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k4marina · 7 months ago

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— Prologue: Who is She? || The Night We Met

synopsis: While investigating some suspicious movement by Flacone and the Penguin, Batman encounters a mysterious female vigilante.

warnings: drugs & implied drug overdoses, brief mention of death, brief mention of rapists, cannon typical violence and themes, gotham (cuz why not ig?)

bruce wayne x fem!vigilante!reader

2.6k word count

Gotham city at night is always a sight to behold. The tall skyscrapers reached up into the cool night sky. The blend of different types of architecture in the city was oddly appealing, an aesthetic that only Gotham could pull off. Despite it being so late, the city was still awake, but not for any good reason.

Criminals freely roamed the streets, terrorizing any poor individual that may be out. Over the decades Gotham had been slowly being eaten away by criminal scum on all levels. The streets where children should be playing and growing up were now littered with drug dealers, murderers, and rapists.

The GCPD, sworn protectors of the city and the law, reeked of dirty cops openly taking bribes from criminals and other corrupt individuals. They swept things under the rug, turned a blind eye, and threatened the other officers to do the same if they knew what was good for them.

Elected officials who were chosen by the people to better their city were no better. Bribes were exchanged, cases were either dismissed or the guilty were given slaps on the wrist for their crimes. The city's politicians were in the pockets of either mobsters or other crimelords and the ones who suffered were the people.

But things were slowly changing.

The Batman: a crime fighting vigilante that had appeared one night two years ago. He dawned a black cowl, obscuring the top half of his face, tactical armor and an assortment of gadgets, and a long black cape.

Despite his sudden appearance he was a force to be reckoned with. He had a clear mission that everyone was able to pick up very quickly; protect Gotham and its people from criminal scum. His first year was the hardest, butting heads with both criminals and the police, especially one James Gordon, but the Bat learned quickly and grew stronger day by day, or rather night by night.

For the past few weeks Batman had been investigating the Falcone crime family and Oswald Cobblepot and their suspicious movements. The two criminal organizations were quite the opposites of each other. While the Falcone were both wealthy and feared in all of Gotham, the Cobblepots were looked down upon for falling from grace as one of Gotham's founding families.

Originally, Gordon was the first to get the tip on their movements. At first it was just a rumor that Falone’s men and Cobblepot’s men were seen meeting together until an undercover officer who’d been stationed at the city docks spotted a group of Falcone and Cobblepot muscle together unloading a mysterious shipment.

After that Gordon informed Batman of his suspicions and the weeks-long investigation began on the two. They did their best at hiding any connection with each other and truth be told if it weren’t for the undercover cop spotting the groups working together no one in the GCPD or even the Bats would know what was going on.

But now he's done it. Batman had finally found someone linked to the two who knew about their operations. All he had to do was interrogate him.

The man, George Kosavo, lived not too far from the infamous Crime Alley. He worked closely with Falcone and Cobblepot acting as some sort of middle man. He worked mostly at the docks and kept records of where the goods came from and where they went. If anyone knew what the two mobsters were up to, it would be him.

Batman watched below, peering down at the entrance of the old apartment building. He silently surveyed the area, planning his line of attack. So far only George was in the apartment, that he knew, which lowered the level or risk of an ambush.

Batman grappled down, landing onto the sixth floor balcony. He reached into one of the many pockets of his utility belt and pulled out a jackknife folding locksmith set. He crouched and unfolds it, revealing the different kinds of picks. Carefully he selects the right pick and slots it into the keyhole of the sliding door and shimmy-ins the tension wand. He works diligently and with the right movements the door unlocks with a soft click.

He shoves everything back into his belt and opens the door, stepping into the grubby apartment. The place was as you’d expect; rundown and poorly maintained. The living room was bland, a small couch on the back left wall, a small table in front of it with an unloaded gun and two magazines on top of it, and a TV perched up on a small rectangular stand. The kitchen was behind the right wall, the top half left open and replaced with a counterspace. It gave the apartment a somewhat open planned space, allowing him to see through the two different areas.

He makes his way left and down the hallway, opening a door to the right that led to the bathroom. There was another door to the right that opened into a small closet space that held the washer and dryer and a small shelf that held the laundry detergent. He turned his attention to the last door, at the end of the hall, slightly ajar. Light poured into the dim hallway from the room and an eerie feeling started to creep up Batman's spine. He readied himself for an attack as he silently crept up to the door.

He swings it open, anticipating an attack, but is only met with a body laying face up on the half made bed. The top of the night stand on the left side of the bed had three lines of cocaine, a rolled up fifty dollar bill, and a half empty dime bag. Batman carefully assessed the area, quickly deducing that the man, George Kosavo, died of an overdose.

He sighed inwards, this was going to be harder.

The room looked as clean as it could get for a mobster lackey who was almost always stung out on drugs. The small table and shelf to the left were mostly bare safe for some porn magazines that were most definitely used. Batman didn’t bother touching them and turned to the closed doors near the right side of the room. He pulls the doors open and finds the clothes rummaged through, exposing a hidden safe that was left open.

Gone, he thought.

“Looking for this?”

Batman’s head snapped back to the doorway, setting his eyes on you. You leaned on the door frame, a manila file in hand. Batman frowned, assessing you fully. You wore a domino mask and a full armored bodysuit with subtle metallic accents and paneling and black gloves with reinforced armor around the knuckles. Everything seemed to be meticulously handmade and thought out.

“Don’t worry, he was like this before I got here.” You motioned towards George's lifeless body.

“Who are you?”

“Anapófefktos¹” You replied. Batman's frown deepened, was that Greek?

“Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.” You joked.

“You work for Falcone.” He accused.

You scoffed. “Ew, no. Do you really think I’d work for him? No no, I’m more like you than him.”

“Why do you need that,” he glanced over to the file in your hand.

“Because I’m working a case, which I’m guessing you are too. But don’t worry, I’ll return it to you once I’m done with it.”

“And you really think I’ll let you walk out with the file?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Even in his tactical armor his muscles were still bulging out. You couldn’t help but run your eyes down his form, admiring his physique

"Well, it's not up to you really." You give a mischievous smile. "You see, our friend there was supposed to make a phone call to his criminal friends, some sort of business talk. But now, because of his untimely death, they're on their way here. And I am going to leave."

Just as you finished you said, the sound of a car engine could be heard outside. The sound of doors opening and closing could be heard as well as a few hushed voices. Batman looks out the window facing the alleyway. There were two cars, black four door sedans. A group of men could be seen walking up to the apartment building.

Batman looks back at you only to find you gone along within the folder.

––

When Bruce finally pulls into the Batcave it was just reaching four in the morning, the sun barely ascending the horizon. Like always, Alfred was there waiting with a cup of tea and his med kit ready for any possible injuries.

The doors to the sleek batmobile open and Bruce steps out, removing his cowl with ease. He sets it down somewhere as he steps deeper into the cave.

“Long night, Master Wayne?” Alfred asks. He hands the cup of tea to Bruce and removes his cape from his shoulders.

“Something like that,” Bruce replied, rolling his shoulders. He took a sip of his tea, a specific blend made for his sore muscles. He lets out a groan and slumps down into his high back chair in front of the huge batcomputer.

After you left Bruce to deal with the armed thugs he’d called Gordon over to deal with the rest. He’d asked about you, hoping to find some answers only to be left with more questions. He pulls up the search feature on the computer and types in "Anapófefktos" and looks for any vigilante activities in the country.

“Inescapable?” Alfred translate, standing behind Bruce. “Is this some sort of clue?”

“Seems that way, but it’s not related to the case.” Bruce takes another sip of his tea, setting the cup aside onto the matching china plate. “There was a vigilante, a woman, there. Said she was investigating Falcone and Cobblepot, but left before I could question her further.”

“If she is another vigilante, as yourself, then surely we’d have known.”

Bruce shakes his head, “I’m not sure, Alfred. It’s like she appeared in Gotham out of nowhere.”

Right on time, the computer chimes, having finished its search. Multiple articles and images popped up. Bruce clicks on one of the articles, his eyes quickly reading over the words.

< Adrasteia takes down the Infamous Odessa Mafia >

→ As of late last night the infamous Odessa Mob has been dismantled all thanks to the vigilante, Adrasteia. After a month-long operation between the New York Police Department and Adrasteia the Odessa Mafia have finally been apprehended. The powerful Ukrainian mafia dealt in human trafficking, weapons dealing, drug smuggling, and a dozen other crimes.

“She sounds impressive.” Alfred comments. Bruce clicks off to another article, this time explaining the origins of your name.

< Adrastiea >

→ In Greek Mythology is a minor goddess whose name means “Inescapable” or “Unavoidable.” Her attributes and roles vary depending on the source, but she is often associated with justice, retribution, and fate.

“Seems this goddess not only nursed the young Zeus as a child, butshe’s also attributed with divine retribution.” Said Alfred. “She seems like an interesting Goddess.”

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s here.” Bruce muttered.

The pair read through a few more articles, creating a small file about you. You were a vigilante from New York, appearing not that long ago and seemed to have gotten to work fast. It started off small, handling petty crime before moving up to taking down rapists and murders until you took down one of New York's biggest mafia. After that, it seems that you vanished and reappeared in Gotham.

Another thing about you, that rubbed him the wrong way, was that you weren't afraid to kill if necessary. You went after everyone, and like your namesake, you were inescapable. You delivered divine punishment on those who you saw fit, which left a bitter taste in Bruce's mouth.

Alfred glances down at his wrist watch, “it looks like it’s time for you to sleep, Master Wayne. I hope you remember we’re hosting a charity gala tonight.”

Knowing that he had no room to argue, Bruce gives in and gets up from the computer and makes his way to his room. He strips himself of the Batman suit and takes a quick hot shower and collapses onto his bed. Exhaustion takes over Bruce’s body and he soon falls asleep.

––

The Grand Hall of the manor was the embodiment of elegance and refinement. The curved vaulted ceiling adorned with cascading strings of warm fairy lights that shimmered like the starry sky. Crystal chandeliers refracting the light into soft rainbows. They hung proudly above a gleaming dark wood floor polished to mirror perfection. Rich velvet drapes framed tall arched windows that looked into the open courtyard of Wayne Manor.

Rectangular tables, draped in white linen table cloth, were adorned with tall floral arrangements of lilies and roses. An assortment of appetizing finger foods were laid out in front of them. Round tables draped in the same white linen were scattered around for a way for people to gather around in small groups and enjoy themselves.

Along one wall, an ornate bar made of dark mahogany held a selection of fine wines and cocktails. A line had already formed with men and women waiting for their drinks. A small string quartet was placed by the staircase, their beautiful sound filling up the room and perfectly setting up the tone for the rest of the night.

They played Felix Mendelssohn's String Quartet in A Minor, Op. 3. The music began softly, the first violin’s bow gliding softly across the strings. The others joined, their sounds harmonizing together into a sweet melodic sound.

There was a back and forth in the music, like a conversation between them. It passed from the Viola then the Violins and then the Cello before the four joined in together as the music quickened in tempo.

The music soon faded into the background as Bruce Wayne entered the hall, dressed in one of his many finely tailored suits. Conversations hushed into whispers as he descended the stairs and was handed a glass of champagne by a server. He takes a sip, readying himself for what tonight had to offer and begins making rounds.

The facade of Bruce Wayne, billionaire, play-boy, philanthropist, who was an occasional airhead, easily slips on with ease. He shakes the hands of investors, businessmen, and local politicians and kisses the back of the hand of a dozen different women, giving them his signature charming smile that would make any woman on earth swoon.

He’s finally pulled away by one of his close confidants, Doctor Leslie Thompkins, one of the very few people who knew about his nighttime activities and Godmother.

