#Sixty’s so despicable I love him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anacdoce · 19 days ago

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Find the word game (second round)

rules: I'll give you five words. Find the word (or closest approximation you can) in your works and post an excerpt. Tag others to play and give them new words too!

Thank you for the tag @bloodinwine and @deadly-diminuendo ❤

@bloodinwine your wips made me relive some moments of your amazing story! I can't wait for your new chapter 😭❤

@deadly-diminuendo your wips are lovely and I have to find time to read some of your works 😱

And I'm sorry for taking so long replying to this!

For this game I'll use wips from my long fic, that I haven't published yet (still without tittle, sorry 😭)

My words are: soft, lust, promise, faith, death (from @bloodinwine) and eyes, hunger, tease, hug, skin (from @deadly-diminuendo).

Words missing: lust and hug (how is it possible that I don't have hug??😱)

Death from chapter 1

My soul is yours, you know? I know it. I feel it. You will not be alone, because I will find a way to return to you. Wait for me… Her last words echoed in his mind. So, as she’d asked he’d waited. For one hundred and sixty years, he’d waited, but she’d never returned. And Astarion had stopped hoping she ever would. Kneeling beside her grave, he placed a handful of white water lilies—her favorite flowers—atop the stone. As he did, memories of the years following her death flooded his mind, each more painful than the last.

Faith from chapter 2

“You may not believe it now, but you'll be happy again.” “And even if I am? I’ll be happy until everything I love is taken away from me again!Until I’m miserable again! And what then? You said it yourself, this is my curse. My real curse. I can’t go through that pain again…” ��I know. It’s corrosive, and it will hurt every time. Eventually, you’ll learn that even a mere second of being loved and loving in return is worth the inevitable loss of it. You just have to have faith, my child, and you’ll find your destiny. Just a little faith.” She patted his shoulder twice before stepping back with a small smile on her face. “I have faith in myself. I'm the only one I can rely on. And I'm done with your charades.” Without waiting for a reply, he returned to his path.

Tease from chapter 6

“But what do you gain from this?” She asks. “You see, I’m quite bored. I’m always here, alone, with nothing to do. This is an opportunity for me to get out of this place. Know the city better. And you can finally enjoy my precious company, darling.” “I’m sure you don’t lack invitations to balls or other kinds of reunions with the most important people of our perfect society.” She teases him. “You’re right. But this way, I get to annoy you. And I like that. It’s fun.” Astarion chuckles.

Promise from chapter 8 - Hope

“Because I didn't want him to insinuate things while you were in my presence. With me, you'll be respected.” A serious expression took place on his face. He was not playing around this time. “I promise.” ‘I promise’ what a heavy meaning those two little words carry, and somehow every time someone promised her something it was just that—hollow, empty words. Would she believe him? Like she believed in Baelen? “It’s because of him isn’t it?” Astarion disturbed her thoughts. “Who?” “Baelen. It’s because of him that you allow people to treat you like that, isn’t it? He made you believe that you are worthy of such a despicable treatment, didn’t he?” He confronted her. His words, hitting her like blows, telling her truths she hadn’t even dared to admit to herself. How was he able to see so much knowing so little about her?

Soft from chapter 9 - A raven's feather

Suddenly, Raven confronted him again, closing her body to his, and to his surprise she cupped his face with one hand, brushing his brow gently. Her touch… making his legs going numb, his heart craving for her warmth, his mind screaming for the smell of the water lilies. “You can’t trust me.” She sobbed, tears running down her soft white skin. “I’m no good for you. I’m trapped in a cage, and unlike you I’ll never be free. Baelen has me. I belong to him. Forever.” “Let me help you.” He begged, feeling her escaping between his fingers. “You can’t. Everything I did, everything I know… He will never let me escape.” She paused, smiling sadly. “Don’t tell me anything about your past. Never.” She swallowed a sob, fighting to tell him everything she needs to tell. “I feel your past hovering over you. I feel that, like me, you carry a great shadow over your shoulders. But I can’t know. Or otherwise he will know. And he will destroy you, like he did to so many others before. So… please… don’t tell me anything.” She paused, inhaling deeply. “If you ever thought you could trust me, it’s a lie. You can’t.” Her voice, sounding trapped in her throat.

Skin from chapter 10 - Silence

He stayed quiet for a while longer, watching the snow fall, savoring the calmness that this simple nature’s act offers. The soft snowflakes kept falling, uninterrupted but slowly. He could see them fluttering in the air, he could feel them landing on his skin, but the only thing he heard was silence. The pure bliss of silence. Inhaling deeply, he felt the cold air invading his lungs. He never thought the day would come when he would say he liked winter. But he was wrong. Now, he couldn't wait for winter to begin. Raven was the winter in his life. He knew it. She was the strong, cold wind that blew his thoughts away. She was the rain that washed his pain. She was the fragile snowflake who left him in wonder while he admired all of her beauty, all of her complex shape and form. She was the silence he didn’t know he needed. The silence to heal his wounds. The silence to calm his restless heart.

Hunger from chapter 11

His stomach churned, hungry for her. His fangs were calling for her skin, his lips parted, and that uncontrollable hunger was taking possession of his body, but he couldn't let it. Abruptly, he swayed back from her, away from her skin. He stood straight in his seat gulping the wine that was left in his glass, and Raven glared back at him, her eyes blown with desire, her eyelashes blinking slowly, her scent stronger than ever. All of her body was calling for him, and he was trying his best to keep the beast inside him controlled. I need to tell her… soon. To distress him a little more, Raven tilted her head slightly to the side, showing him her glorious neck with its pulsing veins mocking him. Please darling… don't do that.

Eyes from chapter 12

“She’s fine. I need to get her out of here. Too many people watching. The only thing she needs right now is quietness. Help me raise her. I need to fetch your father to tend her wound.” The elf requested. “Her wound?” Thalion widened his eyes in horror. “Yes, she cut herself. She’s bleeding.” “Blood…” He gasped, and Raven saw the color of Thalion’s face change, fixating his gaze in her hand painted in dark red. Suddenly, he snapped from that hypnotic state, and jumped, running away from them. “Thalion!” His mother screamed, but he didn’t turn, he just kept running. “What’s wrong with him? Ugh… Come, Raven. Let's treat that wound. I don’t want you anywhere near those glasses again, do you hear me?” Raven did hear her, but she heard her very far away, like if she wasn’t in the same room, because her mind wasn’t really there. Her mind was screaming for him. Astarion. The only person she needed, and the only person who wasn’t there.

Your words: hurt, fangs, love, embrace, hands.

No pressure tags (I'm sorry of you have been tagged already. You can just ignore this): @larvasmoon @roguishcat @meeshrox @obsessedwhyyes @astarioffsimpmain @astarionancuntnin

#tag game #my writing #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #ana writes bg3 fanfic

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dieauster-und-diegarnele · 2 years ago

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In defence of Pakku

The fandom seems to have a lot of hate towards him. Like, every time I look up something about the White Lotus, there are things like "Why is he even accepted? What is he doing there? He is not worthy" and that upsets to no end.

Of course, there are people who understands Pakku right, - for example, this great analisys of his attitude really inspired this post. He is not a mysoginist. Yes, I will defend this point of view. He never ever says anything bad about women, and he refuses to teach Katara because of his tribe's traditions, not because she's "not good enough" or "women in general are not good enough, and this exception only supports the rule".

He loved Kanna and I wholeheartedly believe this. I saw arguments like "he didn't care! He just made her a necklace with a waterbending symbol, he was not even a tiniest bit creative about it". So hear me out. He carved her the necklace. In the series we have Yugoda's phrase about Pakku making a necklace for Kanna ("The waterbending master"). Why should she focus on the fact that he carved it if it's a common thing to do, expected from every groom? So at first I assumed that the necklace could be bought ready, or ordered to some carving master, or inherited - or made by the groom himself, although the last option is not happening all that often.

So, Pakku did not have to make the necklace himself, but he did. Doesn't it prove that he cared?

Of course, in the same episode Yue is showing her necklace, and earlier in the episode Sokka tried to give her a present that he carved himself, so maybe it all foreshadows that Yue's necklace is carved by Hahn and so every groom has to carve if he wants to propose... Well, the lore says so (does "customary" means "obligatory"? I guess it does, they do value traditions in the North), but it quite contradicts mentions about Pakku carving necklaces - if everyone does it, why it's such a big deal to focus on, thrice?

But anyway, even if carving itself is nothing unusual, we have the design. It's the symbol of waterbending. Pakku's family is a waterbending family, a dynasty of waterbenders. That's what he is, what he's good at. And his bride was going to be a part of his family. So the gift he made for her is symbolic. He did not just choose the design because he had no fantasy - no, he chose this one on purpose, he wanted it to have a meaning. Because, again, the woman he loved meant a lot to him.

And I hope no one will argue that this thing is just so beautiful. So much for a woman he supposedly did not actually love and instead despiced for, well, being a woman.

He never married. Kanna left sixty yers ago ("The waterbending master"), and still we don't see Pakku having any spouse, or children, or grandchildren, nor we ever hear anything like that. He stayed true to her.

Also, the idea of Hakoda being Pakku's son makes no sense - he is obviously younger than 60.

Kanna kept the betrothal gift. She travelled to the other side of the planet, alone - I suppose some money would really help her, but she never sold the necklace, although, as I said, it is really beautiful, not to mention - exotic; she could have get a good prise for that. If she hated Pakku, wouldn't it be logical to get rid of the thing he gave her to make her his, to take away her freedom and make the rest of her life miserable? So maybe she did not hate him? Just thinking.

Kanna made this necklace a family heirloom. She gave it to her daughter-in-law (mentioned in "The waterbending master"), and was okay with Kya wearing it so often that Katara strongly links this thing to the memories of her mother. She was okay with Katara constantly wearing it (not that she could ask her granddaughter to leave behind a memory of Kya, but we never see or hear about Kanna being upset or uneasy with the fact that Katara wears the necklace). Again, she is weirdly okay with a reminder of the man she supposedly despices oh so much.

When Pakku came to the South Pole and proposed to her again (and he made another necklace, again, by himself, wow, he really doesn't give a shit about this woman, really), Kanna accepted his proposal ("Sozin's Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters"). First thing I love about this fact: he still loves her. She is sixty years older than he remebers, she is not a healthy young woman who can do a lot of chores, she is not that beautiful anymore, she cannot bear his children, and I guess they both are not that interested in having sex at all, - and still he wants to be with her. Could it be that he liked her for her personality? Cause that's the only explanation I can think of.

Second thing I love about that: she said yes. So, the first time she refused, but now she changed her mind, why? Well, maybe because he changed himself. He agreed to teach Katara, and he did it well - we would notice if he had treated her differently, gave her less practice, worse explanations, less praise than to the boy students, but he never did anything like that, quite the opposite, he respects her very much ("The Siege of the North, Part 1", "The Siege of the North, Part 2", "The Avatar State"). And Katara developed warm feelings towards him too. She runs to hug him as a new grandfather and tells that he and Kanna must be very happy together ("Sozin's Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters"). So I trust Kanna's and Katara's judgement.

I guess Katara was right when she explained why Kanna left the North Pole ("The waterbending master") - she hated the custom, not the groom personally. Maybe, just maybe, she even had some respect towards him - she kept his necklace, after all. Maybe she was not sure about his feelings and thought he marries her just because of tradition/his parents' will/whatever else? Or did not know him that well to love back because she generally paid less attention to him than he did to her? I don't know. But she is a strong woman, able to act bravely to defend herself from the things she conciders unfair. If she hated Pakku with all her heart, she would tell him to fuck off. If she just did not feel the same way as he did she would have suggested them to remain friends. But she decided to marry him, and she's a woman who knows what she wants and what she doesn't want, so I don't know what to add here. She clearly wanted to marry him this time.

Another thing I love is Pakku's change. He must be about Kanna's age, which is said to be 80; she left 60 years ago, so she was about 20 when Pakku proposed and he was told to be "young" at the moment ("The waterbending master"). It is hard to develop the new point of view and accept new ideas and values this late in life - but he was able to do that. And to add the icing on the cake: he did not change completely, transforming into a lovable guy all of a sudden - no, he is still pretty sarcastic and even bitter, so his main traits that make him him are intact. Such a great example of character growth!

I just love this pairing so much, their story is awesome. Two strong personalities, complicated feelings, not always mutual, someone had to work hard to deserve the love he wanted, and many years later after spending most of their lives separately they found their happiness in each other.

#pakku #kanna #avatar the last airbender #atla unpopular opinion #pakku defence squad

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gemsofgreece · 1 year ago

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Γειά! I'm very interested in reading about Greek mythology. Mostly interpretations and deep dives on the origins and context of said mythology. All I've read so far are texts authored by British and American scholars but those are always biased and fitted into not-hellenic cultures. I wonder if you know of an actual Greek source that I could access in Spanish or English? I'd really appreciate it. Have a great day!

Γεια σου! Unfortunately I can't provide very accurate recs because I haven't read much about mythology and because

Foreign scholars hardly translate Greek literary classics (meaning modern classics), let alone Greek research on fields that they have already totally called dibs on.

Greeks themselves traditionally did not care much about mythology and have been studying history way more. The stance they hold towards mythology is that it is a bunch of fairytales suited for kids.

Younger generations are getting more interested in it which had led to an increase in books, references and podcasts about it, however the extreme majority are still adressed to kids. I searched one of the biggest book stores in Greece for recs and out of the 192 Greek mythology books available, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the 170 were meant for kids and then most out of the remaining were translated foreign works.

The most famous Greek book about the mythology is Ελληνική Μυθολογία by Nikos Tsiforos, 1964, 644 pages. This book is very informative and detailed however this is not its actual intent. Written by Tsiforos, who was a screenwriter and director with a very sharp humour and notable for the use of slang (of the time), its main point is the social and political commentary on religion. He was also very interested in drawing parallels and finding influences with other eastern civilizations. A drawback I have seen mentioned lately is that since this is edgy humour of the sixties, it completely lacks in political correctness, which makes some jokes appear irrelevant and insensitive. Greek readers seem to love this book enough to forgive such jokes and all agree about the surprising amount of knowledge and detail concentrated in this book, however unfortunately it is not translated into other languages.

I can translate to you the excerpt above to give you an idea:

"... turned against the idols of the Philistines, those people who historically had Greek origins, the Egyptian gods marched drenched in gold alongside the army to confront the iron gods of the Hittites, the patron saints of Cortés were caught in a catfight with the monstrous gods of Motecuhzoma, and whoever won the match also won the glory and the faith, so try arguing with men thinking that the "protection from above" excused their rights or their injusticies... A deity is necessary in war, because it is based on the highest power of the universe... The human stupidity. The mass human stupidity. The despicable Mr War could not not become a god by the Greeks, people who fought constantly, from their very first day. So he did, and his name was Ares. Behold, then, a Gentleman whom deep inside nobody likes. Neither the people who created him nor the gods who had a brawler in their company. A troublemaker, vile, unconscionable, most rude, never keeping his word - war never has honour anyway..."

It is a great read, but not translated and probably not exactly what you seek.

