#a pretty normal thing but what struck me most was the fact that it stuck in my brain basically first-try
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thelingering · 1 month ago
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something funny and completely lighthearted that I've done over the past couples could be many things, but I wanna give a special shoutout to the random urge to memorise Patrick Stewart's Sesame Street Shakespeare thingy regarding the letter B
that will now forever live in my brain, quotable to the last
B... or not a B....
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nicoforlifetrue · 10 months ago
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the fics out!
you can read it right here on ao3 or press see more to read it on here!
part two is over here!
Everyone knows the prime time for shenanigans is three AM! After all, three AM was when most people who would stop shenanigans were asleep— like, say, Second, or Alan, or MT, or any other responsible figures who may think that the crew's definition of fun was irresponsible.
Which is why they were in their current situation: Purple dangling from a lead tied around his ankle, wings flailing around in a wild attempt to right himself, Red struggling to pull him back up onto a platform, Green clearly stuck between helping Red and breaking down laughing, Blue chewing on netherwart as he tossed yet another potion at Purple, just barely missing yet again, most likely on purpose, and Yellow staring at his latest invention, wondering how in the world things could have gone so catastrophically wrong.
“I am never, never, being your guinea pig again Yellow, you hear me!?” Purple shouted as Green finally started helping, pulling the stick onto the platform where they kicked off the lead with vengeance. “Not on your life, got that!?”
Yellow, of course, was too busy once again tinkering with the machine to do more than wave the comment off.
“Call it a rite of passage Purp!” Green exclaimed, still snickering as he threw an arm around Purple’s shoulders, yelping when a feathered appendage struck out and whacked him off the platform and sent him tumbling to the ground.
“I thought the jacket was the rite of passage?” Purple huffed sarcastically as he glanced over at Red, who in turn shrugged.
“There’s a lot of rites, just wait until Sec hands you a gun.” It’s spoken with such simplicity one might think it was a normal statement to just drop into a conversation— peering over the side, Red called out, “Green you okay?”
This was followed by the sound of breaking glass and Blue shouting up confirmation.
“You guys are crazy, you know that right? Are all desktoppers like this or is it just you five?” It’s mostly spoken to himself, as Purple watches Red jump down the same height Green had just fallen, following after him with the primary difference being that he could fly and thus wouldn’t break anything on the way down.
“Healing potion?” Blue offers him when he lands; he takes it, downing the bottle with one gulp out of habit, most potions tended to be either overly bitter or extremely sweet, trust Blue to walk that line like a master. “And I’m pretty sure it’s all desktoppers, Cho is the same, so, y’know.”
“Still have not told me who Cho is, but I’ll take it,” Purple mutters, handing back the bottle and watching with fascination as whatever Red and Green had been discussing turns into wrestling. He can't tell if its lighthearted or actually aggressive, but they tumble their way over to Yellow, who, once hit, proceeds to join in, the three soon just becoming a blurred ball of limbs.
“Welp I’m gonna go join them, you too or you just going to watch like Sec does?” Blue asks, smashing what was probably a strength potion at his feet. By then Red’s dogs had joined in, snipping at clothes and managing to drag Green via his jacket out of the tangled limbs, Yellow having pulled out the command block staff.
“I’m good,” Purple states, taking a step back and watching baffled as Blue dives into the fight via punching Yellow so hard the staff is left spinning mid air.
How, in the everloving world, was this the group he cashed his chips in with? A group currently at each other’s throats like their lives depended on it— only, he knew that wasn't actually how they were fighting, because he had seen that type of fighting— no, instead they were just fighting like wild animals. There were no rules like most stick fights, no idea what a stopping point looked like, no point system or anything, in fact he's pretty sure Green just bit Yellow.
He’s so fascinated by the fight that he doesn't notice the blurring at the edges of his vision at first, but clearly the crew does; Red’s the first one to act, suddenly stilling to a complete stop, ears twitching (why did he have cat ears anyway?) and eyes darting around fearfully. Just seconds after Red stops, so do the rest, their own eyes looking around at what turns out not to be a blurring at the edge of Purple’s vision, but an actual, physical, almost heat puddle effect surrounding the five of them, while the familiar blue of Alan’s computer warps and blends with a more stone gray color.
He can feel the others’ backs collide with his as they form a circle— he can feel each of their breaths now, deep and calm, exactly like how his father taught him to breathe in a fight.
Red approaches the mirage first, breaking formation, and, before any of them can grab him back, pokes then lays a hand against the solid heat haze, his ears pinned back.
The blue keeps fading into that slate grey as Red then punches the haze. Purple can feel their breaths catch as the dome of blur rings out like metal struck— Red, physically the strongest of them barring Sec, struck again, and the dome cracked.
Spiderwebs cover the surface of this odd dome, and Purple swears he can see some sort of silent communication ring through the other three, who draw weapons; he follows their lead as Red strikes again, the blues almost completely gone now and the cracks growing wider— the familiar stench of the city blends with the smell of the desktop, oil and gas mixed unpleasantly with cooking smoke and wood.
The last swing Red takes shatters the dome, and once again Purple feels their breath catch. He's reminded then that they’d probably never been to the city, being the desktoppers that they were, had probably never even considered it.
Everything is tense, Red glancing around, ears perked, Purple feeling his wings rise and spread to cover Green and Yellow who were closest, the four slowly lowering weapons as they looked around the unknown space.