“Slow down Leslie, I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce chuckles. The older woman barely pays him any mind as she pulls him to the other side of the room.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” She explains. “I’m sure you two would get along real nicely.”

Bruce pushes down the urge to say "That's what you said the last time,” but decides against it and lets the older women, who’d been a mother figure to him, ramble on about the person she wanted him to meet.

His eyes land onto a woman wearing a sleek floor-length satin gown in a soft metallic blue color. He could only see the back of her, as she was busy talking to another person. Leslie called out her name, exited, and the women turned back to her and Bruce. She gave the older woman a warm smile and shifted her eyes to Bruce. Bruce, for the first time in a long time, felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His blue eyes locked on with the woman’s eyes and he could only think of one thing.

Have I met her before?

(1) Anapófefktos - Greek for Inescapable.

real ones know that this is a rewrite

TAGLIST:

@nyxthedeity @wackyaussiegiraffes @llynx7 @multifandomgirl2018 @radiantdanvers

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x vigilante!reader #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #batman x vigilante!reader #batman x you #batman x y/n #batman x batmom #dc comics #dc comics x reader #dc fanfic #dc x reader #batman fanfiction #k4marinafics #the night we met

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magiturge · 8 months ago

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okay.. go my sheriff/hank ( individual and pairing ) headcanons / thoughts this is going to be really long, careful when you open it.

each dash is its own thing. for hank ( he / they / it / she is reserved. ) :

- hank is G01 / generation 1 grunt, but a particularly strange one in the sense that they are not a grunt. hank is a script. i headcanon hank as being the cannoneer / cannoneer script in the original marshmallow madness and how they are shown in the magiturge arena mode ending. i am on purpose ignoring that he was mentioned to be a G02 by swain.. hank is a script and as such behaves differently than everybody else because they were never intended to be a person or an entity. hank as the cannoneer script was intended to just be that, a placeholder with a face in the very early stages of nevada's creation and the nowhere. i started to lean into this headcanon a lot more when i saw a clip of krinkels answering a question regarding why the maker scribbles out hank in the cave drawings, with him saying "because he's a strange one. he's a very strange one. not really a.. not really a one with the identity as the maker understands it." ..i just think it'd be funny if hank was never meant to have an identity in the first place and was a function first before being a person. it's why hank is so down the straight and narrow about getting the job done, you gave him something to do and he will do it. i like to describe hank as being an extension of the machine itself as a script.

- hank's height, width and depth changes subtly to drastically with each time he dies and comes back. i like to keep his base height at 6'2" but if you were to linger around them for long enough, you might notice every so often that he seems a bit shorter than usual or a bit taller, or he has a bit more or less muscle somewhere. it's just a result of supply of material to sew him back together.

- hank harbors no sense of physical attraction to anybody in the sense of finding anyone 'hot', 'cute', 'pretty', 'sexy', etc. they see absolutely nobody as attractive in that sense and the most you will ever see in terms of complimenting appearances is with how much 'cool factor' there is to something.

- hank sees red. for them there is not really a black and white, a good vs evil, a grey area. everything is red in that everything and anyone can be a tool. it's not really a 'sees red and gets angry / violent' thing. everybody looks the same to it on a moral / alliance / loyalty point. it has no issue turning on you if you get in the way or alligning with you if you can work to the same goal it has.

- for awhile, hank behaved very npc like or average grunt like before the whole punching the boombox guy. a whole lot of no particularly violent activity until that incident and it being like the switch flip of 'oh wait. i dont really know why but i think ive done this kinda killing people thing before ( marshmallow madness ) but im really really enjoying it,' like it might be a natural thing hank knows to do. - almost all of hank's outfit is a diy project it works on when it is bored, parts are stolen during missions ( homes / clothing stores ) or straight from the garbage. in a sense that's how hank is gradually building an identity for themself.

∙ hank has no issue with dying itself, but it's a matter of what circumstance and how they die that will determine if that irritates it enough to come back. ( i.e some stupid rug pulling bullshit or getting a kill stolen by dying to something stupid. )

- much of hank's skin is discolored or outright not the same shade or tone as their original skin since they're a hankenstein of various people's body's now ( haha ). they're also missing some certain parts that don't particularly bother them. its more like accessory and so long as they have the necessary parts that won't cause them complications, it frankly doesn't give a shit if something is gone.

for sheriff ( he ) : - go my transgender bear. - sheriff self medicated with alcoholic and as a result, over the years became a functioning alcoholic. this is entirely based on the line of 'pass the whiskey' he has and also the whole.. debacle he's been put in. he smells always vaguely of whiskey as a result of this. he feels a bit braver drunk but y'know.. reality backhands him in the face again and he focuses.

- sheriff and jeb are not friends. at best they are aquaintances, allies by circumstance not by goal. sheriff is afraid of jeb and worries about pissing him off as it might mean he loses an ally and potentially gains an enemy if he doesn't comply with his orders ( i.e assisting jeb in plans like lending his men to deal with hank ). at this point in time, jeb seems wildly unstable and too zeroed in on his savior bullshit for sheriff to feel comfortable speaking up at all about not wanting to deal with this stuff anymore. sheriff was a normal guy first that had no intention of getting involved with this stuff in the first place until jeb pulled him into it with fear as a motivation. jeb isn't a friend, just a 'friendly-face'. - sheriff has gotten better at hiding his fear / non-fighter nature at least with the way he talks. the fear and the desire to live is always there but the way he presents himself feeds into how he is perceived. at the end of everything, sheriff is always running away from the site of conflict if he's in an unsafe spot or at a disadvantage. covering up his fear makes him appear very cocky and arrogant - sheriff's hair is long as well as his beard, it is like a mane. it's his pride and he tries his best to keep it well maintained but he's.. too stressed to keep it up all the time. there are some curly and wiggly looking hairs ( i don't know the right term for it ) sticking out, and some parts tangled and thick. he feels weird if he were to ask anyone of his men to brush it out. - sheriff is a lot better at fighting and defending himself at this current point in time ( mpn2 and ahead ) but he is held back by the fact he is worried about dying or getting injured in general. he's afraid of taking a risk and would much rather use traps and a whole lot of walls in the way. - sheriff likes to hum, whistle and sing quietly to soothe his nerves. unfortunately, given his desire to uphold a strong image, he overthinks that being heard humming or singing, even quietly, around any of the MERC units will have him perceived as too soft or an oddity. for this reason, he is usually found whistling little bits when he's actually roaming the MERC buildings and his humming and quiet singing is for when he's patrolling the industrial sector walls on his own. - he carries a level of care for the MERC under his leadership but has a confused relationship with his individuality and being a part of a group. he was a guy first and foremost and because of the responsibility that was put onto him by jeb to protect these people he feels an obligation to forego his feelings and emotional needs. as a result he doesn't really.. interact with them on a super friendly level as much as he would say, a stranger with a friendly chat. he sees them as just people to be protected, a group and not individuals. he can separate himself from them but he also cant. - the nutrient slop in a can he's been eating for so many years has dulled his sense of taste a bit. if you gave him something that tasted real, even as greasy as a goddamn burger his face would light up. hot food does things to your mind and you dont realize it until you've had it again. - sheriff and the industrial sector represent each other. with large walls and many defenses to protect himself but with unfortunate cracks and weak points created over time. there can be so many barriers but many pathways, many vents for someone to crawl through and find the weak point.

ok. go my old man yaori.

their entire relationship is a push and pull. - their relationship (?) is a secret for as much as they are capable of keeping it a secret. sheriff desperately wants to keep it a secret because he fears that his men ( MERC ) finding out could potentially get him exiled or worse killed for being a 'traitor'. he also doesn't want to lose that sense of safety and togetherness, a stable foundation for him to stand and walk on. it's why he kicks himself in the head about the whole thing because he knows he shouldn't be getting involved like this. - as i mentioned before, hank feels no physical attraction to anybody and that applies to sheriff as well. it feels nothing in terms of 'wow he's cute' or 'he's hot'. the times that it can be mistaken that hank finds something about sheriff that is cute in terms of physical appearance is for different reasons. for example.. sheriff blushing and hank responding positively to that is not because hank finds that image to be cute but because he understands that image to be a positive thing. if : sheriff is blushing, then : i did something good, since i understand blushing as something that happens when someone is flattered. it elicits a positive reaction from hank because he understands it as something good and beneficial, rather than it being found personally cute or pretty. - hank thinks that sheriff did have a sort of glow up and that he looks 'cooler' now ( i.e you don't look like a wimp anymore ) however he thinks that the absolute layering of clothes, body armor and ammo looks tacky as hell. he gets why sheriff is wearing all that but it could have better days. they do find the leather chaps sheriff wears to be the one thing that kind of look cool, so it has taken the liberty of messing with them a bit, with permission, to make them look a bit cooler. it likes leather. on the topic of what sheriff wears, hank also doesn't like what he's wearing because it makes sheriff obnoxiously annoying to fight in close combat. it'll swing at sheriff and feel the padding and get a bit irritated because he really is just layered in protection, no satisfaction that it normally gets from feeling the injury caused in a fight. ..hank knows that it'd be better to leave not too many injuries, but that doesn't stop it from being irritated when they trade punches and it can feel a bruise on the highway while sheriff likely hasn't gotten something so serious. it's the kind of bullshit it doesn't like. hank wears body armor and padding too but not nearly as much. - they're both at around level terms of fighting capability, it is their personalities and style that make the difference. hank does not like sheriff's style of fighting in the presence of other people watching whatsoever as he thinks it's cowardly and unengaging. he's always at a distance, rapid fire, itchy finger. it's like dealing with a turret with self awareness and a mouth to run insults at you. the bullshit bullshiiiit he doesnt like. it's why hank prefers the little spats they get in. - hank's biggest upside in their situationship is how direct and to the point they are, it really hates the dancing around the topic sheriff does. if sheriff is being particularly dodgy about something or acting differently or avoidant, hank asks directly what is going on. it figured out relatively fast that sheriff's cowardly avoidant nature applies to just about anything and it has to adapt to that. sheriff's biggest downside is his reluctance to vocalize his needs as he doesn't entirely perceive hank as a person yet, still seeing him partially as the man in the posters, meaning he doesn't believe hank is capable of accommodating, being affectionate, or being considerate of his needs.

- sheriff hates vocalizing or articulating anything that seems like proof to the world or himself of his affections towards hank. something simple as wanting to have an embrace, he does not want to say it. it's acknowledgement of his affections, and he doesn't want to acknowledge it. he would rather outright go for the hug or for hank to initiate it first. on the same note, neither of them say i love you to each other. hank doesn't particularly care.. it just sees it as another expression of affection and it doesn't find words to be as fun as actions. sheriff doesn't say it for the reasons above and it feels way too intimate for him anyway. it's like saying 'yes, hank j wimbleton most wanted person in nevada who has killed many many and killed me once as well, i lovey wovey you'. he feels stupid saying it. it's 3 words but he hears a lot more. - sheriff still maintains a grudge for having been killed by hank many years ago, it's sort of shallow now though. he already got even with hank at the start of this snowballing situation, as they had a spat and he shot them dead. - hank is the grounded one in the situationship, more mentally stable and.. decisively stable than sheriff. he often has to be very blunt so sheriff stops rocking around, thinking too hard about something. - they don't talk to each other that often but on the chances they do, they do have some.. detailed conversations on things. it can range from something mundane as guns, what attachments they like on theirs to .. more delicate topics.