Then some other ones that are not translated, at least so far, are

Ελληνική Μυθολογία Τόμος Α Εισαγωγή. Ανάλυση και ερμηνεία του ελληνικού μύθου - Greek Mythology. Volume A. Introduction. Analysis and interpretation of Greek myth by Konstantinos Tsatsos, Ioannis Kakridis, Eleni Kehayoglou. Also writes a lot about the origins of every myth and explores the reasons behind their creation. Part of a series on Greek mythology, where most of the work is done by Kakridis, I believe. His full book series is 1680 pages. I believe the Greek Mythology by Kakridis is what you are looking for, but again I don't think there's a translation.

Ελληνική Μυθολογία: οι Θεοί - Greek Mythology: The Gods by Dora Papaioannou, 180 pages. This is an edition in simple, easy Greek, ideal for Greek learners, so I don't know if you are studying Greek, I add it here just in case. Obviously this must mean it doesn't get extremely detailed, although a reader in Goodreviews said it also had myths they did not know about. Papaioannou has written more relevant books in easy Greek, such as for the Trojan War and the Odyssey, with 225 pages.

Even though there are no translations, I thought this was an opportunity to mention these ones for interested Greeks and Greek speakers / learners.

There were more books of course, but they were for children or they focused on beautiful illustrations rather than analysis or didn't have enough ratings in Goodreads yet for me to recommend them.

#greek #greek mythology #mythology #greece #books #book rec #anon #ask

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elisaenglish · 4 years ago

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I Only Hold Convictions

There is no preface that quite reflects my conflict here. I am no lover of Ayn Rand, either literally or symbolically, and yet there are aspects of her that cannot – I’d even hazard must not – be discarded wholesale or, indeed, be denied. By her own admission in The Romantic Manifesto, she writes:

“The fact that one agrees or disagrees with an artist’s philosophy is irrelevant to an esthetic appraisal of his work qua art.”

It would also be somewhat naive to dismiss in its entirety Rand’s contribution to modern rational thought or the central tenets of Objectivism as it stands in relation to processes of logic and the pursuit of our own happiness. Flawed as her belief system is overall, there is – as with any text – worth in the exploration. Rand continues:

“One does not have to agree with an artist (nor even enjoy him) in order to evaluate his work. In essence, an objective evaluation requires that one identifies the artist’s theme, the abstract meaning of his work (exclusively by identifying the evidence contained in the work and allowing no other, outside considerations), then evaluate the means by which he conveys it— i.e., taking his theme as criterion, evaluate the purely esthetic elements of the work, the technical mastery (or lack of it) with which he projects (or fails to project) his view of life.”

When it comes to Rand, problematic is most often the “view” readers step away with. From her axiomatic starting point of “existence exists” through to the gravely cynical conclusion where selfishness is deemed high virtue, altruism despicable vice and capitalism the only sane socio-economic model, she adheres strictly – and indulgently – to categorical dichotomies; the black/white and either/or thinking characteristic of young minds yet to encounter the complexities of nuance. Technical weakness is almost by the by; the cumbersome surface of the prose insignificant when we consider the allegorical and anagogical deficits. Further distaste might also be attributed to the fact, especially with regard to Atlas Shrugged, that this is very much by the writer’s design.

But to close our eyes and wish away the horror? The text becomes no less potent in its ostracised state. Indeed, it could be argued that exclusionary approaches amplify meanings – often ones that were but an unsavoury blip before controversy sauntered in. And for us, too, we must beware. “An artist reveals his naked soul in his work,” Rand writes, “—and so do you, gentle reader, when you respond to it.”

Which, perhaps, goes some way towards explaining why I’m taking this discomforting trip through the literary wilderness, light years or so from my natural habitat. And political persuasions aside – and I would wholly endorse this when in pursuit of a truly critical reading – Rand deserves to be part of the current cultural conversation, not least of all because she does ignite the argument and all of its unresolved facets.

And I’m going to say it: Rand isn’t all bad. You have to study beyond a cursory glance and set aside the less palatable veins of pathological self-interest that pervade much of her oeuvre. However, to cast her in a soulless light would be an erroneous misrepresentation of a woman who also expressed that “love and art” are not merely a “special province” of our existence but, in every way, our “sense of life.”

So it is to love I turn, love that Rand defines as inextricably linked to character. As she explains in The Virtue of Selfishness:

“To love is to value. Only a rationally selfish man, a man of self-esteem, is capable of love—because he is the only man capable of holding firm, consistent, uncompromising, unbetrayed values. The man who does not value himself, cannot value anything or anyone.”

Not, then, love as “sacrifice” but more as noble desire – dignified and discerning. Five years earlier, in a 1959 interview with Mike Wallace, she says:

“Because when you are asked to love everybody indiscriminately. That is to love people without any standard. To love them regardless of whether they have any value or virtue, you are asked to love nobody.”

She describes an impetus to choose, to give affection based on mutual respect, a regard of self in relation to other:

“You love people, not for what you do for them, or what they do for you. You love them for their values, their virtues. You don't love causes. You don't love everybody... You love only those who deserve it. Man has free will. If a man wants love he should correct his flaws, and he may deserve it. But he cannot expect the unearned.”

I’m not here to posit that Rand is faultless in her appraisal of romantic love, but she offers something concrete, something – dare I say – honourable from yesterday to consider today. Not the blanket philosophy nor, in her own words, any “faith.” But a mature alternative that acknowledges not just how we devote ourselves to each other, but why.

As Rand offers in her 1964 Playboy interview:

“[Selfless love] would have to mean that you derive no personal pleasure or happiness from the company and the existence of the person you love, and that you are motivated only by self-sacrificial pity for that person’s need of you. I don’t have to point out to you that no one would be flattered by, nor would accept, a concept of that kind. Love is not self-sacrifice, but the most profound assertion of your own needs and values. It is for your own happiness that you need the person you love, and that is the greatest compliment, the greatest tribute you can pay to that person.”

And on that note, I must concede that Rand might be right – for love is not indifference. Nor is it, for me, simply a matter of material pleasure. If I return to Atlas Shrugged, there is resonance albeit in the brevity of places I had to work hard to find. But nonetheless, if intimacy “forces [a man] to stand naked in spirit,” I may also feel the same, relinquish myself to “the sum of [my] fundamental convictions.” Rand writes:

“[A man] will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience... a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer — because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement.”

Over sixty years since its publication, the rampant anti-feminism may be forgiven in part. But my point is not in the ideological line; it is to return to the truth of art, of life. Though it isn’t meant to work both ways, it does. The reading is mine, and I love – sometimes in the darkest of Rand’s “metaphysical” mirrors.

#writing #quote #women writers #love #life #perspective #meaning #existential musings #all eternal things #love in a time of...#intelligence quotients #depth perception #understanding beyond thought #literary sensibilities #art matters #underneath it all #elisa english #elisaenglish

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mysterioh · 5 years ago

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ticket to my heart || b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Cop!Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to flirt his way out of a speeding ticket. Unfortunately for you, it’s working.

W/C: ~2500 words

A/N: Written for the lovely @honeyvbarnes writing challenge. I know I’m a bit early but I just couldn’t wait! Hope you like it and Happy Super Early Birthday!

Warnings: Mild Language, Sad attempt at trying to be flirty.

Masterlist

“Why did you have to pick the bushes?” Sam whined, “I hate the bushes.”

You take off your helmet, shaking your head gently to free the strands sticking to your face. You look over to your partner-in-justice and can’t help but crack a smile. His thick, muscly arms were crossed against his chest, lips contorted into a disappointed pout that was too cute for words with chocolate brown eyes shooting sharp daggers in your direction.

“C’mon, Sammy, it isn’t so bad,” you give him a lopsided smile. “You look like a pretty fairy princess.”

“I’m a cop,” he bites, you hold back the urge to laugh but end up snorting instead. He rolls his eyes. The dense foliage you were hidden behind rustles in the rushing wind that comes with the cars zipping by the highway.

“Why is it always the bushes?” he asks exasperated, letting his hands fall to his sides, “I hate bugs.”

“Because,” you reached back and started to feel around in the compartment of the bike, “this is the only spot on the highway where we’re invisible,” you reminded, lips curling into a smile while pulling out your radar. “I hate it when they slow down when they see us.”

Sam clicks his tongue then chuckles, “you’re brutal.”

“I’m doing my job,” you pointed the radar at an SUV driving by. You scoffed, grudgingly at the driver’s adherence to the speed limit.

“Holy crap!” Sam yells, jumping back in his motorbike, “it’s a spider!”

You turn to him. “Where?” you asked, looking around.

“Are you blind?” he hissed, pointing at the handle of his bike. “It’s right there!” he shouted, obnoxiously loud. “Kill it!”

There’s nothing there!”

“Yes it is!” he insisted, “Oh my God, it’s moving!” he cried, squirming away from the front of his bike.

You lean over to get a better look and spot a tiny —minuscule, baby, small, microscopic— spider sitting on the handle minding its own business.

You glare at him judgingly, but he doesn’t notice by how freaked out he is. You flick it away with a finger as if it was nothing and return to your work. Sam lets out a deep sigh of relief.

You roll your eyes while checking another car. 63 mph. So damn close. “You’re such a coward,” you grunted.

“Am not,” he retorted sharply.

“Are too,” you bit back.

“That thing was huge!” he defended.

You aim the gun at another car when he starts to ramble about how much he hates the bushes.

You whip your head back to him. “Dude it was this big,” you measured with your fingers, “Stop being so—” you cut yourself off when a flash of white flashes in the corner of your eye.

“Whoa,” Sam gaped.

“Officer,” you called, pointing the radar at the speeding car. Sam can hear the wicked grin in your voice.

“Yes, officer?” he replies, all teeth and gums.

“What’s the speed limit on this stretch of the highway?” you asked.

“Sixty-five miles per hour,” he informed.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t seventy-nine bigger than sixty-five?” you asked, showing him the radar.

Sam looks at you with the most despicable look plastered on his face. He takes his helmet and slips it on. The engine of your motorcycle whirls and you flip on the emergency lights.

“This is gonna be fun.”

“I can’t believe you overslept!” Steve screamed into Bucky’s ear. Bucky moves the phone away from his ear. You could’ve heard Steve’s voice from a mile away. “Today’s the biggest deal of our lives and you’re not even here! Tony’s flipping out and I’m hiding under my desk because he’s throwing shit around.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Five minutes my ass!” Steve hisses, “Where even are you?”

His grip on the wheel grows tighter, mentally preparing himself for the blond’s impending and inevitable outrage. “On I-95, around exit forty,” Bucky replies cautiously. His ears started to ring at the sound of Steve’s ear-piercing screams and a distant siren coming closer as the seconds pass by.

God no. Please, anything but that.

He begins to slow down and turns to see who it is. He knows who it is. He’s had a run-in with the police more than once and he’s got a stack of speeding tickets to prove it.

Sam’s motorcycle comes up to his right and tells him to pull over. Bucky has a strong urge to just ignore him and speed past them. The possibility of losing his job was making him sway in his morals.

He could do it and might even make a getaway. Hmm….

Yeah, he’d do it, if he wasn’t such a damn coward.

“Steve, I’m gonna put you on hold for a second,” He pulls over to the side.

“NO, don’t put me on hol—” his voice cuts off when Bucky taps it anyway. He smirks at the screen of his phone.

A tap comes at the window and he turns to come eye to eye with an officer. Not the guy, but a girl.

Holy shit, she’s pretty.

You tap the window again this time a bit harder and he breaks out of his trance, scrambling to push the button for the window.

“Hi there,” you greeted with a smirk, prim but cocky.

Scratch that, she’s hot.

“H-hello, Officer,” he stutters.

“Nice car you got here,” you lean back a bit to get a better look at the car.

“M-Mercedes, miss,” he replies.

You revert your gaze back to him and it sends sweet shivers down his spine.

“Yeah?” you asked. He nods with a gulp, You let out a breathy chuckle, finding his timid behavior oddly cute. “Well Mr. Mercedes,” you sassed, “this ain’t the Autobahn, it’s a shitty highway to New York.”

“Really? I didn’t notice,” he retorted with a grin. Your lips twist into a scowl and Bucky gets the feeling you are not amused. He panics on the inside.

“You know the speed limit around here?” you questioned.

“Uh—well, um,” he stammers for a few moments. “Seventy?”

You roll your eyes at him, shifting your stance onto one leg with one hand hugging the curve of your hip. “It’s sixty-five and you were running at seventy-nine. This ain’t the Daytona 500, kiddo.”

“Yes, but you see,” he replies, “I’m actually late—”

“The law is the law,” you stated, “and everyone follows it. Now I’d like to see your registration, license, and insurance,” you extend your hand towards him.

He quickly turns and opens the glove compartment of his car and pulls out all of his papers and hands it to you.

“I’ll be right back,” you grunt as you walk back to Sam and your motorbike.

Bucky hits his head against his steering wheel and lets out a distressed exhale.

This is it. He’s definitely fired now. You’re definitely going to give him a ticket. Steve and Tony are going to hate him. He’s gonna be dirt poor because he lost his job and nobody wants to hire a guy who can’t even wake up on time. He won’t be able to pay that ticket and then he’ll have to go to court. And the pretty cop is gonna be there, smiling at him all sweet as they drag him off to jail.

Bucky’s head snaps up when he hears his phone ringing beside him on the seat. He picks up the phone call from Steve.

It’s Tony.

“BARNES WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!” he shouted.

“I’m-uh-,” he scratches his head. “On the way.”

“On the way to where?” he hurls at him, “Mars?”

“No, to Stark Industries,” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I got into a bit of a bind, the cops pulled me over for speeding.”

“You’ve gotta be joking me,” Tony replies, sounding like he’s on the verge of crying. “I’m ruined. I’ve got a meeting with Pym Tech in ten minutes and my numbers guy is nowhere to be seen. Do you realize how much you’ve hurt me right now? You broke my fucking heart.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Do something and get the hell out of there,” Tony ordered.

“I can’t leave until they let me.”

“No one said you couldn’t.”

“No! Don’t do that!” Steve butts in.

Bucky looks out the window and sees you checking his information. He pays close attention to the way your hair shines under the sun and how your rather modest uniform makes you look exceptionally hot.

“But y’know,” he talks into the speaker. “She’s one cute officer.”

Tony snorts, “Yeah? How cute?” He was never one to not discuss women, even in the middle of a crisis.

“Real cute, but hot at the same time,” Bucky replies.

Steve snatches the phone from Tony, “Buck, don’t do anything stupid,” he ordered, knowing the way Bucky did things when it came to the ladies.

“Too late,” Bucky smirked, hanging up on Steve. He throws his phone back onto the seat watching the way you strut towards him. Confident but elegant.

“Everything’s good here,” you handed him his papers and he smirks. “You’ve got quite a history, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m bad with time,” Bucky said, “Always running late. Never late to a date though.”

“That’s nice,” you reply in passing, filling out the ticket paper.

“So…” he draws your attention towards him. His arm rests along the length of the window, making it hard for you to not notice the way his lean muscles stretch his shirt. “I don’t suppose there’s a way I can bribe my way out of this?” he asks innocuously, tracing his finger along the metal symbol on the steering wheel.