“Where, are we?” Yellow asks first, putting away his weapon and breaking formation by stepping forward.
“The city I think, some alleyway I don’t know,” Purple responds, heading to the entrance. “Let me get a look at a sign and I can probably get us back to my dad’s.”
“That was weird right? Like, really weird?” Green asks in a mock whisper, shading his eyes and looking up to the sky. “Someone had to have done that, it wasn't something you did right Yellow?”
“No of course not, you saw me, I wasn't doing anything but trying to get you off me!” 
“Okay, let’s calm down and focus, let’s get home, tell Second, and maybe he’ll have an idea, if he wakes up and finds us gone he's going to be so pissed,” Blue interrupts, stepping between the two before another fight can break out.
Purple’s only half listening as he peeks out of the alleyway, looking for a street sign or familiar landmark, grinning when he finds exactly what he's looking for.
“Good news, we’re only a five minute walk from my dad’s place,” he calls back, waving the group over— all of them but Red do as asked, but the last member stays still, staring at a piece of paper he's holding. “Come on Red, what's the hold up?”
Red doesn't answer, just walks over and holds out the paper he was staring at; the others all gasp in what he knows is terror, but he doesn't see what the big deal is. The paper has rocket corp’s insignia on the bottom, some propaganda slogan scrawled across it that's just as cookie cutter as the rest. The picture used is of a black hollow head, hair in a bun and eyes a bright, unnatural red— they’re staring at the camera as if annoyed to be bothered, arms crossed, and mouth turned up in a sneer.
Actually, now that he looked closer, they did look kind of like that one terrorist guy from a couple years ago, what was his name? It was real pretentious sounding, something like…
“What is The Chosen One doing working for rocket corp??”
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the-hidden-writer · 8 months ago
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Chapter 17 sneak peek
A little sneak peek of chapter 17 of A Piece of True Fiction: The Ritual. I think I'm going to up the rating because of this one.
Full fic link: [Here!]
It's the longest chapter yet and will probably be uploaded in full this weekend :3
The thought of actually carrying out the ritual makes her consider Aleksi again. His eyes are still shut and his head shifts ever so slightly, as if having a bad dream. The back of the FBC truck has two benches on either side facing each other, military-style. Young had offered to sit with (and hold) Kesä due to Saga’s bad arm. Saga was grateful for and had accepted the offer, but having to sit there staring Kesä’s unconscious body head-on ended up being highly unsettling. Especially since the sight of him sitting up with his head hanging near his chest reminds her too much of that strange film in the nursing home basement. It’s an unwelcome distraction.
When Aleksi had initially slipped under, she’d been struck with the idea of removing some of his clothing to try and make the ritual more efficient. Her conscience had quickly shut that thought down. She’s aware that it’s pretty hypocritical to draw the line at undressing someone without consent while also planning to cut their heart out, but there are some morals that she can’t shake even in the most desperate of situations.
Stranger still, she feels concerned that she’d even had that thought in the first place, because she’s so strongly against it. It had almost felt foreign, like an excited whisper in her ear. Drug him. Undress him. Steal his heart. Bring me back. 
She doubles down on her stance. She’s not that sort of person. She doesn’t want to do this and is only doing it for Casey’s sake. Ilmo can do what he must and she will only assist where necessary, if necessary. 
Aleksi lets out a whimper in his slumber and Saga momentarily rethinks everything.
Is this really the only way to bring Casey back? The initial panic about running out of time had made her rush into the idea of this ritual without properly discussing options with anyone. She’d normally discuss them with Casey, but…
She tries to imagine what Casey would say in this situation.
Don’t bother, Anderson. I’ll be fine, I’ve gotten out of worse scrapes. You go save that daughter of yours.
Nope. She tries again.
That’s a lot of faith you’re putting in Wake. Personally, I don’t trust that bastard one bit. Just because he spelled things out for you doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth. Are you even sure it was him?
The thought gives Saga pause. The truth is, she doesn’t have any evidence that the man claiming to be Alan Wake was actually Alan Wake. But the way the surface-Alan had described having doppelgängers, and the fact that she’s been seeing a version of him in the Overlaps, not to mention Scratch being still at large... combined it makes stuck-Alan’s explanation more viable. Plus, she’d since seen evidence that he’d been telling the truth, such as Kesä being friends with someone from Bright Falls, someone who she’s almost certain Casey has never met, and the film in the nursing home basement, one that she’s convinced displayed Casey’s predicament in the Dark Place like stuck-Alan’s description. 
But still…
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that-sims-four-blog · 1 year ago
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Oh dear, I started a Sims 4 playthrough.
You know what, "Leeb, Leefuh, Love" sounds like a pretty good sitcom name. I'm going to start naming whatever sitcom-fanfic this playthrough becomes—provided I don't chicken out of documenting This Thing out of cringe.
For starters, Metallica—the three angriest men of the year 2003—decided to move to some random house in Oasis Springs. Why? I don't know. Are they there to find a bassist? Dunno either.
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Okay, maybe they aren't so angry.
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In fact, James and Lars are coming along pretty well. Since there isn't a way in-game for them to start a thrash metal band, each members are doing mundane jobs!
Lars is a lawyer—looking at you, Napster—while James is an Entertainer, probably a comedian because why not. Kirk's getting a start in the Culinary career.
