers per second.  Flicker was moving fast enough to be effectively invisible, but slow enough to leave no traces behind her.  It fit her mood--she didn't particularly want to be anywhere.  But there was someone she needed to talk to at Doc's.       Superhuman speed implied a superhuman ability to interrupt.  So Flicker and Doc had worked out a protocol that allowed for degrees of urgency and desire to avoid disruption.  'Open door' had a particular implication because of Flicker's dislike of them.  It was a way for Doc to indicate that she could join a meeting in progress, but it would be polite to wait and listen quietly until an appropriate pause, absent an emergency.       At Doc's.  Flicker entered the recovery room next to one of the med labs, sat in one of the chairs, and slowed down.  She didn't say anything.       Jumping Spider was sitting up with her left leg extended.  Something complicated covered the knee--it looked like one of Doc's support and monitoring minibots.  Doc was frowning at a large display showing... Not her leg.  Her left jump boot.  Which wasn't in the room, though her spare pair was.  A quick Database check showed her main boots were down in one of the big fabbers in Doc's workshop being repaired.       "...crash cushioning cells seem to have handled the landing fine," Doc was saying, "and at least blunted the impact. Still..."       "They did the job," said Jumping Spider.  "Sometimes a gust of wind hits you at just the wrong time, and one did, right after I'd hopped off the roof."       "The fourth story roof.  Over icy concrete.  In a blizzard."       "Yeah, it was Tuesday.  Wednesdays are overpasses.  Hi Flicker."       "Hello.  What happened?"       "Nothing major.  I banged up my knee a little yesterday and used the crash guards on my left boot.  Doc's going to give the boots a checkup, recalibrate the jump jets, and--" She turned her head to look at Doc. "Not stay up all night making minor improvements.  Right?"       Doc raised an eyebrow.  "I am most definitely going to run unit tests after the tuneup and the data updates."       "That will only take an hour or two.  And Flicker wants to talk to me anyway."       Flicker didn't understand how Doc's relationship with Jumping Spider worked, except that it did.  It was close, but they usually saw each other only a few times a month.  Jetgirl described it as 'co-conspirators with benefits.'  There had to be more than that after almost two decades, but Flicker didn't get how most more typical relationships functioned either.       "All right," said Doc.  He nodded to Flicker.  "I'll give the two of you privacy, then."       "Thank you," said Flicker.       Doc must have read her expression--or more likely her 'No personal small talk currently welcome' Database flag--and left the room without further comment.  Jumping Spider pulled the swivel arm table with a Database interface over so she could use it.       "We're secure--privacy locked," she said.  "Yes, from Doc too.  Check."       DASI was insistent on leaving up the warning flag on Flicker's visor about limiting Doc's access in his own HQ, but she confirmed the privacy lock.       "Verified," said Flicker.       "Now we can talk," said Jumping Spider.  "My knee isn't much worse than usual.  But I heard you are.  Doc says you seem determined to push a hazardous test series on short notice and you don't look happy.  Did Journeyman just turn you down or did you manage something stupider?"       Jumping Spider could be tactful.  She usually chose to be blunt with Flicker.  They weren't friends, but Flicker tried to listen to her advice, because she was right far too often to ignore.       "Both," said Flicker.  "I don't think I have a partner anymore."       "You don't think?  Want to tell me what happened?"       "No.  But I should.  I'd been pushing patrols for a while and was off duty yesterday when I got an alert that Hermes was back..."       Flicker summarized the mess of the last two days, with a pause while Jumping Spider watched the vid of the handover of Hermes at the Box.  It was even less pleasant to explain than she'd expected.  She had to bounce up to speed mind several times to maintain her composure while staying on track.  Jumping Spider said she would save any questions for later, which was just as well.       "...and after he ported out," Flicker finished, "I did memory assimilation work, then visited with Chaser until the Database told me you were available.  It's been a long day."       "It sure has," said Jumping Spider.  "The Database security AI called me for help.  It needed a human other than Doc with the right clearance level bad.  You ignored warnings, bypassed the blocks, and managed to set off a cross-domain priority conflict and a legacy conflict this afternoon.  Why settle for one crisis at a time when you can have more?"       "Um.  Those were for something that actually helped."       "A book that flaunts that it's full of traps in the dedication and you're sure it helped?"       "Well... I'm running sims."       "Yeah.  You do that."  Jumping Spider smiled sardonically.       "Why was the cross-domain priority conflict so bad, anyway?"       "Because the AI was forbidden from telling Doc about something in one domain, and required to tell him in another--and he's normally the one that resolves those conflicts.  And you were no help, because you were causing it.  So it had to call me, because I was the next person in line with clearance.  I figured I'd better drop what I was doing to deal with what you stirred up.  Doc was already on the way to get me when you sent your message about Dr. Reinhart--his flying car does come in handy sometimes.  And I have heard of her.  