- hank often returns to sq hq smelling faintly of whiskey and sheriff often returns to MERC warehouses smelling vaguely of rotting bodies and blood. they both have smelled each other and they both think they both smell like shit. when possible, sheriff will continuously nudge that hank go and bathe, though that means sheriff has to as well. - hank thinks sheriff is a bit.. like crazy? or at least not making the smartest decisions sometimes. he wonders why sheriff maintains really long hair even though he works around machinery a lot. hank thinks that he's beign a bit ridiculous for being such a worry wart and not doing anything about the glaring issue in his wardrobe. it has vocalized this issue and are usually met with sheriff giving him a bit of a dirty look. at the least, hank does like to touch his hair. sheriff doesn't particularly care that much about hank touching his hair, just that he doesn't cut it. it likes to feel the texture and pick out tangles, it gives hank something to do in a mundane slow time. - sheriff has one of hank's black bandanas. it let him keep it when sheriff as gotten a bit of a nasty slash during a spat they had together, hank had tied it around the wound and he let sheriff keep it. sheriff now uses it as part of his outfit from time to time. it alternates usually from 3 places : a hair tie for a low ponytail, tied around his arm, or most unseen, in his right back pants pocket. aaha. hheh. heh. ok i'm tired, there's more but big man wants to eat his damn ass food.. idk uh, my writing somewhat properly is escaping me

#my art #madness combat #big man ( me ) i srambling #and talking #about shit he like #ok #sherhank #sheriffhank #marshmallowpie #sheriff #hank j wimbleton #gif

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yunyunrin · 1 year ago

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Chapter One : Holy Fool

genre : horror, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, enemies to lovers, alternate universe, slow burn

pairing : angel!reader (gn) x kingofhell!???, other side pairing

chapter warnings : arguing, crying, flashbacks(?), mentions of drunk men, assertion of dominance, light cursing, mention of insecurity, pushing stuff under the rug, religious themes

wc : around 6.4k words

A/N : here we go! i know this has been long awaited so i hope you all enjoy! as always feel free to leave feedback and suggestions but be nice! :D also would recommend reading the prologue to understand this chapter a bit better!

MDNI

holy fool masterlist | prologue | next

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been asleep, but you wake to two voices conversing in a whisper around you. One sounds like that of a male and the other of a female, you don’t open your eyes right away to not alert the two others in the room with you.

You don’t know who they are and why you are there with them. The last thing you remember is being in a car that was sinking in the ocean, there is no way that you were saved that night. But you don’t feel dead? The topic of conversation between the two other individuals catches your attention, you weren’t paying them much mind, but now you seemed to be their topic.

“This,” a male voice said, “wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Well, it did happen.” The female said, walking towards the area that you were laying in. “They’re awake. Can’t you feel their uneasiness?”

You’re suddenly jolted up from your fetal position, now stuck in the air with the eyes of the people who were talking about you moments before. You can no longer hide in the comfort of sleep and the attention is overwhelming you. Closing your eyes is what you manage to do in a try to comfort yourself because you cannot move any other part of your body.

“Open your eyes now. Do not make me angry.” The male hissed.

“Angel Zen, you’re scaring them. Don’t show so much animosity to someone you have just met.” The younger woman takes a couple of steps backwards so she could see your face better, “I think they are pretty.” Her words fluster you instantly, not used to having someone compliment you. A sound you would describe closely to a mixture of a groan and a grunt vibrate the room, leading you both to look towards the older male angel.

“Do you understand what is going on?” The man asks while pointing at you while looking you up and down simultaneously, with a look of disgust painting his features.

“No, sir,” you reply. He clicks his tongue at you and looks elsewhere around the room. “Can you please let me down? I promise I won’t run.” He chuckles and puts his face in his hand while sighing at your question, leaving you with a puzzled look on your face.

“Angel, you cannot leave if you tried. I know this will likely worry you, but please let Angel Zen and I explain. More so me because Angel Zen can not manage his anger currently.” She says to you, although her words leave you with anxiety, you know she won’t be the one causing you harm.

“Angel. Pfft.”

You aren’t sure why he is so angry. He certainly knows more than me? Right? You don't understand why they are here. You were so sure you were dead, but did you just happen to be saved by people in a cult? Why is everyone being referred to as Angel? Your thoughts begin to consume you, but a step towards you brings you back to this reality you’re in.

“Angel, I can hear your thoughts,” your eyes open in surprise. There is no way that Angel Zen will ever like you now. “Only I can, Angel. Not him, although you are likely correct in your assumption. But what you’re saying in your mind is not the cause, he has decided that was what he wanted to feel before you woke up.” Angel Zen looks at you both, then locking eyes with the nicer Angel, obviously asking about what was going on inside your mind. “No, I’m not telling you what they were thinking. It wasn’t for you to know.” She says while looking at you, gently smiling as though to ease your nerves.

“Please tell me what is going on,” you meant for your voice to come out louder than it did, but you only managed to conjure a whisper.

“Oh right. I completely forgot to tell you, you must be questioning everything right now.” She says with a worried look on her face, almost afraid of what will happen once the truth leaves her lips, you look up at her with pleading eyes as she hesitates. She sighs out and looks at your face, but not directly into your eyes, “You’re now an Angel.”

—

You wake up with a presence beside you, feeling a dip at the end of your bed where your feet lay. You hesitate to open your eyes, not wanting to face the rude Angel, or whatever he was. You still find it difficult to believe that an Angel can be that mean.

“He isn’t here anymore, just me. Now open your eyes Angel,” she chuckles, standing up from where she was just seated. You open your eyes, moving into a sitting position still on your bed.

“I never got your name?” You said to the Angel in front of you. You knew the other male was Zen. Angel Zen, but the lady never told you what she wanted to be called. You aren’t sure why you have the need to have to be close with her, but you think that if she was to be cross with you right now, that you’d break down. You are just now realizing how fragile you feel at this moment.

“My name is Poppy, Angel Poppy. We are bonded. That is why you have an intense need to be close with me.” Poppy tells you like it is the most normal thing to say to someone. You both awkwardly stare at each other, not knowing what to say next.

“Pop- Angel Poppy,” you move to sit at the edge of your bed to look at her more clearly. She has tan skin, golden eyes, blonde hair, and she looks around five foot six. She also smells distinctly of lemons with sugar. You aren’t really sure how you didn’t notice it before, the smell so potent that it fills up the room easily.

“I don’t mind if you call me Poppy, but if we are in front of another Angel, I would advise you to add Angel in front of it. It is a respect thing, we only call other Angels by just our name with other Angels we trust. Moreover, every Angel has a significant smell attached to them, all good smells, though. You smell like cherry blossoms.”

“What happened to me Poppy?” You could no longer keep your curiosity at bay, and you deserve a right to know what has happened. Are you dead? Why are you surrounded by Angels? Are you in Heaven? Surely, you would've gone to Hell after death right? You were never religious?

“To answer your questions,” Poppy sits beside you before continuing, “You died, but you aren’t dead. Well, you are, you’re surrounded by Angels because you’re in Heaven, a part of it. But you weren’t sent to Heaven. Well, you were but not in the sense you would assume. And you’re right, due to your lack of belief in God, you probably should be in Hell right now.” Poppy’s response leaves you more confused than before, all of her responses seemingly contradicting each other every time she spoke.

She sits up, and straightens her skirt out with her hands. She looks at you again, you forgot that she can hear your thoughts, being reminded once you saw the worried look on her face. “Allow me to clarify, my apologies. You are an Angel now. Your Guardian Angel had you consume their blood in the process of you dying. That’s why you aren’t dead, but you died. Basically, you’re a born again Angel. You aren’t in the part of Heaven where believers go after they pass away, but where every Guardian Angel and Guardian Angel in training reside. Your Guardian Angel from your human life is the reason you are here and not in Hell.”

“I still have some questions if you don’t mind, Poppy.” You look at her, waiting for her approval for you to ask your questions. She nods, prompting you to go ahead. “I’m a Guardian Angel, how can I be if I’m not religious? How come you can hear my thoughts, but I cannot hear yours? Where is my Guardian Angel? I don’t remember consuming anything besides water before I died?”

“Well, you’re not a Guardian Angel yet. But you will go through the training. Before you can be a Guardian Angel, you must believe in God. Every pious Angel must put God above everything. You will worship him and believe, it is a non-negotiable.” Poppy firmly says. You had forgotten that she is an Angel before your friend, if you could even call it that, feeling slightly less comfortable than you were before. “I can hear your thoughts because we are bonded. You could also hear my thoughts if I was not blocking them from you, which I will teach you to do. Everyone needs their privacy, even Angels. But, only Angels who are bonded can hear each other’s thoughts. So don’t worry about your thoughts around anyone else. Just remember that I can always hear them, until you learn how to block the thoughts you want to keep to yourself from me. As for your Guardian Angel, no one knows where she is. No one has seen her, she dropped you off in Angel Zen’s office and then vanished. Even he does not know where she is.” Poppy stops for a brief moment to take a deep breath before continuing, “as for you consuming your Guardian Angel’s blood, since you were drowning, she likely cut her finger and put in your mouth. Her blood likely entered you during that moment, as the water was consuming you.”

Tears brim your eyes. All you wanted was to die, but you got the opposite. All you wanted was to hug your best friend, Dina. “Is she around? Dina?” Poppy refuses to look at you, and you just let out all your tears that you have been holding in, you aren’t sure how you’re going to do this. Whatever your new life entails, you know you are not strong enough to do it. Poppy embraces you and for a while, you cry into her arms. She is all you have at this moment, and maybe for the rest of time.

“There is a lot we have to do to start this process, and it won’t be easy, but I will be here with you every step of the way. I will never let anyone hurt you, it wouldn’t be fair. Get some rest tonight, and I will tell you everything tomorrow. You’ve consumed a lot of information tonight, dwelling on it right now won’t help,” Poppy reassures you. Poppy lets you out of her embrace, helping you to lay down on your bed. “I will see you tomorrow, Angel.” Poppy disappears from the room, leaving you alone. Sleep consumes you quickly, not previously realizing how tired you were. Although your anxiety battles your exhaustion, in the end your exhaustion wins.

—

You wake up to the sound of orchestra music playing, leaving you groggy and confused. A couple of minutes of listening to the music playing throughout where you are staying, and a familiar face appears in your room. “Hi Poppy,” you get out of bed and wave to the Angel. “Thank you for coming to see me, but you should knock next time. What if I was doing something indecent?” You playfully questioned to her, trying to be cheery despite the annoyance of being wakened up abruptly.

“It is not possible for you to be doing something indecent, you are in Heaven, Angel.” Poppy exclaimed, having missed the playful lilt to your question.

“I know Poppy, I was joking! But what if I was changing? Would that not be considered immodest?” You questioned the Angel genuinely, not knowing how Angels really work yet.

“I see now, being without dressing would only be immodest if you were outside of Heaven. Even if you were outside of Heaven, it’d only be immodest if you were in a state of undress in front of non Angels. Otherwise, in Heaven, being in a state of undress is not considered the same. Nothing impure can be thought here.” Poppy exclaims, while handing fabric to you.

“The orchestra music plays every morning and every night to make sure everyone knows to start getting ready. Angels have a very specific routine, but it is something you will get used to with time. After the orchestra is done, the Angels go to pray in the main room.”

You look at the fabric in your hand and then look back up at Poppy, “Do I have to go?” You mumbled, not really thrilled with having to pray after being woken up in a way you were not used to.

“No, there is a lot I must tell you and what we must get done. The music plays for a couple of hours until the Angels must go to pray, but you will stay here while I go. Don’t worry. Although, I would like to ask you to start reading the Bible today. You can’t think of God with anything apart from love, so please, don’t act so uneasy about having to worship him.”

“Poppy, you have to realize I’m not like you, I wasn’t meant to be an Angel. Angel Zen was right. I don’t even fully understand what this entails,” you replied, “why can’t I just be sent to Hell?” you scoffed out the last words to exit your mouth, forgetting that Poppy was in front of you.