...Oh, yeah, the Welcome Wagon struck that household, too.
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Johnny Zest made a fruitcake. I think they liked it—I can't recall what they thought of it... Kirk's social awkwardness begins to pop up, too, although advice from his totally-bandmates did help a bit.
And yes, that's Makoto Yuuki—from the popular PS2 video game Persona 3 FES—in the background. We'll bother about him in a bit. At least he gets along pretty well with the Metallica household, especially James.
Several hours later, Lars decided to become the new Skrillex, and played around with the music-making-table (I can't remember what they are called).
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It's got about as much bass as ...And Justice For All, trust me.
Moving over to that place that the developers designed after the British countryside, not that I remember the world's name, the RBY household moved into a house. Weiss won't fit anywhere between the budding lovers Blake and Yang and the hyperfixative Ruby. She might get created at some point, just outside the hellhole.
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So, yeah, there they are, living their lives in the moment.
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This is probably my favorite screenshot of them, Blake probably being OOC be damned.
Also, most of the household seems to have fairly... memorable faces, especially Yang's psychotic expressions. I might compile them at some point in the future.
Anyways, so, jobs: Blake writes stuff. Yang is a cop—because I can, and I want her to be as silly as Martin Riggs; so she's stuck in a cop-aganda show. Ruby goes to high school, therefore she's stuck in some teenagers-do-stuff sitcom.
Oh, yeah, Ruby did go to high school, and I have some bits to document.
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As pissed off because of some fear about unfulfilled dreams, she seems to have a thing for exercise. It's probably an excuse to offer you one of her goofy-looking faces, though.
There's some random person with the Zelda moon following them, apparently:
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And there's also that thing.
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I can't kill that Landgraab off for the grievous crime of T-posing?
God fucking damn it.
But aside from that, everything went as normal, and Ruby managed to acquaint herself with Cassandra Goth.
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That's good, I suppose. There were two other Sims that she managed to befriend, too, but I forgot their names. No, that Landgraab is not on the list—absolutely not, nuh-uh.
Also, later that day, she decided to bring Ruby to the Hijinks-and-other-things Festival. She went off to the art museum, while Ruby's left on her own. Noooo, that never happened before in the show Ruby was from! haha! But yeah, she joined the Pranksters—mainly because I wanted a silly laugh—but upon finding out that James Hetfield is there, I thought it'd be utterly hilarious for her to prank him.
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That's the best image I could capture. No, I'm not giving you the aftermath of the trolling.
So, that's one-half of a thing I'm doing, and I realized that I was capturing too many pictures for comfortable reading. Plus, the default Tumblr layout sucks for this kind of thing, and I have no clue how to code layouts, so... Yeah, the second half coming later on.
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silviakundera · 1 year ago
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Lighter and Princess Episode 6
idk if this is on purpose or not by the stylists, but it struck me that he now looks more mainstream. Normal hair, more standard clothes. Is he tweaking his look into what he thinks is more her type? 🤔
Ren Di is completely my type as a university student. Don't leave me girl, I still need my eye candy 😭
can't believe I'm stuck here with class president, ML in his self-important brat era, and a version of the FL that I'm not even horny for 😭😭
Professor X uses a very suspect metaphor to convince FL that ML is not her mom. The true captain of this ship.
wow, that's the lamest bar fight I've encountered in a cdrama. and that's saying something.
but now ML is wooing FL by commenting on her code. That's... pretty much how I had Mark win over Eduardo in my most popular TSN fic. 🙈 So, valid.
"Miss Zhu, what's wrong with me?"/ Nothing. You're good. / (sexual tension you could cut with a knife) / "They're coming." / "Who is afraid, you or I?"
OKKKKKKKAY that was chemistry. And you obviously, obviously are so into each other. So just get together already. I suppose I've been there. They're drawing it out because they're enjoying the mutual chase.
ML totally deserves to be in a horrible bitchy mood after Random Female Extra spilled coffee on his computer (justified homicide tbh) and yet, my dude, there were a hundred more times you'd be justified to be a jerk to Annoying Class President. Like, the 1 (one) thing that's not legit is to shame her for not being as smart as your canon-certified genius self. There are so many other valid reasons she sucks.
As she immediately demonstrates. ugh, can't stand her.
Episode 7
sigh, my second hand embarrassment squick is not enjoying the bid subplot. They do suck at design but ML's methods are also very immature. Most rl professionals wouldn't do business again with a partner that pulled that bullshit on a bid, even if they won it. The narrative tries to excuse it but NO. This is the type of engineer who needs to be transferred to more independent tasks, who you quarantine from having to work with others before he death spirals your staff turn-over rate 😂
His boss boyfriend shtick is age appropriate dumb, so it's endearing. He's been creating reasons to allow her to stick with him for a long time now. And she's actively participating, while pretending to have no choice.
ML recovers his image in my eyes with his practicality at his project being swiped by the org higher in the hierarchy. Pick your battles. It's one thing between independent companies, but this is an internal fight they can't win. They don't have the political muscle in the uni. Unless the professor wants to go to battle for them, or if her mom has a connection. But even then, why spend your social capital that way? I'd just take the L and move on. [Edit: I'm on ep 10 and have to laugh because she DID leverage her connections to win the battle. well ok then, girl! 😂 ]
Episode 8
ha ha I'd also do absolute bare minimum (if that) on the stolen project, so I'm feeling FL at the start. Guys, this is where malicious compliance shines!