You snort, returning to the notepad in hand, “For all the money you could bribe me with, you could just pay for the ticket.”

“I wasn’t talking about money, Officer,” he smirks when you look over at him.

“And what do you have in mind?” you jest just to see where this will take you.

“I’m thinking, me, you, and a really nice cafe on the fancier side of New York.”

You pause your writing and look over at him and raise a brow. His crystal blues eyes glimmer under the sun, pooling with harmless playfulness. Taking a closer look at him, you have to admit he’s kinda hot.

You shake your head, lips curling into a lazy smile, fingers returning to writing. “Nice try, but I’ll pass.”

Bucky slumps over his car and frowns.

“What? You thought you were the first person to ever flirt with an officer?” you cackled, “it happens more often than you think.”

“Thought I’d try anyway,” he says and shrugs.

“I admire your honesty,” you compliment him.

A soft smile spreads along his face.

Get a hold of yourself, officer.

“So how about a date and a ticket?” he bargains.

“You want a date with the chick that gave you a ticket?” you elaborated, a chuckle coloring your words.

Bucky notices the soft pink dusting your cheeks and it’s immensely satisfying. “I mean if it’s someone as pretty as you, I’d be stupid not to take the chance.”

You stop writing to clear your throat, the blush on your cheeks reaching your ears. “And what makes you think I’ll say yes?” you countered as coolly as possible.

He shrugged, “I don’t think. I just hope?” he says sweetly.

You smile at him for a second then shake your head. “Sorry to bring your hopes up but I’m not allowed to affiliate with others during work hours. So that’s a no from me,” you replied sternly, a bit harder than you wanted it to sound.

“Damn,” he frowns slightly, “bad day for me I guess. I’m late for a meeting, possibly going to get fired because of it, and got two no’s from the pretty officer,” he lists on his fingers.

You huff, feeling unwanted compassion for the brunette. Usually, you weren’t this soft, but this guy had a charm to him that others didn’t. Damn bastard. This better not come to bite you in the ass later.

“Alright, I’ll let you slide,” you give in, unwillingly. “Just this once.”

Bucky grins from ear to ear making one creep onto your own.

“But if I ever see you speeding again, I won’t be so nice and neither will anyone else,” you warned playfully. “So mind the speed limit please.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Barnes,” you walk away but he calls you back.

“Don’t you think I deserve a reminder of some sort?” he asks, faux innocence lacing his tone. “So I don’t speed anymore?”

You turn back and smirk, feeling like you know what he’s talking about. “Like what?”

“Your number maybe?” he wonders, practically hanging out of his car.

“My number?” you asked in mock confusion and a chuckle. “Now how would that help? I’m not allowed to do that.”

“A little rebellion never hurt anyone,” Bucky tempted with a sultry smile.

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise,” he smiles. You’re unsure. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” he pledges with an action.

You return to him with a chuckle and pull out the notepad. “I guess I can do that,” you nodded. Bucky quietly cheers to himself as you scribble something down. You rip out the piece of paper and hand it to him with a smile. Your fingers brush against his, firing goosebumps against his arm. His eyes look up to meet yours, sparkly under the sun.

“Have a good day, Mr. Barnes,” you say, walking backwards to your motorcycle, almost bashfully.

You get on your motorcycle and ride away with Sam. Both giving the brunette a wave before leaving. A few miles down, Sam finally asks: “You didn’t actually give him your number, did you?”

You laughed, loud and bright. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

Bucky exits the conference room. The meeting was a success and Pym Tech agreed to the deal for the new set of tablets Tony designed. Tony slams a hand on his shoulder.

“Great work in there,” he cheers, beaming from ear to ear.

“Thanks,” Bucky smiles.

“So how’d it go with the officer?” he asks.

Bucky laughs heartily and shakes his head, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I-uh- got her number,” he told him.

“That’s great man!” Tony congratulated before being pulled to the side by one of the others.

Bucky walks on towards his office digging his hand into his pocket. A pink scrap of paper twists through his fingers and he roars in laughter, startling those around him. He pulls it out just to admire your pretty handwriting.

911

p.s. ask for the police.

Guess that’s three no’s from the pretty officer.

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loyally-unfaithful · 5 years ago

Text

—; don’t run from me river

word count: 2605

pairing: upgraded connor | rk900/gender-neutral!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

summary: nines filed the results of the system check to the back of his mind, to be analysed later, and sighed. he wasn’t originally programmed to sigh, but he sure did it alot nowadays. he sighed once more. this check would most likely return like the previous few, [ all systems optimal; functionality: 100% ]. so why does his processor stutter, causing him to freeze and catch his voice in his throat, when he was around you? there was only one logical explanation: he was broken.

a/n: ya boi is an idiot who made more wips than he could handle,,,, but anyway i wanted to write a nines fic because,,,,,,,,,,,, idk inspiration struck? i must admit i had no idea where i was going w this fic skfksfjaskdfhjk btw nines is deviant in this fic, i just have a hc that since he was forced into deviancy (unlike the 3 protagonists who reached some sort of catharsis) he isn’t as familiar with emotions as those 3, hence his difficulty identifying and expressing them. also rk800-60 and rk900 have assigned names, being colin (nickname sixty) and conan (nickname nines) respectively. connor is just connor lmao,,,,, i am god in my fics and i decide that my 3 bois are bros and happy lil deviants,,,, mk, go!

the ambiance inside the bar was loud and suffocating. many people came to celebrate an officer’s promotion to detective, and while nines wasn’t particularly close to them, he showed up regardless (although a certain duo of rk800 models may or may not have had something to do with his decision). mere formalities; he politely congratulated them and stepped away to ruminate on his own in a corner, absently watching the scene in front of him. for a reason that escaped him, he was (disappointed?) (hurt?) that you got along with colin. he still experienced anomalies in his system when near you, even after being told that he was perfectly fine at the maintenance centre. if the problem wasn’t from within, then there was only one probable cause: an outside factor. a recurring event. one that triggered these anomalies. you.

so he requested to change partners. now, he really wished he didn’t.

while you have taken to your new partner wonderfully, he wasn’t as gracious with his. between reed’s incessant snide remarks and overall unwillingness to cooperate, he’d much rather be deactivated. he found himself missing your partnership. for one, your cooperativeness was a relief. you were determined, passionate and kind. truthfully, he missed you. the shine in your eyes when you find a lead, your composure and professionalism, the soothing quality of your voice, the way you’d let you hand linger in his, how your features softened when you smiled—smiled at hi— he caught himself. why did that last part come to mind? how did you still manage to affect him when you’re so far away? he was about to check why when a laughter caught his attention. your wonderful laughter. One he was oh so familiar with. you were laughing with his brother, probably at another of his bad jokes. seeing you happy with him stirred an ugly feeling inside him. one that he did not recognise nor acknowledge. one that caused him to glare at his older counterpart.

he was miserable after parting ways from you, having to deal with reed’s complaining. he was hurt, he was away from you and it didn’t feel right. this distance between you two manifested as physical pain on his part, so how come you were fine? how were you able to move on in your life as if nothing happened? sadness and hurt turned into something more despicable: how dare you not feel the same pain he did? seeing you so happy twisted the knife deeper in his heart. how could you? conflicting emotions; he wanted to see you happy. he also wanted to see you suffer with him.

his glowering must’ve been pretty obvious as connor “addressed” him, asking if he was alright, to which he replied with a curt « all systems fully functional ». clearly the wrong answer as the rk800 frowned slightly and asked him to follow him. nines did as told. you watched him as he left, but he’d never know that.

the alleyway wasn’t the cleanest of places, but it was private and quiet enough that the two could converse verbally. connor watched his younger brother, concern in his eyes, and tentatively threaded the topic of his relationship with you. nines squinted his eyes fractionally as he observed his brother, pausing before dismissing anything connor may have assumed: « i don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate. the older model raised a brow in as he doubted his younger counterpart’s words. – you’ve been scowling at them for the past few minutes. – everything is perfectly fine between the detective and i. he forced out, probably more defensive and harsh than he meant it to be, as his brother’s eyes widened slightly, flashing with something akin to recognition. there was a pause before connor spoke up. – are you… jealous? he finally asked. »

nines looked a bit more than scandalised as the thought of being jealous, face contorted to slight disgust: « that’s preposterous. he scoffed. jealous? jealous of what? connor thought back about the scene before he intervened: nines was glaring intensely at you and colin, just after you laughed at one of his quips. – well for one, of collin. how he managed to get the detective’s attention. maybe you’re yearning for theirs, for their affection. his proposition has certainly made nines realise something as his eyes widened, making him look like a deer caught in the headlights. – what are you trying to say? his voice wavered in unsurety. – what i’m trying to say is tha— » he didn’t manage to finish his statement as another voice, not too dissimilar to his own cut him off, announcing how “nines had the hots” for you. connor looked slightly irked at being interrupted while nines quickly dismissed the statement before fully processing it. colin was slightly taken aback by the quick rejection, before smirked mischievously: « great! then you wouldn’t mind if i asked them out right? – colin! exclaimed his twin. »

a sudden rage took over nines’ body as he pushed colin out of the doorway and stormed back inside the bar. a few beats passed before connor threw a chastising look at his twin, which colin shrugged nonchalantly to.

yes, nines knew what dating was. he knew that if two individuals were to harbour romantic feelings for each other, they would come together and be “dating each other”.

date /dāt/ verb gerund or present participle: dating 3. go out with (someone in whom one is romantically or sexually interested).

technically, it was fine. logically, it was fine. he didn’t own you. if you were to date his brother, then that would be your choice. but the thought of you being close and loving someone other than him felt so incredibly wrong. he wanted to leave. he needed to leave. this is all too much. he had feelings for you? he needed time to digest that statement. in his rush to get out, he accidentally bumped into another person, who made a small « oof » and an apology. he was about to apologise as well when you both realised who you were talking to.

« nines! i’ve been looking for you! can we… uh, talk? » he realised from this distance that he could smell your scent: lavender, fabric softener, and something pleasant that was unmistakably you. he nodded and followed you absentmindedly. how did you have this power to erase all thoughts from his mind, make him think of you and only you? has he really fallen for you? you both went outside, a distance away from the bar’s entrance when you finally restarted the conversation: « nines. – detective. » you bit your lips at that reply, and he realised now you looked tired, that radiant smile absent. « look, nines, i- i’m not dense, okay?... i-i know when someone’s avoiding me. – what do you mean detect— – i thought i told you that it was alright to call me by my first name… look, i… by “avoiding” i mean this. acting like you don’t know me. speaking to me as if we were just “coworkers”. acting like we aren’t friends. you sounded tired, the lilt in your voice that he has grown accustomed to sullen. – i’m not avoiding you. he lied, but he knew you were smarter than that. – nines please don’t lie… this distance… between us. i don’t understand, nines. your voice cracked. what happened? Why are you doing this? »

watching you hurt inside because of him was worse than any punishment he could’ve received. any and all previous wishes for you to suffer was quickly erased. he’s much rather suffer alone than watch you break. he took hesitant steps back. away from you. distancing himself from you. you noticed his actions and whispered a desperate « nines… please… » he wanted to run away. he wanted to stay. he wanted to leave and pretend this conversation never happened. he wanted to hold you and tell you everything: his fears, his doubts, his growing affection for you. in the end, he found himself running away from his problems like a coward. you didn’t bother to chase after him, desperately crying out « please… please don’t run from me conan. », last part choked out as you tried to hold yourself together. hearing your voice crack and waver because of him was awful. he wanted to turn back. comfort you. But his body didn’t obey him. when he finally stopped to pay attention to where he was going, he was right back at his shared flat. he swallowed dryly and moved to enter his house, a solemn air around him.

the next few days were absolutely torturous. he increased his initiative to avoid you, never seen in the same place as you, much to your chagrin. an act so blatant than someone as ignorant as reed noticed, an act that become the core of his recent round of taunts. avoiding you hurt. so why did he continue to do it? the thought of approaching the subject made him go cold. it immobilised him, stopped him from uttering a single word. a quick search told him he was scared. nervous. for rejection. he doesn’t know if his heart could take much more. he does resolve to tell you one day… just… not today…

but maybe he should’ve taken the chance when it was presented to him, as he may never get one again.

you died. well, you almost did. his mind jumping to the worst case scenarios as anxiety filled his system. arrest gone wrong. gunshot. 9mm bullets embedded within your abdomen. what if it hit your vascular system? you were rushed into the er. he knew that in this profession, the chances for an individual to get shot rises. but he didn’t expect to grow so attached to one of them. so as the surgeons work to quickly remove all bullets from your body, he sat, rigid, as he waited for the procedure to be done. he fiddled anxiously with his coin when your partner placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. he mechanically glanced at its owner, who told him to not worry, that you’re “too much of a stubborn ass” to die from this event. he didn't acknowledge colin’s input as he continues to play with the quarter. he should’ve told you. told you when he had the chance.

the clock ticked. and ticked. and ticked. when finally, the surgeon informed the two that you were alright. they managed to take out all the bullets. your condition was stable. you were ok. heavily sedated and going to be in a lot of pain. but you were ok. nines didn’t stop the heavy sigh of relief that escaped him. the doctor told them that visits will be allowed as soon as you were settled in recovery. he was going to tell you. he told himself, like an unspoken promise. he was going to tell you then. it’s the least you deserve. he was going to apologise and come clean. hopefully you’ll have it in you to forgive him.

when you finally came to, your body ached, you didn’t want to move, so you settled with eyeing your room. what happened? you were chasing this guy… and he pulled out a gun… pain and then darkness. and now you’re here. the recovery room was filled with gifts and get-well soon cards. balloons of assorted colours filled the room, bouquets of diverse types of flowers adorned the table.

« you’re awake. »

you turned your head at the source, seeing connor at the doorway. « how—you cleared your throat—how long was i gone for? you asked, voice raspy. – around 3 days and a half. you’d gain consciousness a few times, but you were too heavily sedated to be fully coherent. he explained as he took a seat near the bed. you groaned. – gosh that long? connor nodded. how’s colin? – doing pretty well all things considered. he does, however, feel immensely guilty about failing to protect you. – well, tell him it’s not his fault and that i forgive everything he’s blaming himself with. you worried about him. despite sixty’s mischievous exterior, he had a tendency to get himself stuck in a depressive loop of self-deprecation. connor smiled graciously. – will do… he placed a paper cup filled with what you assumed was thirium on the floor. how are you feeling? – everything hurts but i’ll live, you quipped. » the android chuckled and was about to reply when a knock caught both of your attention. the door creaked slightly open, as nines peered in. he hesitated before asking if he may speak with you. the “alone” part being left unsaid as connor bid you farewell and left.

you and your former partner were locked in an intense stareoff, you on the bed on one end and him glued to the door on the other. he took tentative steps towards you. closing that distance. when he was besides your bed, he nervously called out your name. you parroted him, mustering out a curt « conan. » he took a deep breath that he technically didn’t need and whispered out an apology: « i… i’m sorry. for everything i’ve caused—for all the hurt i’ve caused… for what it’s worth… i never meant for all this to happen. » his voice was clipped as guilt overcame him. you watched him, silent as ever. he wished you would say something, anything. the silence was deafening.