“Don’t speak like that. I will be patient with you, but please respect me and my beliefs. You will grow to hold them too, you will grow to be pious like me. I promised Angel Zen.” Poppy scolded you, causing a pout to form on your lips. “Now, there is a lot we must do,”

—

“So basically, there is no Angel who knows of your existence right now. Besides Angel Zen and I. It must stay that way, no one can know.” Poppy moves to face you, looking at your new look. Apparently when you had been turned into an Angel, not everything changed that was supposed to. All Angels had to have golden eyes and golden blonde hair, although the shades could vary for the hair. You and Poppy had been going back and forth before deciding on the shade of blonde that you both thought complimented your skin tone and features well. “Heaven to Angel… Hello?????” Poppy quietly shouts at you to gain your attention.

“Sorry, got distracted. What was that?” You replied to Poppy, feeling bad due to your inability to focus. You had always had trouble with focusing with people speaking with you, a coping mechanism you developed due to the harsh words from your father and others growing up.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. You don’t have to hurt anymore, I’m here for you. Now, as for what I was saying. You need to choose a new name, no one can know of your Earthly name,” Poppy replied. You aren’t quite sure what to think if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you were never called anything besides your name or nicknames that weren’t derived from your name.

“Poppy, didn’t you say my scent was cherry blossoms?” you questioned Poppy, your memories from the first night still being a bit clouded. She shakes her head yes, inhaling to smell your scent more thoroughly. “Then, I think my name should be Blossom?” you question her again, not knowing if that name was good or even fit you in the slightest.

A huge grin plasters Poppy’s face, “Angel Blossom…. Hmmm… I love it,” she responds back, almost singing. She begins to frolic around the room, she is definitely much more excited than you are over this name.

“Angel Blossom, there are a couple of important things I must go over with you. The most important things, in due time you will learn the rest.” You nod at Poppy, letting her know that she has your undivided attention. “So… Firstly, all Angels shower at least once a day, usually before they go out for their shifts with the humans. Showering with any kinds of scents is prohibited, so is brushing your teeth with any kind of flavoring, and although you don’t need to use deodorant, if you choose to do so, it must be unscented.”

“Why?” you question Poppy, not really understanding why that was such an significant rule.

“Because, any of that can interfere with your scent as an Angel. Your scent is essential to identifying who you are around, and once you start working with humans, they can smell your scent too. Not as well as other Angels or non-human creatures, but it would be confusing for everyone. Plus, a lot of the Angel’s scents are the usual ones for soaps and stuff, so it is just easier for everything to be unscented. So, when you go back to Earth, don’t try to sneak anything back.” Poppy stated to you with a smile which contracted from the serious tone of her voice.

“Anything else I should know, Poppy?” you inquired. The rules so far you thought had been a bit… You can’t particularly find the right word. Weird maybe?

“I’m not going to acknowledge that thought… but I will be teaching you how to hide your thoughts after this. But the main thing for Angels is no cursing, no sexual relations, show grace to everyone you run into, staying clean, and praying. Although praying is most important. Every Angel must pray a minimum of two hours a day. Once before your assignment after you have washed your body and once after your assignment after you have showered and washed your hair. You have to pray more once on an assignment, but don’t worry about that now because that will be a while,” Poppy explained to you.

You must have been talking about the inner workings of how to be an Angel for hours by this point. Poppy had been to prayer and back. Overwhelmed isn’t enough to explain how you feel, you don’t know what happens if you fuck up. “Mess up, Angel Blossom. You don’t know what will happen if you mess up. Don’t worry if you do, I’ll be the only one who knows unless it is so terrible that I have to alert a higher up, but I won’t do that unless completely necessary,” Poppy replied in response to your thought.

“To protect your thoughts from me hearing them, you imagine yourself in a circle of light. Kind of like being trapped in a bubble of light while you think your thought. It gets pretty easy to do once you get the hang of it. Try it.” Poppy shoos you to the mirror in the room, seeing the reflection of your new look and Poppy behind you smiling, hopefully. So you try.

You close your eyes and envision yourself being engulfed by light, almost like God himself was purifying you before you entered the realm of your mind where your thoughts lingered. Your whole body is now in a bubble of light, so this must be it. ‘Poppy, do you ever wish you weren’t an Angel? I would rather not be an Angel, I wanted to be dead,’ you open your eyes and still see Poppy in the reflection of the mirror with you, her face still plastered with the same smile from before. It worked, she couldn’t hear your thoughts.

“Now Blossom, please don’t abuse it. If your thoughts become unkind in any way, please come to me and we will get through it together. Okay?” You nodded in response to her. You can learn to be as pious as Poppy, if that is what helps you get through the predicament that you find yourself in.

“Blossom, I will have to go on an assignment soon,” Poppy pauses and looks around, “and between me and you, I think this person will likely be your first assignment when you’re ready.” Poppy whispers the second part of her statement, you assumed you likely weren’t supposed to know that yet, which earns a nod from Poppy. Being able to read each other’s thoughts likely won’t be the worst thing in the world.

“May I ask you a question before you leave?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“Have they found my body yet?”

“No, I think they actually are tonight.”

You look at Poppy and softly grin, ‘can you please take me with you? I’ll do whatever, can I see myself one last time? My old self.’ Poppy turns away to in front, her mouth slightly agape. She turns back towards you, putting her finger to her mouth in an usher to stay quiet, even though you know she will tell you with her thoughts anyway. ‘Yes, but you have to do as I say. You have to be quiet, okay? You can go anywhere with me so we aren’t breaking any rules, but I don’t want anyone telling me it is too soon because then I cannot take you.’ You perk up instantly, going to freshen up. Your excitement causes Poppy to giggle, who then follows you promptly to freshen up as well before her assignment. Your future assignment.

—

You and Poppy are sitting on the railings on the edge of the peer, there is a gigantic boat which holds a crane. The men on the boat are talking among each other, likely figuring out where exactly the car sits on the ocean floor. Poppy moves to hold your hand, the vibe surrounding you both becoming a solemn one. Flashbacks of your past life flood the forefront of your mind, which causes you to look focus at the scene right in front of you. It isn’t really that big of a deal, no movement has come from the crane. You’re grateful that Poppy taught you how to hide your thoughts, you aren’t sure what Poppy knew of your human life, but if she didn’t know, you didn’t want her to find out.

The sound of the crane moving makes you come back to reality. It positions itself before falling into the water. The process of the attachment of the crane entering the water and for the car itself to emerge from the ocean takes a bit longer than you thought you would. Once the car is safely placed upon the boat, a man goes to look inside. “There are human remains,” The main yells in a monotonous voice. The tears fall from your eyes before you can stop them, your body falling into Poppy as you sob. You aren’t sure why it is affecting you so much, you knew you were dead. You wanted to die. Poppy holds you until you calm down, comforting you with kind words while playing with your hair.

“I needed you when I was alive,” you choke out to Poppy. Maybe life would’ve been manageable with you as my Guardian Angel. You don’t bother to hide your thought, it’s the truth. You wished you had someone by your side when you were alive, but what it is already done. ‘Angel, you have a second chance and with me by your side forever now. Please don’t cry, you will always be at peace when I am with you,’ Poppy nudges your head into the crook of her neck and sways you for a few more minutes. You have completely calmed down now.

“We need to go check on my assignment now, are you ready?” you nod in response to her question and before too long you are in the room of the young child who lays there twiddling their thumbs looking at the ceiling. ‘Can they see us Poppy?’ you ask and Poppy shakes her heard. ‘Only when we have out our wings,’ she replies. You watch the child for a couple of hours until they fall asleep.

“I have to stay here until the morning, Blossom,” Poppy whispers while motioning at the child.

“What can I do?” you ask, now twiddling your thumbs like the child was earlier.

Poppy moves to sit by the child, her head resting on the side of the bed where the child was sleeping.

“There is a park out in the front, with some benches. Keep a look-out for if a man comes stumbling, if you do, please let me know. Otherwise, just sit and relax,” Poppy answered. You move to leave, being able to teleport is something that you quite enjoy now that you are an Angel.

“Before you go, don’t talk to any Demons. Isn’t worth the risk. All of them have horns of some sort and a long tail. They are required to show at least one when they are on Earth. Remember, they have really telling scents, something you would likely consider masculine. Call me if you sense any danger, no matter how small it seems.” Poppy muttered to you, like your voices would somehow wake up the child.

—

The park is not too far away from the building. As soon as you got to the bench, you hid in your thoughts. You’re able to do it while your eyes are open now, which makes you happy. You have hours to think to yourself about whatever you want, void of responsibilities apart from making sure you tell Poppy of a stumbling man, likely drunk, entering the building.

“Penny for your thoughts, Angel?” the voice of the man startles you, not noticing him walk up to you.

“You can see me?” You ask the man, while taking in his features. His jawline is sharp, his eyes are a dark brown, and dark brown hair adorns his face. He smells like cinnamon, which instantly takes you back to the coffee shops you and Dina had visited to when you could.

“Yes I can see you, Angel. What are you doing out here this late at night? Assignment?” He asks, his voice almost lulling you into more comfort than you likely should have been feeling. His voice was higher pitched, but charming indeed.

“Something like that, what are you doing out here?” you ask back, wondering why a sober man is walking around this late at night.

“Looking for the love of my life,” his response catches you off guard, you look at him with shock in your eyes, which causes him to laugh.

“I wish you the best of luck,” you look in front of you as to not mess up the one thing you were told to do. You were oblivious to the smirk he had worn across his face.

“What’s your name?” the man next to you trying to make conversation with you.

“Any guesses?” you say in response, the man now biting his lip. How come you couldn’t have come across him when you were alive? You quickly dismissed the thought, as you knew nothing would ever come of it anyway.

“Cherry,” he answers. You shake your head no in response, the man now dramatically pouting due to his incorrect answer.

“You were close. It is Blossom, why did you guess Cherry?” you ask before remembering that, you do, in fact, smell strongly of cherry blossoms. You facepalm at your stupidity at that moment.

“I see you realized the answer to your question, Cherry. But I think I’ll still call you Cherry, though. My little cherry blossom.” The pet name quickly brings a redness to your cheeks, looking away so he doesn’t see. And it works, he says nothing about it. If he did notice, he gave you the luxury of not having to deal with teasing.

“What is your name? Something cinnamon related?” you tease. The man beside you looks at you a bit confused, like maybe you should have known his name. Did he tell you already? Wow! you really are stupid today. He doesn’t say anything but shakes his head and chuckles. You nod in response, knowing you’ll probably think of the interaction for a while after this.

“An Angel typically already knows my name Cherry,” the brown-eyed man responds. If you’re being honest, you have no idea who this man is. He seems to think he is important?

“I’m sorry,” is all you manage to say in response. You both are now quiet, he hasn’t left, still very much there when you look through your peripheral vision. You are trying to be subtle with your glances, not even turning to him. He, on the other hand, is looking right at you, studying you. He keeps a studious expression on his face until he notices you sneaking glances, when he sees you looking he smirks at you, causing a red tint to appear on your face every time.

‘Blossom, is that man next to you talking to you?’

‘He was, but we are not talking anymore,’

As soon as the thought was over Poppy appeared in front of you and the man. She stood firm and confident, but her hand was trembling at the sight of you and the man on the bench. Her mouth is parted, but no words are coming out, only getting the courage to speak once she shows her wings to you both.

‘What did I tell you to do before you came out here Blossom,’

‘To watch for a stumbling man enter the building, I promise he didn’t come’

‘You did that part right, that isn’t the problem’

“Stop speaking with your minds and speak with the mouth your God gave you, Angels,” his tone scolding the both of you. You suppose it was a bit rude, but you didn’t see why it was such a big deal.

“Angel Blossom, what did I tell you before you came out here besides watching for a man?”