ML and Annoying Class President uniting to protect FL was not what I was expecting to start this episode.
"As for Li Xun's matter, I care." sigh. A fool, but a romantic one.
Evil Project Stealer is incompetent. That should be its own vengeance in a way. But sadly there are always those people who are incredibly skilled in managing up and so they coast forever.
Her minion is actually pathetic, though. Those grad school traps where you're blocked from finishing your program & get taken advantage of are very very real. It happens in North America too.
Cutely drunk FL is an overused cliche BUT I am enjoying the dynamic of Ren Di with the budding couple and most importantly, FL is indeed adorable smooshing her face into his neck. and then clutching his hand ❤
I applaud her crawling into his bed. But the fact that he wasn't in it reduces 2 stars.
A+ collapsing against his shoulder to sleep, though. awww he admitted she affects him.
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thatnerddave · 3 months ago
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A PGSM “Black Moon” Act 2 Sneak Peak!
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One of the most fun things that I’m working on right now is my fan fiction sequel to the live action Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon television series. It’s been a fantastic writing exercise to attempt to adapt the manga’s Black Moon arc to the world of PGSM. The show took a lot of big swings and, ultimately, ended its Dark Kingdom story in a very different place.
I’ve just finished the rough draft of my second episode, Act 2-An Inner Light, and find myself neck-deep in revising and tightening the roughly 10,000 word manuscript.
One area that has proven particularly important to me is the dynamic between Usagi and her daughter from the future, Chibiusa.
In this version of Black Moon, Usagi and Mamoru are married, and Mamoru has expressed interest in starting a family. Usagi doesn’t feel ready. When Chibiusa is literally dropped into her lap, she has to contend with the personification of all those insecurities.
Chibiusa, on the other hand, doesn’t come from some utopian future like found in the manga. She has lived a relatively normal life, free from the knowledge of her mother’s past exploits as Sailor Moon. Coming face-to-face with this younger version of her mother stirs up complex emotions. She has to face the fact that her mother has kept many secrets from her.
I thought it might be fun to offer a small glimpse into my process. So, here’s the rough draft of one scene between Usagi and Chibiusa as they cook a meal together and dance around the secrets they are keeping from each other. I hope you like it!
���—————————
The apartment door closed behind Usagi and Chibiusa with a click. Usagi dropped her bag by the door and exhaled. The awkwardness between mother and daughter filled the air like static.
Chibiusa wandered into the living room. She looked at the couch, considered sitting on it for a moment, then thought better of it. She had not forgotten the dripping mess of sewage that they had leaked all over it the night before.
“Well, you said you were hungry, right? I’ll whip something up for you!”
Usagi put some extra cheer into her voice as she dashed into the kitchen.
Chibiusa stared at her, eyes wide in horror.
“You’re going to cook?”
Usagi huffed with indignation.
“Yes. I can cook, you know.” 
She put on her pink apron and grinned at Chibiusa. The girl crossed her arms.
“No, you can’t. In the future, we almost never eat what you make. We order takeout most of the time. Daddy says it’s safer.”
Usagi gasped. She clutched her chest as if struck by an arrow. 
“Safer?! How dare you!”
Chibiusa stuck out her tongue at Usagi.
“It’s the truth.” 
Usagi grabbed a spatula from the counter and brandished it at her.
“Oh, you little…!” 
Chibiusa remained unbothered.
“Stop calling me ‘little’. I’m already eight years old…Usagi.”
Usagi glared at her. 
“You claim you’re my daughter, so why won’t you call me mama, huh? Why is it ‘Usagi’?”
Chibiusa shrugged. Her next words cut Usagi to the core. 
“You’re not my mama yet. You didn’t give birth to me or raise me. So, you’re just Usagi.” 
She stuck her tongue out again.
“That’s it! You’re getting drafted, you little brat!”
Before Chibiusa could protest, Usagi grabbed another apron from the cabinet, rolled it up to fit her tiny frame, and tied it around her. 
“If you think I’m such a disaster in the kitchen, you can help!”
Chibiusa sighed in resignation but didn’t resist. 
“Fine, but don’t blame me if you burn down the apartment. There’s a reason we have the fire department on speed dial.”
Usagi ruffled the girl’s hair.
“Hilarious! Now watch and learn from the master!” 
She dragged the girl to the counter with the energy of a mad scientist while Chibiusa tried to undo the damage to her hair.
They cooked together. Initially, at least, there was a lot more bickering than cooking. Usagi tried to chop vegetables. Her clumsy knife skills sent carrot pieces flying. Chibiusa groaned and picked the pieces out of her hair.
Gradually, however, the tone of their conversation shifted. Genuine laughter replaced their bickering. Usagi grinned as she watched Chibiusa stir the rice.
Am I enjoying myself? How is this possible?
Chibiusa seemed more at ease than she had been all day. Usagi seized the moment and asked her some questions as casually as possible.
“Hey, what was that all about with Rei and Minako today? They were acting so weird when you asked to have a sleepover.”
Chibiusa hesitated. Her cheeks turned a little pink. 
“Aunt Rei and Aunt Mina are great. They’re just... close in the future.”