« then please tell me why… he promised himself that he’d come clean. – i… i don’t… i don’t think i know... for sure… i experienced anomalies in my system when i was around you.. you’d consume my every thought, i’d feel immobilised and i… i’ve been told that i’m being nervous… i’ve been told that i harboured romantic feelings for you… i-i don’t know. i… i yearn for your attention, your touch, your affection… but is it right for something like me to desire such a thing? am-am i broken…? his voice was barely a whisper when he choked out the lay part, and he waited for his response, growing more anxious as each second ticked by. what if you didn’t want him? what if he wasn’t enough? – no, you aren’t broken. you shook your head. just human. »

nines. confident and assured nines was an insecure and trembling mess as he poured out all of the doubts that plagued his mind. your heart aches as you wished to comfort him, so you do. you reached out, best you can, and grabbed him into a bone crushing hug. an action that took him by surprised as he stiffened at your touch. but he soon relaxed and carefully snaked his arms around your waist, returning the hug. you slowly caressed his hair as he nuzzled into your neck.

you both stay like this for a moment, relishing in each others presence, before you spoke up again: « it’s okay to be unsure, you know. he stopped his nuzzling, indicating to you that he was listening. if you don’t feel ready at the moment… if you just wanna be friends for the time being, i’m ok with that. and if one day you decide that you want to be more, just remember i’ll be right here. » you pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of his head and stayed in that position for a while, neither wanting to part ways, but this awkwardly positioned hug took a toll on your back so the both of you half heartedly pulled away from each other. hands holding the other’s, you asked for one more request: « just promise me one thing. – anything, he breathed out. – please… don’t ever run from me again. – never. he promised, fully intending to fulfill said request. »

« thank you. »

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monkey-network · 4 years ago

Text

Moonsummer: Prologue

Have you ever gone to such passionate ends for something eternally dispassionate to your problems? All the chaos, the hurdles, for something you’re never certain is real and doesn’t care to know you exist? Why must this be the most favorable punchline to the most cosmically despicable joke imaginable?

A sundial has been erected in the village square for over ninety-nine years. We only know this because of me, one of the few that bothers to keep track of how long it’s been and can somehow answer simply when asked. Not even the headman, who doesn’t look an increment over twenty despite being over sixty, ever cares to remember and sometimes asks me about it’s age whenever I go to visit him. I have to walk by it every morning, evening, and occasional afternoon and over time, I feel like it mocks me. It gets to stand there, useless to no one because no one else notably acknowledges it, perfect as it appears. The hardest stone, with gypsum fragments peppered in its base, smooth slate with barely a chip fallen from its circumferential edge nor of its gnomon. It looks so perfect, so flawlessly antique it almost sickens me that every time I walk out, nary a soul goes up to it to utilize it’s crafted purpose. [sigh] At the same time, who am I to quibble? What does this sundial do that I haven’t done for myself after over fifteen years?

I notably asked myself this as I luckily woke up today, dawn seductively making her way up to my consciousness once more. About as awake as a milligram of yeast is getting its heat, I steadily peer onto the floor boards over the edge of my bed. I was grateful enough to see the beam hit the 7th chalk line so I definitely could get ready easier than most of last week. I scanned the floor for any insects, content to only find a mere pillbug near a dust mite.

Then came the best part of the minute as I rolled over to see that she was still in bed, back facing me. A two by three foot slab of visible bronze skin, glistening from the oil I helped apply last night. I steadily inched my hand up to her left shoulder, with a tear creeping out as I felt the multiple scars that told me of the rapiers responsible for these. This adult back was an artistic yet historical horror, malicious marks that no one could bless away no matter the remedy because, personally, they tell a story I’ve yet to hear. They’ve constantly reminded me of how gutless yet scared I am to just whisper her the question, regardless of how open we’ve been after so long,

“Who are you really, Cassius?”

I pulled my hand back, thankfully she didn’t notice. I rolled back to shift a leg out the sheets, to stop quickly after feeling a damp, goopy cloth on the ball of my exposed foot. I was the right amount of tired to only take a deep breath in muffled revulsion as I immediately recognized the piece of fabric… that was used… to pleasure… my girlfriend.

After cleaning “that” off, I tiptoed into the kitchen to see the grain was in the pot ready to boil. I turned on the heat in the midst of getting the brown sugar and some berries from the bag on the other counter. A couple minute wait goes by, and I hear a familiar creak from the bedroom. Awaken, she has. I turn to see she’s fast as ever to appear before the door, leaning confidently on the frame as it appears she woke up in a snap and is ready to seize. The darkest crimson of her long hair being the first thing I see to ignore the fact that she’s still nude.

“A morning of morns, love,” she yawned out like a grizzly, “bubbling the grain?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to hide my smile, “something simple for today since we’re gonna be low on vittles for a couple days.”

“Pssh, you say that as if we get much else,” noting with a cheeky scoff, “Then again, this evening I’m certain me and the boys are netting some good ones. Boss said he’ll provide a catch just for me~~.”

“Sure, you should catch those clothes outside before somebody takes them like before.”

“Shit, you’re right! Gimme a sec.”

Cass went into the bathroom which leads to our clothesline outback. I began stirring the grain, taking in its charming warmth. Makes me grateful again that my “family” was as charitous to leave me enough for this old house. Still have regrets, but like this… well aged meal, I should be appreciative that things turned out well. Cass came back in, clothes tucked in her arm, and is still in the nude.

“Aren’t you cold? You gonna p-”

“Nope and nope right now,” she chipperly responded, “I’m in a pretty good mood after last night.”

“I figured with the evidence I stepped in this morning.”

“I thought you were gonna wash it before bed.”

“You said you would since I got to finish.”

“C’mon, you kne~ew I’m a heavy sleeper ‘specially after sex so this time it w-”

Before she could finish, I turned off the heat to slowly look towards here with a smile she knows can chip her confidence, if only for a second. She huffed, instantly lost the argument the moment our eyes squarely locked.

“Damn it... M’kay, I’ll make up for your squeeshy morning,” she slumped her way over to my shoulder with a cornered smirk, “only cause you bewitched me again and since you’re cooking this time.”

Cass slid her arm around my left side, now doing her typical cheek to cheek begging method, “Can I at least stay nude for just a little while longer?”

“Sure,” I said relievedly as we pecked lips real quick, “but clean your bowl before dressing.”

She plopped her clothes on her chair as I gave her the steamy breakfast and put the washed berries in the center of the table. She waited for me to sit down before digging in. She really was in a good mood, she’s always respectful to me but not as patient and awake as this morning. As we started talking about the happenings of the village and her job buddies, I wondered if there was more than the potential “good catch” this evening that had her in such spirit. I’m probably overthinking it, but I don’t know if last night was better than some of the others. It’s never like Cass is hiding something beside her past, but that has never been something I felt could be brought up and not feel too wrong for pressing. Again, it could be just me, but something about Cass’s spirit this morning made me feel different. Different, in a good way.

After eating, we cleaned our bowls. I went back into the bedroom to see the sunlight reaching the 2nd chalk line which means I was on schedule. I got dressed but I decided to not wear my vest today. Not sure why, but I just tucked my tie into my shirt since I didn’t have a clip. I walked back in to see Cass on the hay couch having her jumpsuit on but not fully zipped, still with no top on as she threw her hair back, revealing more of her rosy nipples before facing towards the kitchen.

“Got time to do my hair?” she requested over the shoulder, back once more facing me.

“Of course,” I said calmly, feeling at ease that the morning was running as smoothly as it was.

Sat down to methodically comb these dark red locks as she stared at the front door, I kept pace with braiding her mohawk just how she likes it. Firm up top but not tight all the way down. After a couple minutes, as I was nearing the end of the braid I noticed the scars again. I slowed down for a moment, intrusively imagining countless brutal events in a flash before recollecting myself to finish. I was thankful she didn’t notice the pause. She took a sec to appreciate the work before bouncing to do my hair. I faced the bedroom doorway as I felt those admittedly big hands of hers caress my hair gently before combing it out. I wanna say this is what I’ve come to love about her. A woman bigger than me, far stronger than I could ever do for myself, the body of someone that I can’t help but say was tormented, and she enjoys treating me with genuine grace. I know we helped each other out long ago but, deep down, I feel like she’s too nice to me after all this time. I’m not sure, I don’t know what’s happening with me this morning. I know I love Cassius, she loves me back wholeheartedly, so why does it feel like something’s out of place? Nothing is wrong, but something feels incomplete.

“All good,” Cass says, patting me playfully.

I shake my head, not only to feel the braiding but to wake from the daze.

“Thanks, hon’,” I said putting the braid over my shoulder.

I grab my satchel and Cass grabs her tackle box after finally putting her top on and zipping up her jumpsuit. We put our shoes on and headed out the door. Walking outside, I took in the fresh, cool air of the morning and for the first time in a long while, it felt like things were gonna go my way somehow.

Cass closed the door and whispered, “I know, right? Sex can make for a breath-taking morning.”

“Shut up,” I flusteredly giggled with a playful jab to the arm, “I’ll see you later.”

“Sorry sorry, see you tonight, Aussie.”

We shared one more kiss before she jogged off, waving goodbye as I waved back genuinely.

“See you… Cass,” I whimpered in awe.

I slowly let my arm down, standing in the same spot for longing than desired. I peered passionately at my girlfriend until she was the size of my pinky finger, then I started to walk to my job staring coldly at the ground.

The dirt felt right, damp but not muddy. The breeze felt complimentary to the gradual warmth of the sun, especially on my neck. I honestly couldn’t feel my steps as I went along, like I was just floating along as I felt empty. Not empty in a negative sense, but hardly any other thought I had stayed for more than a second. What came over me? Was I late? No, I kept track; I know I can’t be late? Was I malnourished? No, that breakfast still feels filling to me; ate two whole bowls of grain. Was it... love? More than before when I haven’t felt any different about her? I love her, I know I do, but what is convincing me otherwise? Not otherwise, but variably? Seriously, what other feelings could I have for that beautiful and outgoing and strong and polite an- OOMPH!

My mind played a gag as I somehow walked right into the square’s sundial, stumbling from the pain in the stomach before falling over onto the ground. I writhed for a bit before looking to see the sharp triangular tip of the gnomon spark for a moment. I instantly grew puzzled, so I got up and looked at the big instrument. It wasn’t long before I recognized something that I should have for the past fifteen years… the sundial was facing east. Nobody could even use this because it’s… always been positioned wrong. Something that looks so perfect, and yet could hardly do the one thing it was meant to do for almost a century.

That was when another thought occurred to me. A more deeper thought, one that stuck with me for the many weeks that I’d knowably work through to finally answer it with everything and everyone coming together:

How does time move forward?

#mnky writing #Moonsummer #long post #my story #feedback would be appreciated #fav

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pointedly-foolish · 5 years ago

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[ dσn’t run frσm mє rívєr ]

word count: 2605

pairing: upgraded connor | rk900/gender-neutral!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

so he requested to change partners. now, he really wished he didn’t.

yes, nines knew what dating was. he knew that if two individuals were to harbour romantic feelings for each other, they would come together and be “dating each other”.

date /dāt/ verb gerund or present participle: dating 3. go out with (someone in whom one is romantically or sexually interested).

but maybe he should’ve taken the chance when it was presented to him, as he may never get one again.

« you’re awake. »

« thank you. »

like my work? consider ordering a commission // buying me a coffee // checking out my art tag or my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

#detroit: become human #rk900 x reader #detroit: become human rk900 #rk900 nines #dbh rk900 #connor detroit: become human #rk800-60 detroit:become human #falsely writes

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tisthenightofthewitch · 5 years ago

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I ALWAYS QUESTIONED EVERYTHING AS A KID - Tobias Forge Interview

Ghost visited Hungary on December 3, 2019, where he gave a successful concert at the Arena. Before the concert, our magazine was given a brief interview with Tobias Forge, the frontman of the band, Cardinal Copia.

YOU HAVE A COUPLE OF POINTS OF CONTACT WITH HUNGARY AND HUNGARIANS, BUT WHICH ONE WOULD YOU CONSIDER MOST IMPORTANT?

Unfortunately, I've only been to Hungary once, so I haven't spent too much time here. The first thing that comes to mind is music. From the musical background, Erzsébet Báthory is inevitable, since she is the central figure in Gothic and vampire culture. In my youth, the music of BATHORY and VENOM meant the most to me. But also my favorite is the TORMENTOR, whose singer, ATTILA, and he sings in MAYHEM , which is probably the most famous band for us, so DE MYSTERIIS DOM SATHANAS was a big influence on me. I was thirteen when I appeared ...

SO THEN IT'S JUST MUSIC STUFF?

Apart from the subcultural and historical things, there are some outstanding people of Hungarian origin in my life. My lawyer, who is also a good friend, is half Hungarian. My mother was at the same time with a Hungarian guy who was completely Hungarian. The guy who draws our turnstiles is of Hungarian origin. I have no such background, but the country is very impressive.

YOU WEREN'T ORIGINALLY A GHOST SINGER, AND IN AN INTERVIEW YOU SAID YOU COULD IMAGINE GOING BACK TO BEING A GUITARIST AND HANDING IN THE MICROPHONE. IS THERE ANYONE YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE AT THE HELM OF GHOST?

I couldn't really tell anyone that suddenly.

MISSING THE FACT THAT YOU DON'T HAVE A GUITAR IN YOUR HAND?

Yes, very much. Although I like to do what I do now, if I were in a different band, I would really play guitar, because for me, the most natural way to play music is to play the guitar or maybe play the guitar and backing it up. Once I end up in another band, I'll be really instrumental.

WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG, WAS ANYONE AROUND YOU RELIGIOUS OR ANY RELIGION?

No one in my immediate family. My mother is very liberal, very kind of… * showing a peace sign on both hands * pacifist. It is also quite spiritual, but by no means religious. The other one I grew up with was my brother, who at the time was not religious at all. He has since developed some kind of religion, which is not necessarily a 100% God-fearing fear, so he is not a completely faithful god, but he does. Sometimes it's easier to just go to a church and accept the dogma system that has been put together than to pick yourself "a bit of this, a little of what it doesn't," which I think is healthier, but I don't know what he meant.

SO HAVEN'T YOU MET RELIGION IN YOUR CHILDHOOD?

A little further afield, there was a couple of religious figures in my extended environment who influenced my behavior. Perhaps most importantly, I was my first or second grade primary school student. He was two years old from retirement, or sixty-three years old or about. You know it was thirty years ago, anyone over sixty was very old, now being 60 is virtually nothing. But in the eighties to be sixty, well… He was very backward and had all the qualities that made him perfect… smelly. She was ugly, her hair was scarred and her clothes were scarred, she was terrible and evil, and she was harsh. He couldn't really teach.

THEN NOT REALLY YOUR MAN OR EVEN YOUR FAMILY…

For a guy who grew up with such a liberal mother ... well, wow, she was quite struggling. I swore, listened to metal, waved, talked back and always questioned everything. I think he messed up the school as it is.