“Not to talk to Demons and how to spot one?” you spoke barely above a whisper. The man beside you chuckles at the answer you give to the Angel who is raising her voice at you, but somehow softly.

“How do you spot a Demon?”

“Strong masculine scent, horns or a long tail, or both?” You aren’t sure why she is asking you this, the man beside you doesn’t have horns or a tail? Why is she so scared.

“What did I say the main sign of one was?”

“Scent.”

“What kind of scent?”

“Earthy and strong,”

“What does he smell like?”

“Eucalyptus”

“What is Eucaplyptus?”

“A plant”

“Where do plants come from?”

“The Earth”

You still don’t quite understand the conversation. The man beside you has one of three of what Poppy told you. Poppy begins stomping towards you and grabs your arm, dragging you from the bench to stand next to her. “So why can you not notice once a Demon is next to you? Was his smell not enough to tell you? Was his evil aura not enough?” Poppy shouts. You haven’t heard her voice get that loud before, and you begin to cry, everything is too much for to you handle.

“And you, why are you not in your true form. You know as well as any other Demon that you have to show your horns or tail so why are you not!?” venom laces Poppy’s voice, and if did not know she was an Angel already, if you saw her at this very moment you would not put her as one. The anger that has permeated her voice since she has spoken tonight is not that of an Angel.

“Angel, The Kings of Hell don’t have to obey the rules of a lowly Demon.” He stands up, taking a couple of steps towards you both, which causes you and Poppy to take steps back. “And Angel, watch your tone when you’re speaking to a King. I may not be your God, but that doesn’t mean I’m not close to it. And be nicer to your little friend. She was being mean to you, wasn’t she Cherry? Dragging you like that.” He matches Poppy’s energy in his response, his eyes flickering a shade of red.

“You let him give you a nickname?” Poppy asked in a whisper, to which you nodded. Poppy looks towards the man again while holding your hand. “Sir—”

“King”

“You are not my King,”

“No I am not, but I am one. So refer to me as such when you are speaking to me,”

“K-king, I apologize for my outburst. I was only worried for Bl-Blossom. The Eight Kings of Hell don’t usually wander on Earth often. It is what we are taught, anyway. I simply thought that someone below you was not doing what they were supposed to do. Please do not fault me for not trusting a Demon. Please,” Poppy trembles as she responds to the male, her grip on your hand was now strong enough to break the bones that find themselves under her grasp.

“You want the forgiveness of one of the Kings of Hell?” his voice is more gruff now than it was when he first spoke to you, which causes chills to run through your body as he speaks.

“Yes, if that will keep us safe from your wrath.”

“Luckily for you, I am not the ruler of wrath,” he walks closer to Poppy and gets in her face, only inches away. “Beg.”

“Beg?”

“Beg for my forgiveness if you want it so bad, tell me what you want. I’m known for being a bit nicer than the others. If you don’t, I can always call them, no? Eight Kings of Hell who can figure out what to do with two scared Angels. Your call, Angel” he enunciates every syllable of Angel clearly, as to mock Poppy.

Poppy is the most devout Angel you know. She loves God. Albeit she is the only Angel you know, you can almost for sure say she is the most pious. You look at the Demon and he’s smirking. He is having fun scaring you both.

You don’t expect Poppy to beg, you are for one wondering why you haven’t teleported out of there. But sure enough, Poppy falls to the ground. She lands on her knees in front of the male, having now let go of your hand.

“Please forgive my outburst. Don’t take unkindly to Angel Blossom, they didn’t do anything. If you must do something, take it out on me. Please don’t hurt us. I won’t say anything I promise, please believe me,” Poppy sobbed on her knees in front of the man who now looks at her from where he is standing.

“Why can’t an Angel not spot a Demon? Why can’t they feel my aura? Angels do not come within ten feet of me whether I am in my form or not. Why did my little Cherry Blossom not know who I was? I know they tell you all about the Kings of Hell,” he asks, crouching down to Poppy’s eye level before she responds to him.

“They are not an experienced Guardian Angel, t-they were an Angel who stayed in Heaven to help out with the others who have passed on. An Angel for the non-living so to say, not the living. They have never encountered a Demon before, and there was never any need for them to do so. Please excuse their ignorance,” Poppy manages to choke out. You can tell she is scared out of her mind.

“Don’t worry, I never intended to hurt you or Cherry. I never would’ve called on the other Kings,” he whips his head over to you, “and before you ask why I have graced you from punishment of speaking ill to a King, ask Cherry why. All you have to do is think” the man vanishes as quick as he appeared to you earlier that night, once he is gone, you fall next to Poppy.

“I didn’t know Poppy, I promise I didn’t know. I apologize for my language in advance, but I’ve only been doing this Angel shit for two fucking days. I was just being nice, he was being nice to me. I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay Blossom, I’m not mad at you. You and I, we are going to go back up with the child, and we are not going to speak of this ever again. Do not ever speak about me falling to my knees begging to a King of Hell for our lives, don’t ever speak about talking to him, don’t talk about him, don’t think about him, don’t ask me why I did what I did. When we get back to Heaven, we’ll share a room because it wouldn’t be wise for either of us to be alone anymore, and we’ll forget this ever happened,”

“But what about—”

“No buts, listen to me. Do not even ask me through our thoughts. Just forget about it and it will be as if it had never happened. For me, please. And you’re never leaving Heaven again until you fully believe in God, unless another higher - up Angel commands it. That’s final.”

You both nod in understanding before going back up to watch the child that you both were supposed to be watching. You both went into action of not acknowledging what just happened, so much so that you never noticed that King anymore on your trip to Earth.

You didn’t notice when he watched you go back to the child, and you didn’t notice when he watched you transport yourselves back to Heaven. Who cares that the last thing he said to you was not a suggestion, but a warning as to what was to come? Surely, it won’t matter when you forget it ever happened, right?

A/N 2 : so which king of hell do you think appeared 👀 let me know in the comments or in an ask, i’m curious as to who y’all think of when you read! and dont worry, y’all will find out who it was in chapter two 🙏

tags

@multifictionx @pre1ttyies @hecateslittlewitchling @adorawritesalot @unlikelysublimekryptonite @loumin908 @kirbrary @sunasmoke22 @ylak

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simstorian-blog · 5 months ago

Text

Ohan’Ali Dock West

(CC List + DL)

[Note: (1) If your sims keep taking off their shoes and you do not want them to, individually click the Charly Pancakes shoes, located within the primary bedrooms of both houseboats, to get the menu to turn it off. (2) There are mini fridges slotted into both kitchens!]

World Map: Sulani

Area: Ohan’Ali

Lot Size: 30 x 30

Capacity

Houseboat 1: 2 Bedroom (Up to 5 sims), 1 Bathroom (w/ bathtub), Kitchen, Living

Houseboat 2: 2 Bedroom (Up to 6 sims), 1 Bathroom, Kitchen, Living, Bar Room, 2 Entertainment Decks

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

Cottage Living

Get Famous

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Island Living

Lovestruck

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dream Home Decorator

Realm of Magic

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Vampires

Werewolves

Stuff Packs

Home Chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Toddler Stuff

CC Used

[All credits go to the following creators for sharing their work with the community. It is greatly appreciated and I hope that you all have endless nights of the best sleep ever.]

Helpful Tip: Having Only What is Needed For CC Builds (Tumblr)

Amoebae: Pile in Carpet

Anye: Neomy (Rug)

AroundTheSims4: Awning Set

Awingedllama: Blooming Rooms Separated

Charly Pancakes: Lavish, The Lighthouse Collection

DSC: Fancy Table Setting

Felixandre: Soho Pt. 1 | 5 (CurseForge)

GUA Sims: Apricity (Curtains + Tracks)

Harrie: Brownstone Pt. 1 (Shelves), Coastal Pt. 5|8, Country Kitchen, Klean Pt. 2, Octave Pt. 2|3|4

House of Harlix: Bafroom (Hot Tub), Harluxe, Kichen, Kichen 2.0, Livin’ Rum, Orjanic Pt. 1 (Sliding Oak Door Medium), Orjanic Pt.2 (Rug)

KKB’s: JOMO Laundry

Max20: Closet Collection

Lili’s Palace: Folklore (Deco Wheel on Wall 1)

LittleDica: Chic Bathroom, Rise & Grind Cafe (Fence 1)

NANDO: Fashion Store (Mirror Large)

NoStyle x Woodland: Rumasri Petbed

Pierisim: Auntie Vera Bathroom (Bathrobe), Domaine Du Clos Pt. 2|4, MCM Pt. 2|3|5, Oak House Pt. 1 (Coat Hanger), Outside Lunch, Pantry Party

Peacemaker: Arcadia, Bayside Bedroom (Dresser), Creta Indoor & Outdoor Kitchen (Urned Palm), Drapery Delights, Hickory Floorboards, Hamptons Hideaway, Hamptons Retreat, Hamptons Getaway, Hinterlands Dining (Round Dining Table), Hinterlands Living (Sectional+Chaise), Hudson Bathroom (Hamper), Kitayama Dining (Dining Chair), Volta Appliances (Under-cabinet Rangehood), Simple Siding

Plush Pixels: Shape Collection, Summer Closet

PXL: RH Baby & Child Bunk

Ravasheen: CounterFit (Mini Fridges +Trashbin), You Know the Drill (Thermastat)

RubyRed: Beaded Pendant Large

RusticSims: Kind of Modular (Books 4)

SicamCC: Life in Plastic (Vanity Chair)

Sooky88: Leaning Framed Posters – 2 Frames

Sundays: Cirrus Pt. 1|2|3, Java Pt. 1(Throw Blanket), Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillows), Kedungu Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow I), Kelapa Pt. 1 (Throw Blanket), Nisaki Pt. 3, Pool Haus Pt. 1|4 (Armchair + Bar Stool), Sumba Pt. 1 (Pillow Set I + Throw Blanket), Ungasan Pt. 2 (Slippers)

Syboubou: Bamboo Foundations, Elevare (Industrial Stairs + Top)

TheClutterCat: Casita (Feeding Bowl), Fairylicious, iCare, iLove, Snuggle Set Pt. III (Wooden Candle Tray), Sunny Sundae III (Books), Welcome Home I | II

TaurusDesign: Lilith Chilling Areas Pt. 1|2

TUDS: Cross (Lamp Ceiling M), Ind 03 (2x2 Round Table), NCTR (Wallpaper Panel), Turn

Valia: Beachy, Cozy Cabin Nursery

Wondymoon: Carpinus Living Chair (website not available)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

DOWNLOAD (1.56 GB)

#simstorian #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 build #ts4 simblr #sulani #showusyourbuilds #showusyourdecor #cc build #maxis mix #blacksimmer

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victusinveritas · 6 months ago

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Mike Davis, a prophet of California, wrote "The Case for Letting Malibu Burn" (link to the full piece) which earned him the wrath of developers, proven right, again, as catastrophic flames destroy enclaves of privilege and power and, like below, Pasadena. The Chumash and the Tong-va knew this. Controlled burns as a yearly occurence stretches back into time immemorial.

"Malibu, meanwhile, is the wildfire capital of North America and, possibly, the world. Fire here has a relentless staccato rhythm, syncopated by landslides and floods. The rugged 22-mile-long coastline is scourged, on the average, by a large fire (one thousand acres plus) every two and a half years, and the entire surface area of the western Santa Monica Mountains has been burnt three times over the twentieth century. At least once a decade a blaze in the chaparral grows into a terrifying firestorm consuming hundreds of homes in an inexorable advance across the mountains to the sea. Since 1970 five such holocausts have destroyed more than one thousand luxury residences and inflicted more than $1 billion in property damage. Some unhappy homeowners have been burnt out twice in a generation, and there are individual patches of coastline or mountain, especially between Point Dume and Tuna Canyon, that have been incinerated as many as eight times since 1930.