But I need to do some Database poking before I'm willing to make a judgement, so are you up for doing some tedious but necessary work to help me fill in a few holes?  It would make up for what I had to drop, and let me test something."       "Depends.  What kind of work?"       "Spying.  Under the direction of someone who knows what she's doing.  That's why most of it will be boring.  But it will also involve a lot of purposeful running around, which I'm guessing you could use.  You've amply demonstrated how fast you go stir-crazy.  I want to double check some clues to whatever was wrong at the Box that they didn't want you to see, and have you take a quick look in some other places.  I expect a lot of verification of negatives, or whatever is in the Database, but I have a nasty suspicious mind and suspiciously nasty things have been happening."       "...Yeah.  Okay.  It'll be slower in the dark, though."       "Oh, some parts will be in daylight."       Flicker waited a moment, and the Database projected the outline of a list that was far too long to fit on her visor display.  It started with a survey of just who was staking out the home of the magician she'd talked to at the Box, and included whole sets of vehicles and buildings associated with spy agencies and less identifiable groups.       "All right," she said, and headed out.       *****       Flicker settled into a rhythm.  Slow down, take action, verify, speed up, move on.  And consider her life, while she moved.       Human--for some value of human that was possible for her--was part of what she wanted to be.  Speed and motion were a much bigger part of who and what she already was.  Human was an illusion, an emulation.  A load bearing one.  Maybe even a necessary one, in the long term.  But she wasn't good enough yet.  If the last few days had proved anything, it was this.       She'd read various versions of a joke about how many people stopped growing up and just started faking it after about age fourteen.  Even humans sometimes had to fake being adult humans.  And that went to the essence of what she thought Journeyman had been trying to say.  For her to connect, to feel, to be the person she wanted to be, meant being socially human.  But to relate as an equal, as a full partner, as... well there weren't proper words, but to connect fully with him meant being a responsible adult.       And Flicker couldn't manage both at the same time.  Not yet.  She could fake it for a while, but push too hard?  Add the stress that came with being who she was in the world she lived in?  Her emulation broke down.  Humans used age as a proxy for responsibility, and she'd been fixated on the unfairness of that.  But all the advice, the common wisdom, assumed you were human.  And social support was centered on 'normal' human, for an extensive and arbitrary set of dimensions of normal.       But if she gave up on human, if she fully accepted that there was no one like her, that she was alien to this world of odd bipeds, she risked finding the breaking point of the fragile thread of empathy that connected her to that world.  Because they could be so foolish, so cruel to one another, so ignorant, so blind.  Doc had always been very clear about the danger in that.  And the Volunteer had spent a whole day talking her down from the edge, after her big fight with Doc, when she'd wanted to act, to treat the world like a dysfunctional terrarium that cried out for intervention to stop the evil, the oppression, the war, the starvation and brutality and shortsightedness and indifference, all the so very unnecessary pain, outside the narrow range of actions allowed for a superhero.       The most frightening part of that day had been seeing the edges of some of the Volunteer's load-bearing illusions.  The ideals that let him help the things he could, as an alien in a world of humans.  But those illusions couldn't be hers.  Because she was more alien?  She didn't know.  She did know they'd broken others who had tried.       She needed to find her own way.  While she could still care.  Because if she stopped caring, it would be way too easy for her to go over any one of several edges.       Maybe Dr. Reinhart could help Flicker find better ways to connect to humans.  But she also needed to learn more about who, and what, she already was.  The limits and idiosyncrasies of her power and being.  Doc hadn't stopped her experiments because they'd reached any firm conclusions.  He'd stopped them because they'd become too dangerous to continue on Earth.       How fast was she, really?  What new realms of sense and ability were beyond the limits she needed to maintain on Earth?  The aim of Speedtest was to find out.  It was the only thing she looked forward to now that was truly hers.  It was past time.       *****       More than an hour and numerous additions to the list later, Flicker was finally done.  She'd spent a lot of the extra time following up discrepancies in Italy.  There was a messy but still relatively quiet political crisis going on there, triggered by some combination of Hermes' rampage in Rome, the identity and contacts of the now dead magician who had summoned him, recriminations over the botched response that had resulted in his death, and a long-simmering conflict over the reasons that Italy didn't currently have any resident superheroes.       She'd taken a brief moment to ghost over to the shop in Florence where she'd gotten takeout gelato with Journeyman to celebrate first becoming partners.  It was still closed in the first hint of dawn light.       Sentimental human indulgence.  Was there a point?  Maybe there would be again, someday, a time when it would mean more than something she'd thought she'd lost, but never really had.  But for now, it was closure.  Acceptance.       She headed back to Doc's HQ and decided against speeding up.  