Usagi caught the girl’s hesitation and raised an eyebrow.
“Close? How close?”
Chibiusa snapped back.
“Just... close!”
Usagi let it slide.
“Fine, fine.” She switched gears. “What about Makoto? You said very little to her.”
Chibiusa’s expression dimmed. 
“She’s... going through something in the future. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Usagi frowned but didn’t press. 
“And Ami…why do you keep calling her Miss Mizuno? She’s one of my best friends. Don’t you spend any time with her at all? I thought you two would be closer.”
Chibiusa dropped her cooking spoon on the floor. Her face had gone ashen. Usagi bent down to pick up the cooking spoon and washed it off in the sink before handing it back to Chibiusa. Her heart ached at how guarded the girl now seemed. 
She grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it into the air with exaggerated clumsiness. 
“Oops! Guess I’m making a mess again!”
Chibiusa groaned. 
“You’re impossible.” She hesitated. “Why is there flour on the counter, anyway? We’re making curry rice!”
Usagi grinned. She had no idea.
They focused on finishing the meal, and Chibiusa’s mood lifted again. Usagi enjoyed their banter, but deep down, she was worried. What was going on with Ami that Chibiusa was too terrified to discuss?
As they put generous helpings of curry rice on their plates, Chibiusa cleared her throat.
“Why did we meet all of your friends at Crown Karaoke today, anyway? Shouldn’t we focus on finding the Guardians and helping them reawaken their powers?”
Usagi stiffened. Her future self had never told Chibiusa about her life as Sailor Moon. The girl had grown up in the belief that her mother had made up those tales, first as bedtime stories, then for a manga. That the Guardians were real was still new to her; that Usagi and her friends, in fact, were the Guardians, was a well-kept secret.
She stammered.
“I... uh... thought it would be nice to, you know, catch up.”
Chibiusa’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 
“Catch up on what?”
Before Usagi could dig herself a deeper hole, the door opened. Mamoru entered the apartment with two shopping bags. He spotted Usagi and Chibiusa across the small apartment and smiled.
“Something smells good.”
Chibiusa sprinted to her future father and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Mamo!”
Usagi pouted. 
“She never greets me like that.”
Mamoru chuckled. 
“What’s for lunch?”
Chibiusa’s eyes took on an evil twinkle as she looked up at Mamoru.
“If you call now, we can still have some okonomiyaki delivered.”
Usagi tossed a kitchen towel across the room at Chibiusa. It landed dramatically on her head.
“I heard that, small fry! Now go wash up for lunch!”
Chibiusa stuck out her tongue one last time, then dashed off.
———————————————
You can check out Act 1-A Certain Future right now at the links below!
And be sure to keep an eye out for Act 2-An Inner Light, launching in early December!
Archive of Our Own
Wattpad
FanFiction.Net
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orionsangel86 · 2 years ago
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I love this moment in the comic because it reminds us of just how dark Dream can be. It's enough to almost shift him down to the "lawful evil" position in the alignment chart instead of his solid "lawful neutral" position. He is no good and pure heroic character that is for certain.
Normally, when we see Dream punish or act cruelly, its towards people that have done horrific things, and so we view it as justified such as:
Cursing Alex Burgess with Eternal Waking (Eternal Sleeping in the show though I never quite understood the difference since they were both basically forcing him to be stuck in an eternal nightmare)
Forcing Richard Maddoc to be so overloaded with creative ideas he had to carve them into the walls with his fingers until they were nothing but bloody stubs.
But then there are other times where his cruelty was horrifying in ways that were completely unjustified and genuinely upset me when I first read it. Tales in the Sand is extremely shocking and I think it shows Dream at his darkest. I think the reason that story struck me so much is because I have been in situations where I have rejected men and they have persisted to the point where I have felt very much unsafe. Nada told Dream NO enough times and because of that she was sent to eternal torment for 10,000 years. Just for telling a prideful and cruel man NO.
Then there was his behaviour towards Orpheus, which was cold and cruel in a different way, though both times his cruelty came from places of hurt. The end of The Song Of Orpheus is a gut punch:
"His father never even tried to look back."
Ouch.
His threat to leave Barbie's friends in an empty nothingness at the edge of the Dreaming was shocking because to any normal person, it seems reasonable for someone to forgive tresspassing in acts of desperation in order to save the life of a friend. It might also be the only time his cruelty hasn't either been justified or come from a place of hurt. They didn't really even understand what they were doing, except for Thessaly. It makes the fact that he went on to date and somehow fall in love with Thessaly even weirder. One minute he is condemning her and her companions to an eternity of nothingness for trying to help a friend, and the next he's wooing her for apparently amusing him and appealling to his blatant desire to be dominated by a strong woman.
The thing is, this level of cruelty isn't just a Dream trait, it's an Endless trait from what I can tell.
Desire is described as cruel, and most of their cruelty is towards Dream, however a few other things they have done include:
Basically being responsible for the insatiable lust Dream had for Nada and her pursuit of him before coming to her senses.
Raping Unity in order to make the Vortex a family member so Dream would have to spill family blood (thankfully changed in the Netflix show to become a consensual consummation)
Manipulating a mortal girl to go and act needlessly cruel to a new lover driving them both to despair all because she dared to make a pass at Desire.