SO YOU WEREN'T YOUR FAVORITE…

From then on, I hated school forever, and I could never get over it. By the third, I was a better teacher, but I couldn't care less about the school, I was more interested in opposing everything and questioning things. Unfortunately, it continued throughout my school years, I wasn't a good student, and honestly, I wasn't good at being a friend either, I was really stupid and hateful, which is not a good thing. And it's all his fault! Okay, maybe not… And he was Christian. It was very, very religious. So for me, as a wicked and despicable ... If he could, he would have hit me. He couldn't have done it, but I remember saying he wanted to, and he could have done it a few years earlier. So, if he represents Christian love, I don't ask for it.

I KNOW YOUR SON AND DAUGHTER BOTH LOVE GHOST AND YOUR MUSIC, BUT HOW WOULD YOU REACT IF YOU LATER BECAME ACTIVE IN HATING ROCK AND NOT JUST BECOMING POP OR HIP HOP FANS?

Actually, it would be perfectly natural - you have to face someone, right? I've always been such a very "anti" person who has defied everyone and everyone, so if they want something like that, that's fine. What I would mention, though, is the cultural and intellectual side of the whole rock theme: I would be a little sad if they were separated from everything I love. I am convinced that if you are into rock music, from the '60s rock'n'roll, through the' 80s to the '90s, of course, to the movies and books I like in this regard - one-on-one would refuse to think I would miss out on a huge and great slice of culture, a virtually huge loss to miss. Otherwise, I am not cinematic, my taste is wide enough. If my kids were to find nothing in the culture I can offer them, I'd be really surprised. Then they may know better, and they may know something that I do not.

(Translated from Hungarian - apologies for any errors!)

METAL.HU

#Tobias Forge #Tobias Forge Interview #The Band Ghost #Ghost Band #Cardinal Copia

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thevagabondvantage · 4 years ago

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8.28.2018

Jenn Demorris is a goddess. She has the entire office wrapped around her soft, auburn locks; her perfume acting as a sort of siren’s song. Jaws drop at the sight while hearts stop at the scent. Everyone stares as she enters the conference room. She may act unaware, but this is exactly how she wants it.

“Where are the edits from PR?” she inquires toward some generic assistant.

“Right here, Miss,” he stammers. Silence diffuses across the room as she looks over the edits. There’s no standing rule against speaking while she focuses, but no one wants to take the chance. Seconds burn on, she does not break her gaze; all the while towering over the ensemble of office chairs.

“They call this an edit? Hm…” She sets the documents aside and takes her seat at the head of the table. She crosses her legs, which are kept muscular through pure intimidation.

“Could I trouble someone for a water?” Another generic assistant shuffles out to assure her hydration. Hour-long moments go by, no one is quite sure what to say. She continues,

“What do we think of extending our promotion from last month through the end of the year? Some may think it’s wild and foolish, but - if anything - it’s been wildly and foolishly successful, so who cares what they think?”

Jack wasn’t sure who they were, but he certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. In fact, Jack wasn’t sure of a lot of things at this point. Was there an email he missed informing him of what the hell was going on? How many questions was she going to ask before someone would speak up? Were these questions rhetorical? Did she only speak in questions?

“What’s the time?”

Yep, she definitely only speaks in questions. Jack was sure of it now. This whole company wasn’t even a business, just a strategy game where employees played to see how many questions this woman would ask without being answered before firing their asses. Why did he even start working here in the first place? Sure, his college buddy Joe hooked him up with the job right when he needed one, but did he even want to be here? He has a master’s degree in Humanities. He always saw himself ending up as a professor, owning a bookshop, or manning a non-profit. He’d live somewhere like Seattle or Portland and go biking on the weekends. Life would have it, though, that he needed job security, so he traded weekends for never-ending weeks. Sure, he could have fulfilled his dreams, but he liked the idea of having a 401(k) instead of having 401k in debt.

“Isn’t anyone going to give me the time?”

Great, another question, he snarkily thought. Wide eyes, sweaty foreheads, and all, everyone turned to him. He’d apparently been elected as the spokesperson of this merry band. He barely consults his watch. “Maybe about 9:50, Miss Demorris…?”

“Hm.” Finally, a damn statement. She glances away for a moment, but her cunning eyes find their way back to his. She studies his face a moment and - much to Jack’s dismay - returns with a question. “Your name?”

“Jack Tanner,” he sighs. This was probably accompanied by an eye roll, but no one could be certain… He didn’t mean to have such a rotten attitude, but it seemed to come with the job description. Jenn upgrades her stare from inquisitive to relentless, almost as if planning a way to dismantle his well-being. She certainly isn’t evil - she’s actually a great vice-president of marketing and gives amazing gifts at the company Christmas party, but she has no regard for human worth the other three-hundred and sixty four days of hell.

Jack never could quite pinpoint why he hated working here and working for her so much. Maybe it’s the way she flounces about the office or can’t be bothered to make direct eye-contact with someone in a God-forsaken cubicle... Regardless, he’s had it. Jenn finally reaches her moment of divine inspiration and speaks to him.

“I’m not sure how they did things at the Panera Bread you miraculously crawled out of, but when a woman of stature asks for the time they’re sure as hell not asking for an approximation or a guess sprinkled with sharp ignorance.” Everyone hastily makes eye-contact with the floor so as to not be caught in the line of fire. The color immediately washes away from Jack’s cheeks.

“So,” Jenn continues, “Let’s try that again, shall we?” Her questions were beginning to sound more and more like unadulterated statements. She rises from her chair to her full height in a contained rage. “What’s the time?”

Jack knew this could go one of two ways. He could actually look at his wrist watch, his phone, and his computer and give the woman the most accurate time possible, or he could be a smart ass.

“My apologies, it’s exactly 9:51. Did they not teach you how to tell time in the underworld?” He chose to be an accurate smart ass. One of the generic assistants from before - “waterboy” as he’d eventually be called - returned with a Dixie cup with water for the woman.

“I couldn’t find any bottled water or even a glass of any sort, so I hope this is-”

“It’s fine,” Jenn failed to convince. Waterboy tried to hand her the cup, but her focus couldn’t be broken. She was carefully aiming, ready and willing to shoot something back at Jack. She sat, folded her hands on the lip of the table, and waited. Everyone caught the drift and slowly fled the room, but Waterboy needed one last lick of clarity.

“Should I take the water with me, or-” She shoots him a look that would have denuclearized North Korea and all its friends. He swam away.

Jenn couldn’t find words. No one, and I mean no one, had ever spoken to her that way; not at Waterwood Prep, not at Yale, not even when she worked at Chicago Starbucks for an hour in the early 2000’s, and she can’t get enough. She speaks,

“Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off of a bridge?”

“Can I pick?” Jack was terrified, but loves every minute of it. The tension between the two reaches its peak. The plan has been set; now for the follow-through.

Jenn rises once again with the grace of a swan and passion of a tiger. She sits on the table next to him, gets as close as she could without giving HR something to complain about, and says in a hot, heavy whisper,

“What’s the time?” Jack is at another crossroads. He could submit to this despicable, yet sexy woman and give her the time without further commentary, or he could take matters into his own hands. Jack stands as he straightened his tie, knowing exactly what needs to be done.

“9:53, Miss Demorris,” he humbly declares. Neither know exactly who initiated the actions that followed, but their lips unite for an agreeably furious moment. This is everything she’d ever wanted and more than he’d ever deserved. The ball still in his court, he breaks the interaction and says with full satisfaction, “I quit.” He gathers his things and leaves without a smooch or a smile, leaving Jenn Demorris desirably speechless.

He walks briskly, carrying himself with a smug grin. He finds himself at one final crossroad. He should leave it, let it go, find a new job, and assume the life he’d always wanted, but he knows he won’t. Against his better judgement, he opens his phone and writes a message to the godforsaken woman.

“Want more? 343 Saint Richard Drive, Apartment 33B. Come when you can.” She responds in seconds with a simple, but loaded, “See you then.” He snickers as he dials a phone number.

“Hello,” asks the voice on the other line.

“Phase two has begun,“ Jack declares. He ends the call, throws the phone in the nearest trash bin, and walks a little fast.

She’ll never know what hit her, he cannives. Operation Demolish Demorris has officially commenced.

#creative writing #quick write #short story

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glitchrpgmain · 5 years ago

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WELCOME TO THE UNDERWORLD.

congratulations MARIE ! you have been accepted into underworldfm. the role of PERIDOT will be portrayed by NADEZDHA CORVINUS. LINDSEY MORGAN is now taken. please submit your blog within the next 24 hours & be sure to follow the guidelines outlined in our checklist.

we can say with confidence that we both absolutely fell in love with nadezdha when we first read through her app. the way you detailed her inner struggle, her conflict, the moral crossroads she is stuck at due to the experiences that shaped her -- it’s amazing! we really love the detail you put into her and you have shaped her into such a strong but hesitant character at the same time! we’re excited to see her interact with the rest of the crew!

IC.

character. i’m applying for peridot!

name. nadezhda aleksandrovna corvin(us).

age. 499 years old (and very excited to celebrate her half-millenium soon enough).

gender & pronouns. cis female, she/her pronouns.

BIO.

you were born at dawn. ominous, considering your species — but that was never how your father saw it. his first-born child, entering the world at dawn. to him, it held a different meaning. the dawn of a new era, the next generation. maybe it wasn’t the most creative metaphor, but it surely stuck. not to add that of all things, your name also meant hope.

( really, dad, what is it with these tropes? )

you were, to vampires, essentially the crown princess — and you were surely raised as proudly as one. descended from the originals themselves, arrogance was practically in your blood. power, beauty, riches, all were laid at your feet. maybe you were a little debauched every now and then, maybe you were just a little wilder than the rest, maybe you indulged a little too often. who could really blame you for it? you wore a crown, not a set of shackles.

perhaps this is where your reputation started, in the earlier decades of your life. for others it would be chalked up to reckless youth, but as aleksander’s heir, you should have been taught better. though you’d never say it to his face ( or anyone’s face, for that matter ) in part, you think your father is to blame.

since you could understand, you were told about the horrors of lycans, how those despicable monsters were trying to destroy everything you held dear, your very legacy. you hated them, truly, wholeheartedly hated them.

but then again, it’s very easy to hate that which you do not know.

ii.

in a way, you were coddled.

you were taught to hate lycans, to see them as abominations. you were taught how to kill them, too. a direct descendant of the originals might be powerful, but it also made you a target — so knowing how to defend yourself was one of the first things your father made sure you knew.

( you also kind of enjoyed it, the training, the fighting. you rarely took anything seriously in those early decades, except for that )

but for all your flaming hatred, for all the ways you knew how to use your silver blades and drive them home, you had never, actually seen a lycan, much less fought one. pampered, that’s what your father’s advisers called you. scoffing, you turned on your heel and complained to your mother — because that, is definitely not what pampered children did.

looking back, even centuries later, you feel somewhat embarrassed at that youthful arrogance.

iii.

something had started nagging at you. before, you did not notice the disappointed stares some of the older vampires gave you. the way a lot of them did not take you seriously. the raised eyebrows and whispered comments. you were too caught up in your own hubris to recognize how maybe, just maybe, they did not see you as the golden-crowned heir you thought you were.

��she has never even seen a lycan,” was one of the most common whispers you managed to overhear. annoyance turned to anger — and when someone thought lesser of you, you could not help but prove them the opposite.

you convinced your mother to take a trip with you. quality time was your reasoning to her, but that piece of gossip you heard about a lone lycan in the area was most definitely involved in the decision. the death dealers had bigger problems to worry about to bother, but not you.

this was when you realized they had been right all along. arrogant, pampered, stupid, even — if you were being really honest.

there were six lycans, not one.

they damn near ripped your throat out.

your mother was left in so many bits and pieces after they finished with her, there was barely enough left to put in a casket for burial.

iv.

at the age of sixty-seven, you were responsible for your mother’s death. for a human, that is an incredibly generous age to lose a parent at — but for an immortal… well, it was a tragedy to say the least.

you barely spoke the first few months after she was killed. they assumed you were innocent in the whole affair, that this was an ambush by the lycans to strike aleksander where it hurt most, they even praised you for managing to kill four of them by yourself. you let them.

where you had been so fiercely, wildly alive ( as much alive as any vampire can be, that is ) before, there was now an empty shell. you were to blame for what happened and that was something you could not shake. the others mistook your guilt with a need for vengeance and suggested you join the death dealers. even your father encouraged it, though then again, a man who had just lost his wife might not be in the soundest state of mind.

you accepted their offer. you hoped that killing those monsters would fill the gaping hole inside your chest. that it would make you feel better to brutalize them in the same way they did your mother.

and for a while, it did.

death is easy, living is the hard part.

when you killed one of them, it was always easy. not the actual fight towards that kill, though you quickly learned your way into that as well, but the act of taking a life. you saw them as a stain on this earth, and why should that not be eradicated? your ancestors certainly thought so.

with another two siblings joining the mix, your father had his attention elsewhere. you started to indulge in life a bit more again, to take the edge off, but never like before. you had learned your lesson there.

no one knew you well enough to see that smiles never reached your eyes, kisses were rarely genuine, and even blood didn’t satisfy you at times.

maybe you were still seen as more of a warrior than a future ruler, but there was a bit more respect for you in the coven now. you seemed to have dedicated your life to destroying the monsters that haunted them, the bare start of a legacy that was worthy to follow up your father’s.

( but nothing is ever that simple, is it? )

vi.

you fucked up again. this time, you managed not to endanger or cause the death of anyone else, but still found yourself in a situation that should have meant the end for you.

trapped in a lycan nest, where a pack of twenty roamed all around, you found yourself alone, without any silver weapons and enough poisoned bites that you were delirious enough to hallucinate your dead mother — you know it’s bad when you hallucinate your dead mother.

that was supposed to have been your end and you knew it too. preparing to go out in a blaze of glory worthy of the corvinus line ( nothing less was to be expected, you could not shame your father, even in death ) you found a hand clamped over her mouth, just before you were about to out the smart ass comment that introduced your death scene. always so dramatic.

it was a lycan who had silenced you. captured. a much more anticlimatic death than you had wanted, that was your first thought.

but instead of taking you over to the other flea-bags to be tortured for the next couple hours, he pointed you towards the exit.

vii.

your view of lycans has always been very simple:

they were monsters.

that’s what your father had always told you. that was what your entire life was built around from the moment you could understand what others were talking about. that was what they affirmed when they killed your mother. they surely did not have feelings, they should not even be capable of mercy. that was what monsters were, that was how they lived.

so why did one of them save your life?

viii.

in the end, the experience changed you enough that you quit the death dealers. your reasons were simple, because like hell would you tell them about what happened. but the heir putting down her sword to focus on the other facets that came with leadership? that seemed understandable enough.