...

From the time of the Tapias, the owners of Rancho Malibu had recognized that the region’s extraordinary fire hazard was shaped, in large part, by the uncanny alignment of its coastal canyons with the annual “fire winds” from the north: the notorious Santa Anas, which blow primarily between Labor Day and Thanksgiving, just before the first rains. Born from high-pressure areas over the Great Basin and Colorado Plateau, the Santa Anas become hot and dry as they descend avalanche-like into Southern California. The San Fernando Valley acts as a giant bellows, sometimes fanning the Santa Anas to hurricane velocity as they roar seaward through the narrow canyons and rugged defiles of the Santa Monica Mountains. Add a spark to the dense, dry vegetation on such an occasion and the hillsides will explode in uncontrollable wildfire: “The speed and heat of the fire is so intense that firefighters can only attempt to prevent lateral spread of the fire while waiting for the winds to abate or the fuel to diminish.

Less well understood in the old days was the essential dependence of the dominant vegetation of the Santa Monicas—chamise chaparral, coastal sage scrub, and live oak woodland—upon this cycle of wildfire. Decades of research (especially at the San Dimas Experimental Forest in the San Gabriel Mountains) have given late-twentieth-century science vivid insights into the complex and ultimately beneficial role of fire in recycling nutrients and ensuring seed germination in Southern California’s various pyrophytic flora. Research has also established the overwhelming importance of biomass accumulation rather than ignition frequency in regulating fire destructiveness. As Richard Minnich, the world authority on chaparral brushfire, emphasizes: “Fuel, not ignitions, causes fire. You can send an arsonist to Death Valley and he’ll never be arrested.”

(Yes, I'm reusing some of the same images that I posted earlier. The point is the words that go along with the pictures. Mike Davis was brilliant and will be missed.)

#mike davis #ecology of fear #los angeles #palisades fire #malibu #quotes #california #corporate greed

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sataniquepanique · 1 year ago

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Book Dragon

Summary: What I imagine is a common occurrence at camp with my Tav. She is a hoarder and frequently dumps inventory into the camp supplies and forgets which important objects she needs for quests. (This is dumb but I just needed to get it out of my head)

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (use of she/her)

Tags: fluff, established relationship.

The frantic crunching of gravel was the first indication that someone had arrived to their camp. Immediately upon hearing the rustling coming through the underbrush, Shadowheart rose from her kneeling meditation, hand braced on the dagger at her hip. From across the slowly-dimming fire pit, Lae’zel mirrored the cleric; double blades resting in her palms as her ochre eyes scanned the tree-line for the incoming threat.

The second indication came from the muffled voices beginning to carry through the forrest. There were at least two, neither of which were decipherable at this distance (Halsin’s snores emanating from his tent didn’t help the matter).

The third indication was the sight of four familiar individuals bursting through the trees, the first two seemingly in a heated argument. Tav was strides ahead of Astarion, making a beeline to her tent next to Shadowheart.

“All I’m saying is that—“

“—I know I have it somewhere, Astarion!” She threw open the tent flap and slammed both knees onto the shabby rug that lined the floor. Dumping out bag after bag of books, random stones, empty potion bottles, and a few stolen pieces of jewelry, she began to frantically tear through the contents in search of something.

“Darling,” Astarion leaned against the frame of her tent, voice tense with the clear restraint he was exerting, “I’m sure if you had it, it would be in your pack. Maybe, if you didn’t hoard tomes and scrolls like some sort of…book dragon,” he flourished a hand for emphasis, “then you’d be able to keep track of your belongings more easily.”

“Maybe, if you helped me look and stopped running your pointy mouth for a moment, we’d be able to find it faster.”

Astarion’s face was expressionless and unreadable as he stared at her digging through a large chest, “Oh darling, please don’t be mean to me,” he drawled sarcastically, “you know how it turns me on.”

Tav’s head whipped around, eyes blazing as she stared at her lover (the thought of which still confused the rest of the party). She continued her ravenous search through the tent, tossing weapons and pillows all over the small area rugs as the other party members watched on, half in confusion and the other in exasperation.

“What’s going on?” Shadowheart glanced uncertainly over at the scouting party, hand finally leaving the hilt of her dagger.

Karlach shrugged, swaying to an imaginary beat that seemingly played on a constant loop in her head, “Tav needs a book—“

“—More like Tav trekked us through the wilderness for hours to find the Mystic’s tomb, only to double back through treacherous territory just to look for a bloody book, that she may or may not even have, based on a hunch!” Astarion threw out his hands in exclamation, dirt and blood shimmering along his face in the firelight.

“—She needs the journal we found a few days ago in the temple. We think it may have the key to figuring out where the Mystic’s amulet is. If we get the amulet, we can end him for good,” Gale added valiantly.

“You two think it’s the key,” Astarion drawled, motioning between the wizard and Tav, “I for one think we can just—“

“AH-HA!” Tav leapt up with a yell, holding a decrepit leather book in her upheld hand. “I knew I had picked it up, I guess I had stashed it in the communal trunk to make more room in my pack.”

Astarion rolled his garnet eyes, “Please enlighten us all on the vast wisdom scrawled haphazardly by this half-dead freak.”

Tav’s eyes sparkled in challenge as she held out the ancient book to him.

“What do you want me to do with it?” He scoffed, eyes darting between her and the yellowed pages.

Tav smiled sweetly, a terrifying gesture that caused Karlach to cringe slightly from a few feet away, “I just figured that if this was written by some ‘half-dead freak’, then it could only be deciphered by another ‘half-dead freak”.”

Astarion blinked in surprise, his aloof mask slipping momentarily by her remark. He narrowed his eyes as she smirked and clutched the book to her chest.

“I think we should take the night to re-group and rest before setting out again tomorrow at first light. I’ll comb through the journal tonight and see what I can find,” She nodded confidently.

Gale stepped closer to her side, “If you’d like company, I’d love to assist.”

Astarion stiffened, ceasing his casual leaning to stand upright. Before he could get a word out, Tav gave a soft smile and shook her head.

“I appreciate the offer Gale, but I’ll be able to focus better if I’m alone. Once I figure anything out I’ll let you know though.”

Astarion loosed a breath, watching as the wizard nodded and strode off to his own tent, hiding his defeat behind a cool mask. As the rest of the camp began to disperse, Astarion lingered at Tav’s tent, feigning interest in a loose thread hanging from his sleeve.

“Goodnight, Star,” she shuffled in the dirt towards her bedroll, the events of the day finally catching up with her. Limbs feeling like a million pounds and eyelids full of sand, she reached to push the tent flap aside when she felt a cold grip on her other wrist.

Astarion pulled her gently backwards, “Where are you going?” His voice was soft and filled with a lingering apprehension that tugged at Tav’s heartstrings.

“To my tent? I have to dig through this book before we leave tomorrow…”

Astarion noticed how bloodshot her eyes were; she was exhausted.

“Let me,” he gingerly pried the book from her fingers. Tav looked at him in confusion.

“I’ll read through it tonight, you should sleep.”

“Star, you don’t have to,” she shook her head, “Let yourself rest—”

“Darling,” Astarion brought a hand up to cradle her cheek, “It’s not up for debate.”

Tav turned and kissed his palm. Breaking into a slow smile, Astarion tucked her into his side and began to lead over towards his tent.

“Does this mean you’re not actually mad at me about dragging you back here prematurely?” She smirked.

Astarion scoffed. “Oh love, I’m incredibly annoyed,” he squeezed her tighter, “but unfortunately, I’m also quite fond of you and will follow anywhere you ask.”

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #astarion blurb #astarion fanfiction #astarion fluff #astarion x female reader

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 month ago

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Coffee And Pancakes - Boone X Female Reader

Title: Coffee And Pancakes

Boone X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Mary-Ann (OC) (Mentioned), George OC (Mentioned), Tyler, Kate, Javi, Dani, Ben, Dexter, Lily, and other waitresses/waiters (Mentioned)

WC: 2,851

Warnings: Instant attraction, italics, banter, teasing, flirting, Reader is briefly mentioned wearing a 50s waitress dress/uniform, tornado chasing mentioned, nicknames, cursing, mini angst, and fluff

Mary-Ann Diner sat in a town in the middle of nowhere, right on the border of Oklahoma and Kasas. The diner had been on the dusty side road off the highway since the 60’s, owned by the original owner George. He named the diner after his wife, the infamous Mary-Ann Conway; which featured one of her signature dishes, her equally infamous strawberry and watermelon pie.

Boone, Tyler, Kate, Javi, and the rest of the team would stop by the diner every now and then - usually after a chase if they were anywhere near the area. Mary-Ann’s had amazing burgers and brisket; it was worth it every time.

And for the past three months, Boone had been coming up with every excuse in the book to steer them all toward the diner for lunch or dinner, often with reasons that were shaky at best - claiming it was the only place nearby with “real coffee” or insisting that they had to try that one special again. It only took the team a second and third visit to catch on. The moment they noticed the way Boone looked at you - the way his big brown eyes would soften, and obviously, he’d stutter over his words - they realized he wasn’t just a big fan of the food.

In your presence, they noticed Boone was different. He was subdued, almost shy. His hands would either run through his hair constantly, rub the back of his neck, or suddenly find their way into his pockets. The loud, fearless guy who’d usually joke around, would go quiet; his words careful and measured, a faint pink coloring his cheeks as he tried not to trip over his own sentences.

You found him cute.

You’d been working at the diner since you were seventeen. It started as a way to earn a little extra cash during college, but after graduation, the diner became something more - a second family, a place where you knew you belonged. Good co-workers, good food, and great pay. The diner had become a part of you, as familiar and as comforting as the smell of fresh coffee and warm pie.

You had been behind the host station, refilling the small candy dish on the counter when the diner door had opened, the bell ringing, capturing your attention as eight people entered. Their laughter and chatter filled the space, the sound of boots hitting the tile floor adding to the usual hum of conversation. You glanced up, offering a smile as you always did to all the customers and newcomers.

As they piled in, you took notice of each one, until your eyes landed on the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He was talking to another member of his group, animated in the way he spoke, a grin on his face. He wore khaki shorts, a white undershirt, and a camo overshirt - unbuttoned at the collar - casually thrown on, with a red bandana around his neck.

He had a rugged, outdoorsy charm that was impossible to ignore. His dark brown eyes were warm and intense, drawing you in immediately. His brown, wavy hair was a bit messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. A thick mustache curved above his lips, adding to his rugged, handsome look. And on top of that, when he smiled, dimples appeared.

You later found out that his name was Boone.

And, well, since that first encounter, Boone had become a familiar face in the diner, stopping by with his friends, with the same order, and with that same bashful smile. You just sort of believed that Boone was always such a nervous and flustered individual, until you saw the YouTube videos.

When you saw those livestreams, you never expected the man who could barely hold eye contact with you over a simple order of blueberry pancakes to be the same person who confidently took on raging tornadoes and storm chases in front of cameras. It was like seeing a whole new side of him - a fearless, adrenaline-driven version of Boone that didn’t quite match up with the shy guy who stumbled over his words when ordering.