Destruction is also arguably cruel for the way he set his traps to prevent anyone finding him. His traps caused countless deaths not only to humans who got in the way, but to people that were his friends and lovers. I always found that pretty shocking when it's revealled what was going on with all the death following Dream and Delirium in Brief Lives. What a way to cover your tracks - basically having anyone who ever knew you killed before they can give any hints as to where you might be.
Delirium can also be quite cruel. The way she cursed the traffic cop with eternal bugs crawling all over him was pretty dramatic when she HAD been driving like a maniac!
All this is to say that the Endless are dangerous, and not to be trifled with. The difference between Dream and his siblings is that he seems to have more rules regarding his punishments. Delirium punishes when people offend her, Destruction out of some internal belief of necessity, and Desire on whims (hence why they are the cruellest). Dream would argue that he was justified in punishing Barbie's friends because they were trespassers, and as trespassers in his realm he is within his right to punish the way he sees fit, even if it seems horrific to us - he punishes the way humans punished each other 200 years ago I suppose. Where the rule of kings is law and simply pissing off a king was a possible death sentance.
Where the show is concerned, I don't know how far they intend to push things when it comes to Dream's darker side. We did get a little bit of warning when he tells Death "I am far more terrible than you", but his rage towards both Alex and Richard was more "mark me down as scared and horny" than "I am horrified at your cruelty!"
Honestly I don't think they are going to push it too far. They changed it so Desire isn't a rapist in the show. I think they'll change Tales in the Sand most definitely. Perhaps they'll tell the Woman's version in the show rather than the Man's? That would be a great way to spin it to a kinder version, one where Nada has a bit more agency and Dream is less of a rapey creep.
As for A Game of You and his treatment of Hazel and Foxglove (and Thessaly though she was NOT innocent), I'm not sure but I reckon show!Dream will be kinder to them as well, as he has been generally all around in the show.
Having said that, show!Dream did get to show off his darker side when he sent Gault to the darkness. I think that may have been in the only point in the show so far where Dream was framed as being in the wrong (other than his little tantrum at being called lonely by his BFF) as even the stuff with Lyta and Hector felt sort of justified since they were causing damage and didn't belong there - though he could have been a bit more tactful with them. It would be nice to see more of Dream's dark side, but perhaps not in an excessively horrific way that makes him lose all likeability.
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Writing Dark!Dream & wondering if anyone else remembers that time Dream was 100% about to leave a bunch of people stranded on the edge of an abandoned skerry FOREVER because they went to the Dreaming to save their friend.
It's a tiny moment that absolutely horrified me. The idea of just being trapped forever in a nowhere, unable to escape, and you're just there because you were trying to help and there's nothing you can say or do to argue your case because Lord Morpheus is just absolutely unmovable.
I don't know how much of Dream's personality is going to get polished up for Netflix, but comics Dream is already pretty dark.
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yersina · 3 years ago
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This afternoon I was struck by the idea of convenience store cashier yoojin who may very well be canon, but specifically, like, after awakenings and dungeons become a thing.
A han yoojin who works night shifts and, like most people who work night shifts in a convenience store, is very very used to the weird and sketchy shit that people do and buy after midnight. The sky is blue, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, people become deranged after 1am. It’s a fact of life, and that doesn’t change even after people start being able to shoot fire from their fingertips and flood a street with their mind.
But one day, at 3am, the rusted bell above the door rings as someone comes in. Yoojin doesn’t bother saying hello, because most people who come in at 3am don’t want to be acknowledged unless it’s life or death or being asked if they’re paying in cash or credit. He just waits, and soon enough, there’s the familiar sound of items being set on the counter.
He looks up just high enough to see what was deposited on the counter, except he has to stop and do a double take because holy fuck, that’s probably the store’s entire stock of individually packaged chocolate milk. Just—it’s a lot of boxes of chocolate milk. Yoojin knows because he was the one to put them there.
Slowly, he looks up and is confronted by the very pretty face of a foreigner that’s currently looking very contrite. Also, her hair might be a bit on fire. “Look, I know it’s a lot of chocolate milk,” she says, like that’s his issue with the scene in front of him right now. “But hear me out. I’ve been stuck in this dungeon for like a week, right, because the guild master is just a little bit crazy and likes to assign us to dungeons that are a little too high-ranked to ‘test our skills’ or whatever, and I swear I spent at least five of those days craving chocolate milk. So I just had to hightail it over to the nearest convenience store as soon as I stepped out of the dungeon.”
Yoojin reaches up and points at the side of his own head. “You’re, uh, smoldering a bit here.”
“Whoops.” She pats out the smoking section of her literally ashen blonde hair and beams at him. “Thanks!”
“…no problem.”
He rings up her many boxes of chocolate milk and peeks a look at her card when she hands it over. Kang Soyoung, it says, which is a perfectly normal name. Yoojin doesn’t know what he was expecting.
“Enjoy your chocolate milk,” he says as he hands the card back over, and gets another too-bright-for-3am smile.
“I will!”
He waves goodbye and then promptly buries the memory under a thick layer of denial and confusion, writing it off as a one-time thing. After all, what are the chances, right?
She’s back two weeks later.