( it wasn’t even a full-on lie, you did pick up an interest in politics, in history — in the art of being a ruler )

but really, when the monsters you’ve always seen as soulless, capable of nothing except evil, save your life, that’s bound to shift a person’s worldview. confusing was an understatement for your feelings back then. you learned more about lycans, things not always taught by your father or tutors, things that made them seem almost… human.

scared of what this revelation brought, you hid it in a little corner of your mind, rarely ever a focus, ignored, even. instead, you put your energy into something you had always put off because it was boring. studying. you wanted to stay true to your excuse, that you wanted to become a better heir to your fathers’ empire — and it didn’t turn out to be that awful.

ix.

you never really knew what the catalyst was to bring back your doubts.

after your stint as a death dealer and actual starting interest in being a proper first-in-line to the great aleksander corvin, there was a more serious, authoritative air to you. plenty vampires still saw you as the arrogant, reckless youth you were in your first century of life, but you knew better now.

for the most part, anyway.

so what made you so quiet when the others spoke about those dirty fleabags? why do you flinch when you hear a death dealer discuss their kill of a young lycan pup? what causes that hollow look in your eyes when someone mentions blood traitors, such as your adopted sibling?

did it start when you ended the life of a lycan prisoner before they could torture him to death? was it maybe even kyanite, when they were banished and you lost someone you didn’t even know you had been relying on?

you can no longer fully ignore what you know to be true, it tears you up inside.

you were born at dawn.

your father saw it as a sign that you would break in the dawn of a new era for your kind, he named you hope for that very reason. the question remains on what that new era will be like. do you hold onto your bloodline, your father, to all that your legacy is supposed to be? or do you cast off the bloodshed, all the centuries of death and destruction at the risk of losing everything?

it seems you have a choice to make.

#uwfmaccepted

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deviationdivine · 6 years ago

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Only If For a Night (RK800-60 x reader)

TLDR: You let yourself succumb to this but he isn’t the one you want...

Word Count: 2403

TW: Angst, Light Smut

Fantasy overshadows people’s lives to the point of forgetting what reality is. For a few hours you forget tangling amid sheets twisting around two beings falling into one another. Long shadows dancing a ballet across wall created a scene of veiled intimacy.

Mingling in the soft cotton your body sinks under power of hot flesh and shuddering breaths. It is unruly, desperate and needful. A lust consumed by selfish decisions. A lust that you want elsewhere but writhing beneath him satiated your craving.

Closing your eyes opens a floodgate of emotions that not only fool you but him. Consciously blinding yourself gave you what you want. If you can’t see the truth does it count?

It feels good in the moment. Wrapping yourself up into his toned body, hands sweeping your skin, kisses wet and sucking hard over your pulse. A track mark on your flesh reminds you when sinking back to reality.

All you feel now is disgust. Inhibited in the bed you chose but the thrill comes to a screeching halt when it ends. Dancing images of swaying branches form through frosty window pane in a waking crescendo tugging you back and creating a most impressive show across room in place of your previous shadow play.

It certainly held better interest than what you no longer want glued like a second skin, a scab to pick off and discard. You think dropping him off in a landfill will be a better end for you both.

Tilting head away and staring at the spot on the bedroom wall didn’t prevent him gathering arms around your body. Holding on and pressing up into bare back like a starving kitten craving warmth from its mother. Sappy, you think, fawning over you and making you shift to untangle. It isn’t enough to relay your disinterest.

He places a flurry of kisses into neck and against shoulder. Skimming every inch of your skin he can find, to taste how delicious you were to his sensors. Clutching on with an eager giddiness almost and you wonder if they even become giddy. They claim to feel so many things once deviant and you believe that but this isn’t reawakening any passion. It only furthers your ire as it twists in your expression bathed in a steady blue glow for once tonight until you can no longer stand pretending.

You shrug forcibly. Dislodging from his ministrations, your breath seethes through teeth. “Stop it,” your voice is throaty in irritation in place of pleasure.

One thing you never asked for is cuddling. All you asked for is sex nothing more, nothing less. Straight to the point which only led you astray because it is too good. Sicker than you started and realizing that pushes your anger out against him.

Two to tango is a stupid saying. You won’t believe in it. Not for this phony construct. The only person you want true affection from, to hold and kiss you all over is – Connor.

Instead, this is where you find yourself giving him what he wants when you never wanted him yourself.

A flood of crimson burns his temple next. Syncing in stressful flickers reveals his deepest insecurities. Even after experiencing a long night of passionate sex with you his frown betrays doubt.

You make him this way. How can he love something that makes him hate what he is not? The android’s expression fell into what you think is a pitiless frown.

“Y/N…”

Dragging in a whine almost turned your name into a simpering invocation wishing to bring him what he desires. Calling upon a higher power did not answer because nothing would change your true feelings towards him.

The flashing red crests over your cheek as he leans closer. It’s a sign for how lost he looks but you ignore it. Keeping your back facing him both avoids witnessing and showing your disgust. A small mercy that you feel is enough.

So weak in his infatuation and you lead him on to fulfill what you can’t have. Allowing their identical model to push this hot burn through veins coiled you together in a night of passion. You pretended from the moment you came to him. He assumed he won your affection.

Repeating your name in a silent prayer, his lips press hopeful again to warm skin. Another nudge answers to tear down his dream of holding you tightly and whispering sweetly against ear. Was it just fantasy now or from the start he is simply deluded.

“Leave me alone.” Warning him in a scoff is kinder than what swirls in your brain. Separating entirely pushes you up to sit as covers yank in your hands. Moving away towards farthest side of bed becomes a cruel torture. Of course you knew that it would be. This is what he asked for. He deserves it for not being Connor.

Is it not your choice? Were you not the one who came to him, begging for his touch mere hours ago? Swallowing any trace of a conscience gives you power over your emotions. It’s too late for that. Sadly you know.

RK800-60 reaches out in a final attempt to bring you back into his arms. Stretching fingers up to caress collarbone, he wants to bury his face in your neck to drink in this longing you curse him with.

“Please, look at me. I want nothing more. We… Y/N, we made love.”

His voice turns forceful, hoping to conjure enough of himself to stop falling back to his pre-deviated remorselessness. It draws close under his surface as he fights.

You find it uninteresting. Paying no attention to the fissures cracking in the android sinking before you there’s only that ‘L’ word making your insides churn. Love is something that you crave. Itching beneath skin, harboring deep in your tissue and turning insides like a scalding iron. Plaintive delusions believing he can fan this flame. His head is full of misconceptions involving your feelings.

No. An impenetrable need blooms for the real one. Not a mirror image that only became deviant by force, converted to prevent the end of a successful rebellion.

You knew of what happened. Before, during and after their revolution, you hear plenty of stories. All of that is before Connor came into your life. Wanting him in your life in a different way past the foundations of friendship didn’t come to fruition. The longer this ache grew the more you couldn’t wait to have him.

Settling for something that looks like him is both an all encompassing sin, lascivious in nature, speaking out to your inner most appetites. Lust is one of seven for a reason. It’s also a stupid mistake. Knowing full well that RK800-60 is in love with you didn’t stop you taking advantage.

“I would do anything to be the one to shelter, plant myself around you. Y/N, I will do and give anything to see you smile.” The android’s voice filters in glitches and shows what deviancy turns him to. No longer a raging storm but mawkish drone cut down in swells of humanity.

Tracing a forefinger along lips that didn’t upturn sent ripples of stress throughout system. This is far more than physical pain. His deviancy is not of his choice but it broke him in ways that he must hold onto.

Sixty, as you call him, craves this. All he can do is watch how you long for Connor. This moment he believes can be different. Finally, he won your affections but it unravels before the poor boy’s eyes.

“I will give anything. My own heart from my chest, the thirium pump I will rip it out for you. Please, Y/N, tell me what you want and I will do it! He wouldn’t do any of these things!”

You snap around to face him for the first time. All you want to do is make him feel what those words mean, palm connecting sharply with his chiseled cheekbone.

Immediately, you clasp your hand and lean back into headboard. Damn him! Damn him for making you react. A prick of tears threatens but you hold them in fiercely.

Cool hands came up in a flux to soothe immediately. Sixty felt everything as all deviants do. Even when you are the cause of his pain, he jumps to help ease yours. He suffers for this love but he still cannot allow you to.

Kissing atop knuckles to alleviate your pain laid his heart bare. You already caged his. If it must be crushed he will let you squeeze until it turns into dust. “I am sorry,” he murmured between tiny kisses. “I love you. I-I love you, Y/N. Please let me.”

A flicker of guilt shined in your eyes. The way he swoops in to caress and kiss you after hurting him is both sad and despicable.

Your eyes close to listen to him utter unwanted affections. Connor’s voice is identical in its raspy dulcet but there is still a difference with RK800-60 resonating with such unadulterated melancholy. It transcends from his longing that he assumes you gave into. You gave into your own pain.

Quickly you pull away along with the rest of your body sliding out of bed. Leaving him on purpose set you on a mission to pick up strewn clothes.

“Y/N, come back.”

“No,” you hissed. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“But I love you,” he insisted rougher this time. “Do you not know what I would sacrifice to achieve this!”

Shades of Cyberlife Tower, his menacing monologue pre-deviancy crept in clashing with his emotional overload. As an android it is too much! “Tonight we were together! Y/N!”

You pull around under a pair of strong hands unyielding in their clutch. RK800-60 loomed tall, pale picturesque and nude as the day he was created.

Your body shivers peering into his face the mirror image of Connor. God, why couldn’t it be him? Why can’t you stop herself from wanting to throw this pathetic fool onto his back and have your way with him again? It’s only his likeness fueling this incessant need. That’s what brought you to this in the beginning. There is nothing inside your heart for this imposter. He is a means of fulfilling something elusive and beautiful. If only for a night but now as far as you’re concerned it’s over.

“Let go,” you spat at him like a docile AX400. After his deviancy he might as well be. Absolutely nothing but a waste of artificial space, something to be scorned for looking like the very thing you can’t have. The fact this one loves you instead makes everything that much more hateful.

You hate him for what he is and what he made you do. “Get your hands off me. Or you’ll never see me again!”

RK800-60’s face became a canvas of anguish flickering as rapidly as his blazing red LED. Releasing your arms force him to fall further into the monster of unrequited love. Despite having you tonight he realizes it was only a game.

“Connor will never love you,” his voice grew static and resolute. “If he did he would have already seen what I saw. He will never give you all of himself as I will!”

Digging words into you didn’t help his chances. In fact it’s better to scoff now as you hastily pull clothes back on. “To think I let myself fall into your arms because I couldn’t wait…”

Your words are not hard to decipher. Twisting a knife to his artificial heart bled him dry to the truth he stubbornly ignores.

“You gave yourself to me because I am his twin!” The android’s voice trembles in fury. Blindly he allows himself to think once, just once, you want him. Little did he realize this is not born of confusion in your human feelings but out of pure cruelty to his! “You pretended I was Connor the entire time!”

Shaking a head took you several steps backwards at the ferocity tumbling out of him. It only reveals him as that terror sent to destroy; the one you only heard tales of. Those tales did him no good. He will never be Connor.

What did he think? How stupid is he to believe there is another reason. That’s on him isn’t it? You try to convince yourself it’s not your doing. He’s the one living an illusion.

“Please, Sixty,” the mocking breath pegs him for what he truly is. “As if you thought I chose to be in love with you when I first came here. This is exactly what you wanted. Don’t pretend you would’ve turned me away. I know you RK800-60.” Spitting a serial number answers everything you saw him as and it’s less than nothing.

He is a number just a duplicate of something more. That’s what he always will be and you’ll remind him with no regard to his so-called feelings. “I know your heart. It beats for me. But I don’t care. I don’t care about you because you’re not him.”

With that harsh reality you turn to bedroom door in a swift escape. All you leave behind is a broken android full of your thorns burrowing deep in his circuits. Staring where you left keeps him stiff until every seam snaps in his system. His body moves precise and indomitable searching for something to destroy.

Thrusting knuckles connect to wall and dent the plaster. Brittle against strength it sinks in easily similar to a caving skull. He watches in heated fascination. In his mind Connor’s head smashes to pieces.

Something burns in RK800-60’s eyes. The flood of rage consumes him, transforms him into that whirlwind at Cyberlife. He falls so easily. He falls because you were his but now you’re gone. All he wants is to destroy his ‘brother’ to make him feel what he feels.

So he plans. He plans to crush what you desire. Even if you will never obtain it the idea of it fuels him leading him astray to that very thing originally sent to snuff Connor’s existence.

Emotions are weakness. His are twisted by the grace of your rejection.

#dbh #rk800-60 #rk800-60 x reader #detroit become human #dbh rk800-60 #rk800 #angst #dbh only if for a night #60 needed more screen time #he's 2nd place android bae tbh #android boyfriend material right there #which means i have to make him suffer apparently #evilreader

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bbclesmis · 6 years ago

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Metro: Sixty Seconds with Dominic West

■ The star of Les Mis and The Wire, 49, on The Affair, his French fantasies and snogging Keira Knightley in a fat suit

In Colette you play Keira Knightley’s husband, Henry Gauthier-Villars, aka Willy. Did his nickname ever make you giggle?

Ha! Not really. Nobody knows about Willy these days but he was massive: 3,000 people went to his funeral. Willy was probably the most popular writer in Belle Époque Paris and most famous for his tabloid music criticism: he would write punchy reviews of the latest string quartet. I found most of his stuff unreadable and now he will only ever be remembered as the husband of Colette — the guy who sold her and tried to exploit her.

He’s not exactly a #MeToo hero, then?

He’s a #MeToo villain. He represents the patriarchy. Willy was despicable in a lot of ways but people are fond of him in the way that you are fond of your chauvinistic old uncle.

You’re cast as the lover of Keira Knightley — age 33 — in Colette but the father of Alicia Vikander — age 30 — in Tomb Raider…

Well, Alicia doesn’t really look her age — neither does Keira, of course! But it is nice to be back and have a brief revisit to my old line as lover, even though my character, Willy, is a fat, dirty, moustachioed old man.

Did you wear a fat suit?

Three different ones, actually: mini, midi and maxi, which is hot as hell in Budapest in July, where we were shooting it. I was sweating so much that I actually lost weight playing Willy, even though I was eating for all of France. I mean, I finally get to do a love scene with Keira and I can’t get near her because of the fat suit and the ridiculous moustache. My top hat even got in the way of our one kiss.

What’s Keira like to work with?

Well, she is pretty easy-going for a mega-star. She is a Hollywood movie star with an English down-to-earthness. She doesn’t believe the hype; there is no b******s to her. She is incredibly easy to pretend you’re in love with. We started off rehearsals by learning the polka — dancing is always a great ice-breaker. More if you’re, what’s his name? Seann Walsh from Strictly. Are they still together, Seann and Katya? They should be! I think Seann is punching well above his weight there!

Would you call Willy and Colette a 19th-century Kim Kardashian and Kanye West?

Obviously Colette was much more interesting than Kim Kardashian but, yes, they were a huge celebrity couple in Paris. No party was complete without Colette and Willy, and certainly Willy would have loved social media. The notion of cannibalising your own life for public consumption is very much what they were into. They would do anything for fame and understood how sensation and scandal could be monetised, so in that way Willy was ahead of his time. Willy’s tragedy is that he was famous for being a writer when in fact he was a PR guru.