Speedtest would be soon enough, and there was no point in leaving a bright plasma trail that could set off alarms for satellite watchers who might wonder why she was hurrying across the Atlantic at night.       *****       "I recommend that you agree to Dr. Reinhart's conditions," said Jumping Spider.  She sipped from her coffee cup and eyed the Database display in front of her with mild disapproval.  "She's right about the amount of inconvenience adjusting her work around advising you will be."       "You think she's safe?" asked Flicker.       "Heh.  No.  I think she's followed consistent goals, and she's functional, competent, as expert as you're going to get, skilled at error recovery, and very smart.  Smart enough to understand just how vital and risky giving you psych advice will be.  But don't try spying on her.  She didn't think much of your failure to consider the consequences of stalking Journeyman."       Flicker frowned.  "How do you know that?"       "I talked to her while you were gone."       Jumping Spider paused, waiting to see if Flicker would ask a question.  She sped up.  Her human emotion emulator indicated her nominal reaction would be anger or irritation.  Human emotions weren't serving her very well lately, so she ignored it.  It would be a drop in the bucket compared to everything else, anyway.       DASI?  Anything security relevant that I need to know about Jumping Spider contacting Dr. Reinhart?       No.       Well, that was unambiguous.  She'd asked Jumping Spider for her professional assessment as an intelligence expert, and it was clear she was testing Flicker's self-control, too.  She slowed back down.       "Go on."       "It was an illuminating conversation.  She referenced some of my more subtle tradecraft tricks like an academic being careful about citation footnotes.  If you focus on her advice rather than trying to emulate her, respect boundaries, and maintain a healthy level of skepticism about untested theory, I think her aid will help you.  Once she's ready to meet--it will be at least a week."       "Good to know.  Thank you.  Was the information I verified for you helpful?"       "I don't know yet for most of it.  But your performance was technically adequate while under direct supervision."       Jumping Spider had no qualms about hammering at a point or reminder until she was sure it got through--in this case that Flicker was still bad at the judgement part of spying, however technically skilled she might be.       Flicker nodded.  "Any other suggestions or comments?"       "Do you want my assessment of what happened to Journeyman?  It's speculative, and you may find it upsetting."       "I don't ask for your opinions because I think I'll like them."       A snorted laugh.  "Okay.  I think Hermes' arrival was part of an op, and was deliberately timed to coincide with whatever Journeyman did just before exfiltrating.  I also think we're unlikely to ever get enough evidence to prove that.  From an operations viewpoint, I think Journeyman got entangled and dragooned into something far more dangerous than he'd ever voluntarily agree to, but all sides--and I definitely think there were more than two--in the conflict that might have wanted him dead knew he had your backup, and that's why he lived.  Tell me.  If demons had killed him in some dimension you could get to, what would have been your first impulse?"       "Burn it to the ground, then burn the ground," said Flicker.       "That's the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  But since he came back alive, you're much less inclined to do anything disproportionate, right?  Because attribution is much tougher, even if an attack is aimed at you or Doc.  And there will be probably be completely uninvolved people living in the same place even if you do know who is responsible."       "...Yes."       "That's also the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  I also think that whoever Journeyman believes is your mother is part of one of the sides, and that an opposition tactic that he fears is a framing attempt to deflect any retaliation onto her.  And he got dragged deep into the wilderness of mirrors, no longer fully trusts his own judgement, and didn't want to drag you there, too.  I'll give him credit for that."       Flicker sped up to consult the Database.  'Wilderness of mirrors' was an intelligence term for living in a state of perpetual uncertainty about a messy mix of hard to attribute hostile action and coincidence.  Just the sort of thing she hated.       "Great.  So, was he being deceptive about--No. There's no point it getting angry about any of it again until I can talk to Dr. Reinhart."       "You're learning.  And you stopped Hermes without killing him or anyone else, Journeyman got back alive, you didn't lose it when he disengaged--which was inevitable--and it's much harder to attack someone who's in a different dimension.  And you know who is at home in the wilderness of mirrors?"       "You?"       "Dr. Reinhart.  I do all right, but I suspect you'll get along better with her."       "Okay.  Thank you for your assessment.  Do you think I should delay Speedtest because of Journeyman's warning?"       "Because of his warning?  Are willing to put it off indefinitely?"       "No."       "Then no, because he didn't tell you anything actionable.  But whether it's a good idea at all is not my call.  Talk to Doc."       "I will," said Flicker.  "Jumping Spider?"       "Yes?"       "This was... less unpleasant than talking to you usually is."       She smiled.  "Don't worry.  I'll make it up to you next time."       Flicker shook her head, but felt her mouth want to twitch in response.  Human wasn't something you could just turn on and off...       She headed out to find Doc.

Next: Part 9