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astaroth1357 · 4 years ago
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Demonic Pregnancy (But It Makes the MC… Problematic)
Okay, so hear me out. I know the prevailing idea is that a human getting pregnant with a supernatural kid would sap their strength and what not… But what if the opposite happened? So basically, getting pregnant by the brothers would make the MC physically stronger, but more susceptible to their sin… Oh this is going to be fun. 😈
Trigger Warning: Pregnancy
Lucifer
First noticed something was up when the MC came into his office to bring him coffee and casually ripped the door of its hinges… with one hand… by the handle…
He didn’t even have time to be mad about it because he was already frantically texting Diavolo and Barbs that there was something very wrong with the human. They’re not supposed to do that.
Meanwhile MC is in the background marveling at the newly freed door in their hand… They hadn’t even thought about it! Is this what having power is like?? Are they actually dangerous now??? Better not let it go to their head…
*it is totally going to go to their head*
Lucifer learns two things pretty quickly, (1) The human is pregnant with his child and (2) They’ve just been given access to a whole lot of power and they’re mind is set on one thing: Domination.
The next nine months for him are spent practically having to leash the MC or else they’ll go out to pick fights with anything that moves to prove their “superiority”… His brothers and even Diavolo included!
It wouldn’t be so bad if their body wasn’t still very human and very breakable… and also they’re PREGNANT, so please STOP!!
This baby, honestly, could not come fast enough… Good thing demons don’t develop grey hairs… Poor guy…
Mammon
Noticed something was up when they were chatting out at RAD and they dodged a stray ball from Beel. 
They dodged a ball. From Beel. And he throws at, like, Mach 7 speed… And it didn’t even look hard!
… But being the dumbass that he is, he just thought they had gotten a lot better at their magic. It was Lucifer who saw something wasn’t right when the MC was actually holding their own against Mammon and Beel in a race.
Was thrilled by the news at first but then quickly learned that he must have infected them with Greed somehow…
They wouldn’t stop begging for new stuff! Sometimes for him or the baby, but mostly just whatever struck their fancy the second that they saw it.
He’d try to tell them no but then they’d look all sad or whine about hard it was to be pregnant and how they couldn’t do things like tie their shoes or stand for long periods of time or…
(Never mind the fact that they could bench-press Beel if they wanted to, no no, that didn’t matter.)
His nine months were pretty much spent pandering to Lucifer and Levi for more loans to keep his MC happy… and praying they’d snap out of it after the baby finally came because he CANNOT keep paying for their crap…! 😥
Leviathan
MC and Levi playing games in his room and one of their online matches got particularly heated… The MC may or may not be prone to gamer rage, but that night they got so frustrated that they snapped his controller in half like a toothpick…
They were too busy trying to frantically apologize to take notice of their sheer strength, but HE did. And he was thrilled!!
Like, sure, it sucks that he’d have to buy a new controller but that was So. Cool. Their strength was like something out of a shonen!! He was honestly fanboying too hard to question, “Wait a minute, how did they even get that strong??” The MC later went to Lucifer themselves to get it all got sorted out (really Levi was no help whatsoever) and man was he shocked by the news…
Though he was even more shocked by the sudden spike of jealousy that they seemed to exhibit afterward… Like, extreme “You better not leave my sight” level jealousy… 😣
One the one hand, he’s kind of into it because being alone with the MC is all he’s ever wanted!… but on the other hand, dude really wants some space… 
He tolerates the next nine months for three reasons: (1) He does honestly love the MC, (2) Watching them break (other people’s) stuff and fight demons with their bare hands will never stop being cool, and (3) He’s somewhat afraid of what they’d do if he tried to leave so…  😥
Let’s hope the effects are temporary…
Satan
Found out something was wrong when he and the MC went to the park. He saw an old acquaintance of his and left to go say hi but came back to find that the MC had uprooted an entire park bench to squash a nosy lesser demon…
Nothing, absolutely NOTHING, he’d ever read about humans told him that they were capable of that!
Figuring this has some kind of magic origin, he doesn’t bring them to Lucifer but to their resident human sorcerer instead, Solomon…
…and THAT bright idea ended up getting the MC magic tag-along throughout their pregnancy since Solomon wanted to make "a few” observations, the lying bastard… 🙄
Even more unfortunate though, is that the introduction of Wrath into their system also gave the MC an utterly monstrous temper which didn’t help their newfound strength at all…
Poor Satan gets saddled with caring for what amounts to a hair-triggered glass cannon… (though really it’s less protecting them from the world and the world from them 😣).
Needless to say, he’s lost quite a few bookcases over the next several months…
Asmodeus
It was another night with Asmo, so another night out clubbing. He and MC were together for most of the time, but they had left him briefly to get another round of drinks… and somehow got dragging into a straight up brawl in the process.
And they WON…
Asmo brought them right to Lucifer after that. Like, he loves you sweetie, but there were like ten lesser demons there and no way a little human like yourself could pull that off without something being up.
Oh he was overjoyed by the news, but the real test was yet to come… Who would give out first? The Avatar of Lust or a very, very, astronomically horny MC…?
In truth, no one in the House ever wants to talk about what happened for those next nine months ever again… The things they saw… The things they heard… Filthy, filthy things….. 😖
And more broken beds than anyone could care to count…
Let’s just say that they’re all happy the MC was already pregnant, otherwise they’d be dealing with a LOT more demon babies running around… What a hellscape that would be…
Beelzebub
The MC was helping him move some of his weights between rooms. They were only supposed to carry the lighter ones (which really weren’t that light) but they were carrying them so easily that the two got suspicious… They tried to lift one of his heaviest barbells and, to their amazement, they picked it up even easier than he could!