For a traditional-looking costume drama, Colette is transgressively gender-fluid…

Yes, I think that we got the largest transgender cast for some time. It was very interesting meeting lots of transgender actors and hearing their stories. One of the most interesting aspects of this film was that it gave an opportunity for people to see these actors’ talents. Those sort of opportunities don’t come around much.

You’re currently in the BBC’s Les Misérables. Were you saddened it wasn’t the musical?

Oui! Oui! I wanted to sing but, malheureusement, no one else wanted me to, so no singing, unfortunately. Les Misérables is probably the best book ever written. I only read it recently and it really is an incredible classic. So despite the fact that over the years it has had films and musicals made out of it, this adaptation is something different: it is six hours of the greatest book ever written.

How is your French?

C’est pas mal. Non, actually, my French is rubbish. I did live in Paris when I was 21, mainly because of what Hemingway said: ‘If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you.’ In those days we had the Erasmus Exchange, where you could get paid to live in Paris for a year on a university exchange. Unfortunately, I had an Irish girlfriend at the time so I didn’t learn much French. It has always been my fantasy to be French. They seem to have so much passion and their values are so right: they only seem to worry about food and wine rather than their taxes or parking or whatever.

Are you looking forward to the end of The Affair?

Well, we are about to go and do the fifth bloody season so it’s not over yet! Hopefully the younger cast members will take over the burden of the love scenes because I feel a bit long in the tooth for all of that now.

Colette is in cinemas now (x)

#les mis bbc #bbc les mis #dominic west #articles #Interviews #metro

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rmjagonshi · 7 years ago

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Visions of HeartBreak Past

On AO3

It was almost done, Soos was finishing up the last few stitches before they let the thing into the air. If he could pull this off, he might actually get more customers into the Mystery Shack. There might actually be an upside to this ‘Woodstick’ Festival yet. He’d seen the way these kids spent money – heck, some of them were adults not that much younger than him – and with any luck, he might just be able to top off the budget for this month. He was short on the utilities payment by a good three-hundred-bucks. If there was one thing he never counted on, was that his brother’s dumb sci-fi portal mess drove the electricity bills further up the ‘dear god why’ charts. He does kinda feel bad for the kids; he’d had to come up with some lame-ass old man excuse for never turning on the lights or air conditioner during the day. He’d make it up to them…somehow…maybe. He sighed.

If he was gonna pull this off, he was really gonna need to prepare the kids for the eventuality of their entire world upending. But for now, he just needed to advertise. And the balloon was…abso-fucking-lutely not like he had anticipated. It was a fucking horror show, looked nothing like the blueprints and very much like what he saw in the mirror every morning. Although, Soos’s comment that the nose looked like a sausage and that it reminded him of the story that his Abuelita told him about a couple who find a genie and they fight over the wishes and one ends up with a sausage for a nose, kinda made it better. Soos was a good kid – er, man. Man-kid. Stan was sure he didn’t deserve the kindness and loyalty that the man gave him. He was honest enough with himself to admit that he’d used that unwavering loyalty to his advantage a few times.

Stan gritted his teeth in frustration at his own mind. Everything came back around to that, didn’t it? Everything he did, every time he felt even the tiniest bit of happiness, it all had to circle back and remind him that he was a sad, tired and despicable old man that didn’t deserve the friends and family he had. Hell, until the kids came, he didn’t have any family to call his own. But…maybe, just maybe, after all these years, he could do something right. Be less of a fuck-up. Which brought everything back to the hideous hot-air balloon that he was beginning to doubt was a great idea. He took another look at the blue prints and tried to make sense of the horrid scribbles he had jotted down in the margins when the sound of a lot of hot air being released into the night sky caught his attention.

“Wuh-oh. Mr. Pines. Think we got a problem.” Soos gestured to the ripped seam up near the balloon’s fez. Sure enough, the patchwork fabric they’d used to make the fez was flapping wildly as the hot air trapped in the misshapen balloon escaped with force, threatening to burst adjacent seams with every second. Well, shit. It would take a good hour for Soos to deflate the balloon, repair the damage and get it back up and running. Why is it that everything always had to go wrong? Why couldn’t one of his plans go off without a hitch? Just one? Oy!

“I’m on it Mr. Pines! I’ll have this balloon fixed in a jiffy. Now, what lever turned off the do-hicky again?” Make it two hours until Soos figured out how to fix this. He should probably scope out the venders and see what the young people were spending their money on. I couldn’t hurt to expand the gift shop merchandise to include things his new customers were actually interested in buying.

“Hey, Soos, I’m gonna go walk around, scope out the competition, ya’know. Figure out what these kids are into.” Or he really just needed to walk around and think and didn’t need Soos to pick up on it. As oblivious as the kid was, he always had a knack for knowing when Stan was moping around. It seemed every time, without fail, that he was feeling particularly depressed, he would open the door to see Soos standing there with cookies, or breakfast, or something sweet his grandma had made, or some kind of ‘Boss Appreciation’ gift. While he adored the boy, sometimes, he just needed to stew. He was sixty for Pete’s sake, he was entitled to a few days where he could just be a sad and grumpy old man. He’d earned it.

“Sure, Mr. Pines.” Soos had already started flicking levers and pushing buttons on the engine. Stan shrugged, Soos was the better of the two at figuring out how it worked anyhow. What harm could it do? He turned and walked back to the rows of venders all in pavilion style tents. All the venders were shouting and trying to attract customers, showing off their products and…what was that? Giving out free samples!? And the kids were eating it up! How the heck can they make any money by just giving stuff away? Oh sure, keep the t-shirt and caps for full charge, but give the stickers away for free.

Stickers are where he made most of his money! People were rubes, but some of them were pretty price savvy. Show’em a t-shirt with cheap cloth that will fall apart after five washes and tell’em it’s twenty-five bucks, they’ll laugh in your face and keep their wallets tightly closed. But show them a cheap key chain or sticker and tell them it’s a buck or two, they eat it up. They buy five, one of each variety. Paint one shipment gold and call it “special edition” and charge an extra buck, they buy the whole stock. Have a stack of postcards that got wet and the ink warped during the last storm because the roof leaked? Sell them as prints of a hand painted scape of Gravity Falls and double the price. People were absolutely stupid when it came to money if you just nickel and dimed them with special editions and ‘one of a kinds’.

But he wasn't here to boat to himself about how much better a con-artist he was. He was here to figure out what the young people of today were spending their money on. The further he walked, the more food and drink stalls he came across. Okay, so having a food truck on site might be a good idea. He’d done that with the fair he’d put on at the beginning of the summer. Didn’t he make a lot of money that day? Honestly he can’t remember much – he does the fair every year to replace the county fair that the town can’t pay for anymore, and it breaks even most years – all he remembers is sitting in a dunk tank for the afternoon and bleeding the suckers dry as rube after rube tried their hand at dunking the old creep from the Mystery Shack.

Okay, food truck. He could do that. Have a tiny kitchen where he sold drinks and shitty hot dogs and icecream to the families that come from miles around. Might even call up Susan and see if she had a spare cook and the Greasy Diner can share in the profits.

Or…not. He’d not too keen on calling the resident Crazy Cat Lady again. Especially since she still seemed to want to date him. That was a total disaster. And poor Mabel. She meant well, but he was just, as Wendy had put it, ‘un-fixable’. Heck, Soos had been trying for over a decade and hadn’t gotten anywhere. He was doomed to be alone forever, he supposed. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He’d pushed everyone in his life away. He creeped most women out – most men too for that matter – with his really tired and used pick-up lines. His six hour marriage to Marylin ended with her ducking out of the El Diablo at 75 mph with their ill-gotten casino winnings. He’d really thought he’d been in love. Then again, he’d thought he’d been in love with Carla too. He’d dated her through high-school and when he’d gotten kicked out, they’d tried to go steady for a while. But his constant moping over living in his car and losing his family had pushed her into the arms of a musician. And Ford…

Well, he’d pushed Ford into a swirling vortex of Hell in a fit of rage. His guilt hadn’t let him get a full night’s sleep in thirty years.

And now he was avoiding his feelings by wandering the tents at the Woodstick Festival. Dang it! He really needed to go see a therapist like Soos said. But what was he gonna say; ‘Hey, yeah, so I pushed my brother into a sci-fi portal and have spent the last thirty years trying to teach himself quantum physics and calculus, so he could get him back. Oh, and I may or may not have romantic feelings about said brother.’ Yeah, that would go over well.

Stan sighed. He really was hopeless wasn’t he?

A yell and the sound of a cart of beads being turned over caught his attention as he saw a telltale mop of brown hair and a rainbow sweater dart around the corner. He watched as both Mabel and Dipper cut and weaved through the crowd, a rather pudgy blond man in moderate pursuit. At least, until the prop wings on his back started flapping and Stan got a nagging prickling at the back of his head whenever he encountered something supernatural. His gut reaction, the same one that had kept him from going insane in the last thirty years was to turn around and ignore, repress, and feign ignorance. A slightly more pressing gut reaction was to chase down the offender with a baseball bat for endangering his kids.

I really wasn't even a debate as he found himself darting after the three, watching in only slight horror as he saw the absolutely not supernatural man fly overhead to cut off the kids at the fenceline. Stan caught up just a moment after, quick and practiced fingers taking the bottle of black powder from Mabel’s hand as he came up behind her and tucking it in his jacket. He was braced to punch a hippie in the face to protect his children. Heck, he’d probably punch the hippie anyway.

“Sorry, kids, but you’ve left me now choice. Visions of Heartbreak Past!”

As the blond hippie raised his bottles of creepy hippy powder to throw at Mable, Stan darted in front of her, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her back to fall to the grass and was coated in the pink and purple smoky haze instead. He inhaled and immediately regretted his need to breathe as he doubled over, hacking so hard he was surprised his dentures hadn’t fallen out. Whatever this guy was using to drug people, it was doing a number on Stan’s lungs. He really was lucky to have quit smoking when the kids showed up. He’d probably have passed out by now if he hadn’t. The residual powder coated his mouth and throat. It tasted of bittersweet hope, and…was that jelly beans? God, he hadn’t had jelly beans since…

“Stan?”

Stan froze. He knew that voice. Knew it better than anything else. That voice, that scream that haunted his nightmares.

“Wait, wah?”

“Why is there a pink flavored Grunkle Stan? Hey Love God, what was that supposed to do?”

The ‘Love God’ gaged.

“Ewwww, Man! I knew this bozo was weird. I didn’t think it was this bad.” The twisted face of disgust on the Love Gods face confused the twins, but was completely lost on Stan.

As the smoke cleared, a pink tinged hand extended out to him. A six-fingered hand, wreathed in pink light reaching out to him. When he looked up, it was like looking into a mirror, one that reflected only his best features. His tired, half-blind eyes meet soft pink ones, ones he knew were supposed to be blue so his mind filled in the correct color.

“It’s supposed to show you romances you’ve had and lost. It gets people off my back when they get too suspicious.” Spat ‘Love God’, momentarily recovering from his aborted retching.

Stan heard none of it. Eyes fixated on the phantom in front of him.

“Himself? Huh? Guess it’s not that surprising.”

“But, why would he have ‘lost’ himself? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Man, you kids have one freaky family.” The ‘Love God’ gulped down something from his belt of potions.

The six fingered hand reached for his own, tugging gently at first before pulling Stan to his feet and interlacing their fingers. A shy smile pulled at that lips he used to catch himself staring at. He knew, logically, that he wasn’t looking into the face of his brother. Stanford was likely older now than his memory allowed. And Stanford wasn’t pink, he knew that. Logically he knew that. But his heart couldn’t take it. The phantom embraced him, twelve fingers digging into his suit jacket.

“Please…” God, he wanted to. Whatever it was, he would do it. But his mind clouded, his eyes clouded and all he could do was cry.

He gripped the phantom tightly, the twins watched, even more confused but thankfully silent. The ‘Love God’, true to his name, showed somewhat of a heart and stopped gagging and even frowned in empathy. He barely noticed when the phantom pickpocketed him. The phial was tossed to the ‘Love God’ and the phantom Stanford shot a wicked smile at Stan. One that, while it was supposed to look like betrayal, only shot a bolt of heat down his spine. The ‘Love God’ was right, he was a freak.

Panicked screams echoed as the night sky lit up orange and red. Stan turned in time to see his would-be advertisement scheme in flames and headed directly for them. Through residual tears, he launched forwards and scooped the twins up and out of the range of the fall out. The ‘Love God’ was not so lucky.

When the dust cleared and the fire crew crowded in to put out the flames, the kids squirmed their way out of Stan’s grasp and raced back to the spot where the pudgy aspiring musician stood.

“Love God? Are you ok?”

“Please be immortal, please be immortal.”

It was just Stan’s luck that Cupid was invulnerable. He still got a good punch in before the freak got to the stage.

*~*~*~*~*

When they found the portal in the hidden basement and everything literally almost turned upside-down, it made sense. When the author of the journals walked out from the glowing blue light and introduced himself, they understood. When Stan told them the stranger was his brother, everything fell into place.

Mostly.

Mable was still struggling to understand what had happened at the Woodstick Festival. Climbing out of bed, Mabel made her way downstairs and out the back door, hearing muttering from the open door to the gift shop.

She found Stan leaning back into the couch on the back porch, glass bottle in one hand, lit cigar in the other. Eyes red rimmed and blinking slowly at the treeline like he was a million, billion miles away. He was letting he cigar burn down, the ash dropping off the end to land in the ashtray he’d absently left on the side table. She tentatively took the cigar from between his fingers, squashed the lit end into the ashtray to put it out, and climbed up on the couch beside him.

He startled when she took his cigar, but just watched her as she put it out and sat down; not speaking, not accusing, not asking. He knew why she was up, why she’d come looking for him. Ford was still in the basement working on something or other; the clang of metal occasionally reverberating enough to be heard through the floorboards. He settled back, moving to set the bottle down before wrapping an arm around her. She curled up into his side, fingers picking at stray hairs on his dress-shirt – the suit jacket left somewhere inside. She knew they hadn’t hugged, and that Stan would need one. She liked her new Grunkle, he was cool, and super smart, he just, had some anger issues to deal with. But as mad at Stan as he was, he couldn’t hate him, could he? They were twins, like her and Dipper. They could never hate eachother. She felt her Grunkle slump further into the couch.

He really didn’t want to talk. But like pulling out a loose tooth or a splinter, it was the best thing for him.

“So…the Woodstick Festival?”

Stan flinched. He tilted his head so that the glare from the open door blocked his eyes and withdrew his arm. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but his voice caught in his throat and no sound escaped. After a few seconds, he just gave up, closing his mouth with a click and turning away from her.

The ‘Love God’s’ words had stuck in her head. Not love, ‘romance’. As in, crush, as in stay awake all night thinking about them. But, Grunkle Ford was Stan’s brother. Love God had to have been wrong, maybe he used the wrong powder, or maybe it applied to familial love too. Her head jerked up when she heard Stan’s ragged voice.

“I…I…understand…if you want to…go home early. I won’t ask you to stay. It wouldn’t be right. Just…all I’m askin’ is that you not tell your parents about that. I don’t care what they think of me, but Ford deserves a chance to know his family. He never got the chance to meet your dad. Shermie told me that they are a lot alike. Probably where Dipper gets it.”