And not to mention, the videos of him in the passenger seat hooting and hollering, racing towards tornadoes was pretty damn hot. But you kept that thought pretty much to yourself.

~~~

It was another Tuesday, mid-afternoon when the door to the diner opened and the bell above jingled. Dani held the door open as the Tornado Wranglers entered, chattering among themselves, adrenaline still coursing through their veins from their most recent chase an hour prior, two cities away. It wasn’t anything huge, just an EF0. Nothing was damaged, the tornado touched down in the middle of a random, grassy field, but it was overall very entertaining; and the viewers loved it, especially when they shot new rockets into it.

Boone, however, wasn’t a part of any conversation as his eyes darted around the diner. His gaze landed on you immediately - standing at a booth of two customers, an elderly couple. The sun’s rays from the large windows across from you bathed you in a golden light, illuminating the side of your face, tracing the delicate curve with a soft glow, as though the light itself worshiped you.

Boone couldn’t tear his gaze away. To him, you weren’t just a person in the sunlight; you were the sunlight.

Moving across the room, you bit down gently on your bottom lip, brows knit in concentration as you finished writing down their order. Just then, you glanced up, your gaze meeting his from across the room. His breath caught in his throat as your smile brightened. Passing the paper with the order to a fellow waitress, you made your way over to him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hey, Boone,” You greeted him, your voice soft as you glanced behind him to his Wrangler team and back, “It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah,” Boone stammered, his voice catching as he tried to hold your gaze. “We, uh… We’ve been busy. Chasing. Tornadoes.” He winced inwardly, feeling his cheeks heat up as the words tumbled out awkwardly.

You nodded your head, your grin widening, always having found Boone’s nervousness endearing. “I figured,” You replied, glancing back at his team, who were settling into two side-by-side booths; chatting, only once in a while peeking over their shoulders to spy on the two of you. “Glad to see you all made it here safely.”

His smile widening as he nodded eagerly, “Yeah, you know us… Safety is our number one priority.” He replied, and you nodded, before you both made your way over to the booths where the team had settled in.

You greeted each of them with a warm smile, starting at the first booth, you took down orders from Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Ben. And then you turned to the second booth where Tyler, Kate, Javi, and Boone were sitting.

“Good afternoon, Blue.” Tyler grinned up at you, earning an eye-roll from you. ‘Blue’ was everyone’s nickname for you, all because your waitress uniform was blue. You had figured out that almost everyone in the team had some sort of nickname for each other, and it made you feel pretty good to be a part of that. “I’ll have the club sandwich and coffee, please.”

Next was Kate, “Just bacon and eggs - over easy - and water.” She said as Tyler’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Javi, second to last, haze flickered between you and Boone as he tried to stifle a knowing smile, resting his elbow on the table, his hand partially covering his mouth. “The daily special sounds good today - and I’ll take a water, too.” He added as he leaned back against the leather of the booth. “Hydrate or diedrate.”

You snickered, shaking your head as you jotted it all down and turned back to Boone. You didn’t have to wait for him to say his order, he ordered the same thing every time, but it was always nice to hear his voice. Boone, who seemed to straighten in his seat, cleared his throat as he realized you had caught him staring; he snapped his gaze to the table. He tried to play it cool, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as you offered him a gentle smile. “Would you like some coffee to start off with, Boone? And two blueberry pancakes?”

He cleared his throat, “Y-Yeah, that’d be… That’d be great, thanks.” He managed, his voice faltering slightly as he met your eyes, a hint of relief settling over him.

Meanwhile, Tyler, Kate, and Javi exchanged looks.

Clicking your pen closed, you gave the team a grin, tucking the said pen in your apron pocket. “Alright, I’ll bring your food and drinks out momentarily.” Your eyes then landed on Boone’s, “Just holler if you need anything.”

Boone blinked, his cheeks burning, he already felt like a fool, and he was sure that he looked like one. “Thank you, Y/N.” You nodded with a wink, then swiftly turned, heading over to the kitchen window to give the cook the orders.

"You're starin' again, Boone," Tyler's slightly taunting voice spoke up, snapping him out of his daze as he quickly blinked and shifted his gaze to the table in front of him, hoping again to play it cool.

“I ain’t starin’,” Boone muttered, and Tyler chuckled with a smug grin.

“Right, sure. You were just… Intensely observing the air around her.” His words earned a small scowl from Boone.

Boone huffed, “Shut up,” He snapped, his tone lacking any real bite.

“Seems like you were staring to me,” Javi spoke up, unwrapping his napkin from his fork, knife, and spoon.

Tyler nodded, agreeing, “You’re smitten’, Boone,”

Boone huffed, staring down at the table as Kate gave both Tyler and Javi a look, “Alright, let’s stop teasin’ him. You two do this every time we come here, it’s getting old.”

“Yeah,” Boone grumbled, voice low, “What Kate said.”

Lily then suddenly clapped a hand on his shoulder, leaning over the booth from where she sat. “Why don’t ya ask her to join us for a chase sometime?” She suggested, clearly teasing, Boone rolled his eyes. “You know, show her what you’re all about. It could be a date.”

Just then, you appeared beside the table, carefully balancing trays of their drinks and food, a warm smile on your face. Boone immediately straightened up, his posture going rigid as he tried to act casual. Hoping and praying you didn’t hear anything from their conversation.

You placed each drink and dish in front of them, “So,” You began, passing each member of the team their order, “Any exciting chases recently?”

Tyler perked up immediately, always ready to share. “This mornin’, we were on an EF0 - nothin’ too crazy, but perfect for some experiments.” He nodded in thanks as you placed his food and drink down, “We tried these new fireworks on it-”

“Oh, yeah!” Lily interrupted, “The tornado chute lit up red and blue - looked amazin’.”

“That sounds fun,” You added, placing Kate’s food and drink down.

Javi joined in, “Yeah, and with this one, we got some fantastic data on the wind structure. You should’ve seen it.”

You handed Boone his plate last. “Guess I’ll have to catch the stream after my shift.”

The two booths went silent for a second, stunned. Tyler leaned forward, his face lighting up with excitement. “Wait - hold on - you watch our streams?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, though a faint blush crept up your cheeks. “Yeah, of course. You guys have some pretty wild adventures. It’s quite entertaining.”

“Well, thank you, Y/N, for watchin’.” Dani spoke, leaning over to join in on the conversation.

“Always in need of another fan,” Dexter grinned, as Lily nodded.

Kate took a sip from her water before speaking, “Hopefully this news doesn’t boost anyone’s ego.”

Boone finally found his voice, though it came out softer than he intended. “You… You watch our videos?”

Your eyes met his, and you smiled, nodding. “Of course. It’s not every day you meet a team crazy enough to chase tornadoes for fun and science. Plus, it’s cool seeing the storms from your perspective. You all seem really passionate about it.”

Tyler shot him a knowing smirk as he stumbled over his words again, “That’s… Uh… Really cool of you to watch. Thanks.”

“Of course,” You said warmly, glancing at the team. “Anyway, enjoy your food! I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

As you walked away, Boone’s gaze lingered, and Tyler was the first to break the silence. “Dude, she definitely likes you.”

Lily leaned back over again, whispering under her breath, “Told ya. She’s into it - and totally into you, Boone.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Alright, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

An hour or so later, the group were finished with their lunch, and had already split the bill two ways. Boone was tapping his foot on the tiled floor, worrying on his bottom lip as he waited by the host station, his friends already filing out the door.

Tyler gave his best, right hand man a pat on the shoulder, “We’ll be in the truck when you’re ready.”

Boone let out a somewhat shaky exhale, stuffing his hands hard into his short’s pockets as he waited. “Boone?” He heard, turning around to find you walking over, a concerned look upon your face. “Is everything alright? You need something?”

“Oh,” He spoke up, clearing his throat, his fist pressed against his lips as he tried to keep eye contact with you. He could barely believe he was about to do this. “I was wonderin’,” He began, his voice slightly shaky as he cleared his throat again, forcing his hand out to nervously rub the back of his neck. “If maybe… I mean, only if you’d want to, of course… If you’d like to hang out sometime?”

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “Just to hang out?”

Boone froze, his heart lurching in his chest. “I mean - uh, no, not just to hang out,” He stammered, his face heating up. “Like… As a date. If you’d want that. No pressure, though. Totally up to you.”

Your smile softened, and without a word, you pulled out a small notepad and quickly scribbled something down. Tearing off the page, you handed it to him, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment.

“I’d love to,” You emphasized, and Boone felt like the breath he’d been holding for an eternity finally escaped. “And by the way, you’re amazing in those videos. It’s impressive, seeing you out there.”

Boone blinked, caught completely off guard by the compliment. “Oh, uh… Thanks.”

You chuckled softly. “So, call me when you’re ready to plan that date, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Boone mimicked, his voice steadier now as a shy smile crept onto his face. “Yeah, I will.” As he walked away, Boone glanced down at the number on the paper, a little smudge of ink from your handwriting making it all the more real. You even added a little heart… He couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face as he made his ways towards his friends. Slipping past the door, he felt an overwhelming surge of excitement rush though him, something similar to the feeling he gets when chasing. Happy, almost giddy. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Hell yeah!” He exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air, his voice echoing across the parking lot. He followed it up with a hoot.

His teammates, lounging by the truck, van, and camper looked up in surprise before erupting into laughter. Tyler smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, I take it she said yes?”

“Not just a yes,” Boone beamed, holding up the note like a trophy. “She gave me her number. With a heart.”

Lily clapped her hands together, a wide grin spreading across her face. “I knew it! I knew she was into you!”

Kate chuckled softly, leaning against the hood of the truck. “About time. You’ve been pining long enough.”

Even Javi gave him an approving nod. “Congrats, man. Looks like you’ve got yourself a date.”

Boone couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound full of joy and disbelief. “Yeah,” he said, more to himself than anyone else, “I’ve got a date.”

Unbeknownst to Boone, you stood at the host station inside, watching the whole scene unfold through the diner’s large windows. A small smile tugged at your lips as you saw him cheering and his friends congratulating him. Your gaze lingered as he leaned against the truck, still grinning ear to ear.

Your chest and heart warmed at the sight. You shook your head lightly, your own smile growing as your gaze lingered. “Cute,” You murmured under your breath, shaking your head again as you turned your attention back to the next task at hand. But the warmth in your chest stayed, and you knew it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

~~~

Main Masterlist | Twisters Masterlist

#cute #fluff #x reader #x you #x y/n #x female reader #fanfiction #fanfic #twisters #twisters 2024 #boone twisters #boone x reader #twisters boone x reader #boone twisters x reader #twisters movie #twisters fanfic #boone x female reader #boone x you #boone x y/n

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yuesya · 8 months ago

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“A shipment to Arkos, you said?”

“Yup! Logistics wants this delivered before the end of the week.” The young lady types rapidly into the keypad fixed to the wall, and the doors slide open –revealing the warehouse to be stacked high with giant boxes of various medical supplies. Bagpipe cranes her head back, surveying the contents of the storage room.

“… All of these?”

“Mhm. It would’ve been included as part of the regular shipment last month, but the guys over in the Medical Department changed something about the new formula that they’re developing, so these got delayed,” the girl explains. “Sorry for the trouble, Ms. Bagpipe.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Arkos… it’s a familiar name, although Bagpipe has yet to go and pay a visit there in person. It seems that she’ll finally be getting the opportunity now.

Arkos is not quite a city, exactly. It’s more of a collective –a gathering of various disparate individuals; a hub of mercenaries and traders alike, in addition to a small regular population that calls Arkos home. The small settlement is located in one of the more treacherous parts of the rugged terrain between Leithanien and Ursus, making it an excellent resting stop for any travelers.

But on the flipside: Arkos is located on dangerous terrain, and one must wonder how anyone had even thought to establish a settlement there in the first place. In a way, it’s genius, but it’s also insanity. Because Arkos is not a mobile city; if a Catastrophe ever came their way, then…

Well. Bagpipe assumes that there must be some manner of precautionary measures set in place. She’s never known Doctor Kal’tsit to invest in a sinking ship, after all, and the agreements signed between Rhodes Island and Arkos would not have been possible in the first place if the Director had not truly seen something in it.

According to the rumors, the first homes in Arkos had been built by their elusive founder and leader herself. Weary travelers had been allowed a place to rest, and none were turned away on basis of race or occupation, gradually leading to a motley collection of individuals who gathered together in the area as time passed.

… And at the same time, there were also rumors that those who dared to cause trouble in Arkos with any ill intentions were all met with violent, bloody ends, without exception. Also courtesy of their great and powerful leader.

Bagpipe is curious as to what the leader of Arkos is really like. Kal’tsit is the only one in Rhodes Island who’s ever met them in person before, and she’s very tight-lipped on the subject, which only adds to the mystery of it all.

#writing #zenith of stars au #arknights au #sarkaz au #originally a discord snippet #now porting over since it's spiraling out of control #matcha what have you done #anyways #premise here is shiki as a sarkaz girl in arknights-verse #ends up inadvertently founding her own settlement #which is arkos!

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dapurinthos · 3 months ago

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hi 👉👈

will you tell me more about Jedi Temple conjugal rooms because I never thought about that and it's really fucking fascinating but just if you want/have more to say

lollll making me actually think about it instead of just as an off-the-cuff thought.

it makes sense that, if you have an entire organization of people who are all up in each other's business in an extra way, there's going to be some sort of separation so the empathic projections don't end up all over the place. master & apprentice has this bit from qui-gon:

and we know that imprints can be left in places or on objects from force-users, particularly if they're feeling very strongly about something at that moment.

from complete locations and into the dark, we know that there's a good chunk of temporary quarters for knights and padawans - temporary enough that they reassign them quickly, given that reath's only been away for maybe a couple weeks at the most. we've seen inside the quarters of barriss and ahsoka.

they're listed as accommodation cubicles, which puts me in mind of capsule hotels. they might be a mandatory quiet zone, given that the occupants are 'in transit or awaiting re-assignment'. they probably exist simply for resting in, and i think this can be seen in the difference between barriss's quarters and ahsoka's, with barriss living in more permanent quarters while ahsoka is in temporary ones, as she's more active outside of the temple during the clone wars. barriss's quarters are personalized, from the presence of the mirilian idol down to the rug. her walls are painted and decorated. the sizes look similar, but ahsoka's might be smaller, since the length of the room isn't indicated like barriss's. the furniture in her room is of a generic kind - the same futon-type bed, a low table, and what appears to be a meditation mat. they aren't living quarters because the entire temple is a 'living' area. there are no doors that can lead to bathrooms

the temple layout is very segregated: the quarter beneath the tower of first knowledge has pretty much all of the teaching areas; beneath the high council tower seems more of the technical aspects of the temple, with workshops, maintenance facilities, the lightsaber crafting facilities & practice gallery. the explorcorps has their own office building.

that's all to say: the halls of healing had shielding built into them, and if you look just at the gardens of the jedi temple there are so many different kinds, like specific meditation ones and kitchen ones and ones that probably have certain biomes, and there are all sorts of other dedicated areas, that there might be specific rooms for sex away from the accommodation sectors for those jedi with these individual sleeping quarters, where there might be better shielding built into the walls, or even thicker walls themselves, and places for at least two jedi to be alone together, given that an increase in number of jedi present increases the force-presence of an area.

#keeping up with the skywalkers #star wars headcanons #this MAY just be me being too autistic/aro/ace to function *giant shrug*

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distant--shadow · 3 months ago

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the witch and the widow chapter 8 WIP

The room is a thick cloud of incense and darkness, with the occasional sharp edges of vinegar and formaldehyde, settling vapours soft-furnishings of sulphur and petrichor.

Her breath does not come easily; wheezing a possibly-damning soft whistle from her nostrils between heaves from her throat that feel as though someone is standing on her chest.

Her eyes strain against the dim light; a soon-to-be-extinguished candle in a brass holder in her right hand, its flame catching in the thick glass lenses that sit on the end of her nose-

Her eyes slowly attempt to adjust.

When she looks down her hand is gnarled beyond recognition; freckles now liverspots and teal veins and purple capillaries barking the texture of the dense clusters of scars that entangle all of the visible skin of her arm. She wishes to pull back the sleeve further, but she can’t - realising her body not to be her own, watching, dreaming (assumedly) - as instead the candle is set down at a desk, the edges of tomes and vials and metal contraptions barely illuminated in flickering orange, phasing in and out of existence.

Her joints ache, abrasive like the points of her incisors dragging across the gritty base of fired fine porcelain, daring the bone to grind down and allow raw nerve to make the contact, porcelain jesters and singing blackbirds, her head heavy, spine wilting like a dying flower.

Her hands – their hands – (whose hands?) brace themselves momentarily on the lip of the crowded desk, before one slips under - feeling almost blindly - fittingly blindly, her vision foggy with a blizzard of cataracts as her fingertips read the woodgrain in the underside of the writing area of the desk, colliding into mortise and tenon, cornered in mitres.

A draft persistently licks at her- their- neck, the tips of their ears feeling frost-bitten, their nose dripping, heart beating in their ears, a longing for a copper tub filled with steaming hot water and perfumed tinctures-

Their fingertips meet their mark, a dull mechanical click sounding as something pushes into their thigh

They step back, their right hand taking the candleholder back into it, the shadows slowly pulling back like bed sheets to reveal the contents of the hidden drawer

A book - untitled, clearly bound by someone who at best was an apprentice on their very first day, the leather rugged and almost liver-spotted like the hands that marvel at it; pages loose and dog-eared, including those dogs that lost their ears from a mauling or were cancered bulbous then away from too much time with their pale fur in the sun.

A diary - though as the pages fly by they are written in a number of hands - and later, much later towards the end are excerpts - torn from manuscripts with monk-skilled dexterity and margin embellishments, and finally, the uniform type-face of a printing-press-

“My love-” they startle, as a hand rests over theirs - feminine, skin cold as though petrified, perfect, carved from marble so smooth it may be free of fingerprints “Your mind is not well enough to see this.”

Under the movements of their hands in puppeteered unison, the book closes shut.

The woman kisses them at their temple.

“You wrote down all that you can, the book will be his.”

The room brightens, though barely; a soft blue light as though the moon had entered through the window, exposing the faces of the individual stones that make up the masonry, the carving of barley twists in varnished wood.

The woman’s skin, almost iridescent and paler than fresh milk, her hair draping over her shoulders down to past her hips like perfectly spun silk

They look back to their overlapping hands, as though they were swearing an oath over the tome.

“Why do my hands look so old?”

“We are old, dear.”

“Why don’t you look it?”

She smiles,

beautiful, formidable.

“Because we made a promise.”

It’s always been hard to re-adjust to reality in the morning; Imogen had heard the haze referred to as being sleep-drunk, and it feels apt with how the beams of the stable roof bulge towards her, her eyesight slurring as if struggling for the words to quite decipher what they’re seeing, her motor instinct to marinate in the emotions that her sleep had given to her.

So often she wakes up as though in fight or flight, sleep certainly not affording her the rest it is supposed to.

There was no terror or gore last night, only the aches of a withering body and mind - clouded, outside of itself - Imogen can relate to the disassociating.

She wishes she had influence, rather than to only be a passenger, curtained off behind carriage windows. If the room wasn’t so dark, maybe Imogen could have caught themselves in a mirror, could see how much skin the scars had claimed, could look upon the woman’s face a moment longer-

Could have actually read a single word on any of the pages.

The book. That book.

The Lady’s Library.

Imogen sits up from out of her bedroll, rubbing her head and peering over the edge of the attic space, partially expecting another flower to fall from the sky.

Maybe this time it will become a ball of light - a comet with a long tail hurtling towards the floor and melting through it, maybe it would wilt in moments- slowly greet the ground as the body she had joined had in her dream, liquidising into a puddle of organic matter that flows between the gaps in the flagstones-

some power that would be-

though it is a blessing, to get that old. It is much easier to leave before then.

(she believes she was able to properly dry and preserve the dahlia.)

She stops rubbing her forehead and focuses.

The saddle stand still remains in the middle of the tacking room.

Imogen feels her stomach almost turn at its confrontation, almost undiscernible; how her belly drops to how her legs weaken and her insides lunge.

Her face flushes, her whole body

The Lady. The library.

Focus.

Ms Laudna is in the deceivingly large herb garden.

Deceivingly - ‘caus Imogen hadn’t quite realised how many of the herbs from around here had blooms - or at least maybe she wasn’t used to seeing them this densely arranged and in flower beds with consideration given to their orchestration by colour and height and shape and shading and scent.

Ms Laudna is kneeling on a cloth-

Now that they had taken that trip to the seaside together, Imogen recognises it as the one they had laid the oysters on.

“Imogen.”

Ms Laudna greets her before Imogen has had the time to clear her throat.

“Ms. Laudna-”

“Do you wish to talk with me? I assume you haven’t lead Foie Gras here to graze, I would have to draw a line before that.”

“What? No – I mean yes – yes, I did wanna talk.”

Ms Laudna smiles as Imogen contradicts herself; and Imogen buckles at her focus, eyes diverting down – down besides Ms Laudna’s knees and onto the embroidered cloth, where a pile of long and purple-flowered stems of bishopwort amasses.

“Should I stand?”

“I don’t wish t’disturb you-”

Imogen decides to kneel down as well, and Ms Laudna bows her head to her in acknowledgement and carries on with her work.

“What’re ya harvestin’?”

“Nothing in particular, you have to cut many things back in order for them to grow fuller.” She continues, the meeting of two blades satisfyingly snipping as the bouquet grows fatter. Imogen finds herself unusually jealous of the flowers getting so much attention, even if they are being cut down.

“That’s bishopwort.”

“It is - betony - betonica officinalis, by the old language.”

“I’ve never heard someone talk the old language.”

“Times have changed.”

snip snip snip

bees hum

Ms Laudna maintains her focus on the flowers.

“I was given it at Master Faramore’s when I got sores on m’hands.” Imogen offers, thinking back again to the earlier days of her scars manifesting, before they had been there a long enough time for her to realise they were indeed scars and not sores.

“And how did it treat you?”

“Well enough.”

“If you ever need more then please, help yourself.”

snip snip snip

“Thank you Miss.” Imogen continues to watch as the lady prunes stems back to the stalk with the small pair of shears, gathering another small bouquet in her other hand before she sets them down to add to the pile by her knees, Imogen trying to understand what makes these flowers in particular so worthy of Ms Laudna’s focus.

This part of the garden - as are many areas of the garden that are not the grassy paddocks - is alive with the thrums of bees’ wings and grasshoppers’ legs, some of the bees so round and fluffy that they look like pom-poms or dandelion heads caught on the wind, the honey from the hive in this very bed some of the most valued, complex and medicinal

the early morning sun dyes the downy and stray hairs at the nape of Ms. Laudna’s neck white gold.

-of course Imogen wishes to trace her fingertips over them, curl them around her knuckles. She could pretend the touch were a bee’s, hum in her Lady’s ear-

snip, snip-

‘help yourself.’

The library.

“Can I help y’now?”

“If you would like to.” Ms Laudna stops, turning to face Imogen, her hands still holding the shears resting on her lap.

“I would.” Imogen admits, though it had not been what she had planned. She had at least momentarily won her attention, maybe her favour too.

“Alright.” The look Ms Laudna gives her is far too coy, Imogen feels as though she is at her feet shucking oysters again. “We’ve seen your knife skills, how about you show me some sewing? I believe it should be coriander, sorrel, and tarragon at this time, I would say.”

(link 2 previous chapters on ao3 caus tumblr hates me linking to there the programmed way)

#imodna #critical role #imogen temult #laudna #ao3 #browz writes #regency-ish au #heres a long ass wip caus i know no self restraint but will call it accountabillity #witches #surprised my high ass doesnt write the witch and the wardrobe or the witch and the willows every time

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