He chuckled to himself. Voice dry and lacking any sense of real warmth. He reached down and took a swig from his bottle, draining it and staring at the label as if it held the cure to his every ailment.

“But he didn’t know. Nothing ever happened. I was all me. I’m the freak. Ford didn’t know, still probably doesn’t know.” His movements were jerky, bottle dropping to the porch as he turned and grasped Mabel by her hand. “Oh God, please…please don’t tell him! I’ll do anything!” He had clasped her hand in both of his. He was pleading with her, just like he’d done back in the basement. Begging her to trust him, begging her to not do this.

She felt scared. Why on Earth would she not tell Grunkle Ford that his brother loved him enough that their falling out broke Stan’s heart? Why would she not tell her parents that, either? Why would it even need to be a secret? Why would Stan call himself a fre…unless……oh. OH! He meant, as in, oh wow! That changed things, didn’t it? He meant it like, he ‘loved’ his brother. He loved Stanford.

Something in her expression must have showed recognition because his eyes filled with shame and he turned away, letting go of her hands and picking at the tear in the couch cushion.

“You love him. And I mean, like, love love, like lay awake at night thinking about them, love.” It wasn't a question. But all the same, Stan nodded.

She didn’t know what to say. Usually, she’d tell Stan to go tell him, go confess your feelings. They either liked you back, or didn’t. But this was way different than everyday romances. This wasn't even just forbidden love between a snake and a badger or like between Dipper and Wendy. This was taboo. This was all kinds of wrong. What could she say to that? ‘Oh, hey. Grunkle Ford, I know that we just met and all, but did you know your brother is in love with you? No? Well he is, and spent the last thirty years trying to get you back because of it.’ She shook her head. There was no real way to talk this through.

She tried to imagine feeling about Dipper like that. Like, tried to picture Mermando and the feelings she got when thinking about him and tried to put Dipper there. But, she just couldn’t. Every time she pictures his face, all she felt was good natured affection for her bro-bro. He was cute…she guessed. But he didn’t make her heart beat fast like Mermando did.

Grunkle Stan had called himself a ‘freak’, maybe he was right. Loving your brother, wanting to smooch your brother was weird. She understands now why the Love God got so grossed-out when he saw the phantom Grunkle Ford. It was kinda weird and gross, but…well, Stan was a weird, gross, old man, maybe it was ok. He looked so lost now, like he wanted to jump into the Bottomless Pit and not come back.

She would be sad if he did. He would cry and cry and cry until the whole of Gravity Falls was under water. Dipper would cry too, though he would never admit it. And she doesn’t know Grunkle Ford very well, but she’s sure he would cry too.

They had sat in silence for several minutes as Mabel processed what had to be her Grunkle’s greatest secret. With a small smile, she flopped into Stan’s side and did her best to wrap him in the biggest Mabel hug she could.

Stan flinched, jarred by the contact he thought he would never feel again. He shifted his weight on the couch, turning just enough to gather Mabel into his lap and squeeze as tight as she would let him. He buried his face into her soft hair, brown strands absorbing the tears he couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled into her scalp, gravel voice hardly a whisper. “I’m sorry your uncle is a freak.”

She wanted to tell him that is was going to ok, that he wasn't a freak, and that he wasn't a bad person. But, she just couldn’t…not yet, and maybe not ever. She didn’t know how to feel about this. She loved Stan, yes, and nothing he would ever do would change that, but, this was something she didn’t know how to handle. She just squeezed tighter.

Upstairs, the triangular window was propped open, and a microphone dangled from a string from its ledge. Dipper’s – with oversized headphones over his ears – face was contorted, brows furrowed and chewing nervously on his thumbnail.

Ford leaned against the wall beside the back door just outside of view of anyone looking in from the outside. He’d left his boots downstairs to muffle the sound of his steps. His was was grim, tired, and despondent. Hand absently trailing to the inner pocket of his jacket where he kept the one photo that had kept him going the past three decades. He wondered if it would still carry the same meaning now.

#stancest #Stanley Pines #stanford pines #love god #S2Ep9 Gravity Falls #I thought about this for months #How would that have gone #Sure Carla and Marlyn #but com'on #You know Ford would have been in the lot

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ladye11e · 7 years ago

Text

Deception pt 31

The conflict between the Assassins and the Templars is getting out of hand. Lies, deceit and subterfuge, now you must pick a side...

Tagging @geekgoddess813 @sweet-flash @ermergerd517 @i-wontgivein @imakemyownblog

If anyone else would like a tag, please ask 😊

Link to the full fic so far is Here.

Rubbing at your face to get rid of the last remnants of the wretched latex glue as you sat down on the rooftop, you looked up and grinned when Shay came through the door carrying a small black holdall.

"You get everything that we need?"

"Aye love. All we've gotta do is plug this in and transfer the files, then a virus will kick in to delete whatever we take and wipe our footsteps."

Dragging yourself back up and taking the USB off him, you fiddled with it for a moment before slipping it into your pocket, then leant over the rail with a huff when you saw that Kenways office light was still on.

"Do you really think he would use those videos against us? I know he can be a bit underhanded sometimes, but surely he can't be that despicable."

"I dunno. Either way, I'd rather not have a leash around my neck."

"Good point." You mumbled, glancing at your watch for the umpteenth time tonight. "What the hell is he doing? It's gone one, and I know there was no work for him to do, I checked."

Shay dropped the bag on the floor and rummaged through it until he came across the tablet he was looking for; his eyes widening as soon as it turned on, switching it off just as fast before you even had a chance to see the screen.

"He's got, um, company with him lass."

"What, Charles?" You snickered, full-blown laughing when Shays' eyebrows shot through the roof. "Oh come on, surely you've seen the way he follows him around like a little lap dog, and Haytham's mentioned once or twice that he's, dabbled."

"Is that right? Well, it's definitely a woman in there with him, unless Lee's grown himself a pair of tits."

Covering your mouth to muffle your maniacal giggling at the thought of Charles adorning a fake set of boobs, you quickly calmed down when you saw Haythams light finally switch off, letting you know he was, at last, going home for the night.

"That's our cue. Can you see the guards from here?"

Opening the grate to the air ducting and holding it while Shay stared intently over the rooftop and down to the floor below, you grimaced and pulled up your hood when he let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.

"Can hardly see anything this side of the building love. Damned reinforced walls. Two, no, three maybe? Safe to assume that there's at least double that. One more I think on the floor below. Why the hell has he got so much security??"

"Paranoia probably. The old-fashioned way it is then." You giggled, mock bowing and gesturing for Shay to go first so he could take the lead.

Sliding quietly through the ducting until you came to a vent and you could see into the office that you were in earlier, you waited for Shay to undo the screws and give you a signal to go, following him down noiselessly and landing by the side of the security console.

Peering over Shays' shoulder when he looked about and saw the coast was clear, you crept silently behind him on tiptoes when the first guard still had his back to you, allowing you to sneak behind him and hide behind the first desk. Closing your eyes for a moment when you heard a faint ringing in your ears, you grabbed hold of his arm when he went to continue around the room; cocking your head as you concentrated, and could now hear five distinct heartbeats scattered around the floor. Gesturing that there were two to the left, one to the right and another two at the far end, you split up, with you taking the right-hand side of the room.

Keeping crouched down and shuffling forwards when you came to the first guard, you quickly stood up and clapped your hand over his mouth when he went to turn to you, kicking his feet from underneath him and ramming your knee against his throat after quietly lowering him to the floor. When he stopped thrashing around and clawing at your leg, you carefully wheeled the chair out of the way and rolled him under the desk so he wouldn't be spotted, peeking over and smirking when you saw that Shay had already incapacitated the patrol on his side, leaving just the ones near Haythams office to deal with.

Unfortunately, they were both lent up against E's desk and facing in your general direction, engrossed in conversation and not looking like they were going to move anytime soon. Catching Shay's eye as you contemplated what to do, you huffed under your breath when he shrugged his shoulders and dragged his finger along his neck, knowing that that was probably your best option as you didn't have anything to sedate them with. Keeping him in the corner of your eye when he held up three fingers, you leant forward and got ready to go, lifting up on the balls of your feet when he closed his middle finger. Holding your breath when he got to one, you lunged out the second his fist closed completely, flicking out your hidden blade and sinking it straight into the side of the guard's throat, in perfect harmony with Shays attack on the other remaining guard.

Neither of them made a sound as you hadn't given them a chance to react, not yet retracting your weapon and carefully dragging their limp bodies over to the closet; so their blood didn't spill on the floor, and stuffing them inside so they wouldn't be found straight away.

"Daft question, but you did put the cameras on a loop before we left, didn't you?"

Winking at him when he feigned offence and used his blade to pry open Kenways office door, you slunk in and closed it behind you, clicking on a small torch so you could remotely see without having to flick on the main lights. Thankfully, the computer was still switched on, so you tugged the USB out of your pocket and pushed it into the open port on the side of the monitor; quickly bringing up the video files after the password entered automatically, plus the Warehouse folder and relaying everything to the stick.

"Well, that's not goin' as fast as I thought it would," Shay grumbled when he leant over your shoulder and saw the transfer bar was at 12 per cent, moving at a snail's pace.

"Mmm, guessing it's because of the virus uploading too?"

"Waiting game it is then. Your visions gettin' better, no more pain?"

"Nope. It's a lot easier to control now, and once I've heard somebody, I can usually recognise them again. Plus, it's coming with a few, perks? I'll tell you later." You giggled, wagging your finger when you knew he was about to ask for more details.

Slumping down in the chair and spinning it around, so you were facing the window, a warm smile crept up your face when Shay peeked through the blinds and the moonlight danced over his features, highlighting them in such a way that it made your chest flutter wildly. As soon as he caught you looking, he marched right over and grabbed your hands, pulling you up to standing and giving you a long and tender kiss, before holding you in his embrace and resting his head on yours with a soft sigh.

"Ya gotta stop doing that you know, you'll get me into trouble one of these days." He chuckled, curling his finger under your chin and tilting your head up when you shook with a silent laugh.

"If you insist. This better?"

He rolled his eyes and tickled down your side when you attempted to scowl, but failed miserably and adorned a face-splitting grin instead. But that soon dropped and you tensed up in his arms, your brows knitting together when you heard a faint drumming coming from the other side of the wall.

"What is it, love?!"

"There's someone else here..."

Quickly moving out of his arms and stepping towards the door, you blocked everything else out and focused on the muffled sound, clenching your fists when you made out two distinct beats that were slowly moving about on the far side of the floor. Very carefully inching one of the strips of blind out of the way so you could try and see into the central office, you cursed under your breath when you caught a glimmer of a white hood behind one of the now lit up monitors, jumping back to Haythams computer to see how long you had left.

"Fuck, shit, arse. Assassins." You whispered, ducking down next to Shay behind the desk.

"Well, that's just grand. What the hell are they doing here?! There's no way out of here other than that door, an the download's not finished."

Gritting your teeth when you looked back up and saw it was still only at sixty-seven percent, you quickly shrugged off your coat and balled it up, stuffing it into the holdall as Shay cocked his head in confusion.

"My turn to not let you get caught," You snickered. "I'll distract them and lead them away, you get that finished."

"Lass, no..."

Cutting him off by pressing your lips against his firmly, you nudged his nose with yours and squeezed his hand before crawling back to the door, winking as you opened it silently and slipped out unnoticed. Sneaking down the side of the first desk and poking your head just a fraction around it, a sly smile crept up your face when you actually saw who it was breaking into the computer, making what you were about to do a hell of a lot easier. Inching yourself forward on your tiptoes as you hugged the wall, you flicked out your hidden blade when you were just over a foot away from the person; who still had their back to you, pressing the tip against their neck firmly.

"Tut tut Desmond. Sitting at a desk all day has put you way out of practice."

Chuckling when he slowly turned around to you wide-eyed, you retracted your blade and pulled down your hood, taking the opportunity to glance at whatever he was doing on the computer.

"(Name)?! What are you doing here??"

Keeping your face as neutral as possible when you saw he was trying to hack into Haythams files from this terminal, you got up to standing when you spotted a figure emerge from the shadows, breathing a sigh of relief when it was also someone you knew.

"The same thing as you I'm guessing, trying to get info on the traitor Achilles told me about. Altaïr, it's been a while."

"It has. I admire your commitment (name), but I didn't clear for a mission. Why have you come?"

Leaning over Desmond's shoulder when he stuck a thumb drive into the port, you knew you had to quickly find a way of distracting him somehow, as he had managed to break into the main server and was attempting to copy over whatever he could get his hands on, including the exact same video files that you had come here to steal.

"I wasn't gonna just sit on my ass when there's someone out there betraying us?! Figured this would be the best place to come for any evidence of who it could be. Desmond, move them in bulk, it'll be quicker."

The corner of your mouth twitched when he shrugged his shoulder and did as you suggested, knowing that as there was already a transfer going on, doing it that way would take twice as long.

"Very well, but do not do this again. Everything goes through me from now on, understood?"

Giving him a mock salute and dismissing his somewhat arrogant tone as he was usually like this whenever he was out in the field, you swallowed hard when you saw that their theft was going a damn sight quicker than yours was, with it being almost complete after only a minute. Your only hope was that Gists virus had finished uploading before they had gotten what they were after, but at this moment in time, it wasn't looking likely as it was now ninety-one percent complete, and not showing any signs of slowing.

"Would you care to tell me where the guards are? There was a lack of them when we came up."

92%

"Hmm? Oh, they're under the desks. We need to hurry, I only knocked them out."

93%..

"And the cameras? That was your doing as well?"

96%

Dragging your eyes from the screen for a moment when you realised he was waiting for an answer instead of just a nod, you flashed him a beaming grin while still keeping the computer in the corner of your vision, only just resisting the urge to look over towards Kenways office.

"Yep, was a breeze after what you had me doing at the manor. Thanks for that by the way."

97%

"I would have happily traded places with you, trying to locate a mysterious artefact in the middle of the desert wasn't exactly enjoyable."

Internally screaming when the second the bar hit ninety eight percent, the screen flickered several times before going black, the virus apparently having done its magic in the nick of time.

"What the hell?!" Desmond blurted, banging the side of the monitor harshly.

Spinning around on the spot when all of the lights came on and an obscure beeping rang through the air, you quickly pulled your hood up when you saw the little red lights on the security cameras flash, hoping that you had managed to conceal your face in time.

"You tit Desmond, you must have tripped a defence protocol!" You hissed, watching him intently as he pulled out the USB and stuffed it into his pocket.

"No chance, this has gotta be something else. We've gotta go. Now."

Following Altaïrs lead quickly to the side stairwell; wondering how they got in this way as Gist had said they were all electronically locked after eight pm, you were more than slightly impressed when he pulled out a blank keycard and swiped it through the mechanism, the door buzzing which allowed him to push it open. Glancing behind you quickly after letting Desmond go ahead of you, you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Shay slip out of Haythams office, giving you a quick thumbs up just as the door slammed shut behind you.

#assassin's creed #assassinscreed #fanfic #modern au #sfw #reader insert #shay cormac x reader #shay cormac #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad

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