They both just kind of stared at each other for a few seconds before calmly agreeing to go find Lucifer. This probably wasn’t normal…
What pregnancy even was had to be explained to Beel since he doesn’t really understand humans and he only needed one thing confirmed…
So, they’re eating for two now?
And boy did they act like it! The MC’s appetite practically tripled as the months went on and he did his best to keep up for them. He even missed a meal or two for the first time in his life because he was so preoccupied making sure his MC had enough to eat… 😣
Their tastes also got weirder as time went on… At one point they asked for Solomon’s cooking which nearly had him “Nope-ing” out of the relationship right there. He stuck through it to make them happy, but he couldn’t watch them eat it… Even he has his limits, MC… 😟🤢
Wants the baby to come out already if for no other reason than he can finally go back to being the biggest eater of the House again. Having to work around two is a nightmare for everyone…
Belphegor
Would you believe he straight up didn’t know for weeks?
Like, they told him they were pregnant a while ago but all the pregnancy seemed to do was make them really sleepy…
Combine their naps with how often he’s dead to the world and it just never got brought up. 🤷‍♀️
That was until the day it was his turn to vacuum the common room and the MC was resting on the couch…
“MC, can you move? I need to get under there.”
“Hm? Oh, sure. Let me help.”
They then proceeded to get up and lift the couch with one hand like they were Beel or something!
He was, perhaps, slightly miffed that they didn’t think it was necessary to mention they had gotten a butt ton stronger for like a month, but you know…
Belphie has probably the easiest time managing his MC anyway because ALL they want to do is sleep. At most he just has to take on the responsibility to remind them to eat and move around a little.
Lucky bastard always gets off easy… 😖
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dustofbrokenheart · 4 years ago
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The Covenant: Gains
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Poly Sons of Ipswich x Reader
Word Count: 2,802
Summary: Trying to take advantage of their gym membership, reader starts working with a devastatingly attractive personal trainer. And his friend is pretty hot, too.  
The gym was still new for you but you had been coming consistently enough that you felt comfortable there. You knew what times equipment would be available and what times the crowds would be too much (week days 3-5:30 was like competing in the Hunger Games.)
Cardio always came before strength exercises because your muscles would be too fatigued otherwise. 
And on Tuesdays and Saturdays they played your favorite music on the loud speakers so you didn’t have to bother with headphones on those days.
Still, you weren’t an expert by any means. 
In fact, you were still hesitant to call yourself a gym-goer because you’d seen the workouts other people did and you definitely weren’t doing that. There was no strategy, you just did what you felt like doing on any given day. You were impressed by their discipline though.
Maybe, most likely, it would benefit you to incorporate some of that into your own routine.
The gym had a personal trainer program and you figured that would be the best bet—much easier than trying to figure it out on your own.
Poking around the website, you found the section that explained the process. The design was modern and intuitive, and it was easy to book an appointment: the only information you needed to provide was your name, the date/time, and what trainer you wanted.
The first two things were easy to fill out but the last had you a little stumped; you weren’t familiar enough with any of the trainers to request anyone by name even with the drop-down menu that listed out all of the choices. For a second, you were tempted to forget about the whole thing but luckily, there was an option for ‘no preference’ and anxiety levels dropped off as you selected it.
Appointment booked, you went on with the rest of your night, focus shifting to what sounded good to eat for dinner.
A week later, you found yourself in the gym’s front lobby, arms crossed and foot tapping. Since it was the first time, there was no harm in arriving early. The directions on the website had said to wait there for the trainer but so far there was no sign of them. Granted, there was still five minutes until the scheduled start so it would be unfair to start complaining about them just yet.
Rolling your neck to alleviate some of the tension, you paused mid-stretch, neck awkwardly craned like a gaggling turkey, when a man walked out. He was without a doubt the most attractive man you’d seen at the gym to date.
Thick dark hair that curled just above his ears. Warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile. Tanned skin that wrapped around arms that had just the right amount muscle: toned but not bulky. All in all, a good looking man.
You tracked him as he glanced around the area, looking for something—his eyes suddenly met yours and you straightened up in embarrassment—or someone. “Y/N?” he questioned.
You throat was so dry, it was painful to swallow. “That’s me.”
It didn’t seem possible but his smile grew even brighter. He stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Caleb and I’ll be your trainer today.”
Good karma most certainly at work here. How else could you explain being lucky enough to have the hottest guy in the gym be the trainer? Whatever the case, you weren’t going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.
He gestured you forward with a wave of his hand and followed you to the main workout area. There was slight pressure to staying cool and collected with him behind you. 
“I’m going to start you off with some jogging to warm-up. Do you want to use the track or hop on a treadmill?”
“Treadmill is fine. It’s what I normally use.”
You stepped up onto the belt and fiddled with the settings to establish a pace you felt comfortable with. The machine started up with a loud hum and your arms and legs began to pump. Normally, you’d have your earphones in to distract yourself with music but they weren’t that day so that you could hear Caleb if he said anything to you.
Good thinking, really, since he did indeed start chatting.
“So how long have you been a member?” he asked.
Determined not to sound steady, you took a few moments to normalize your breathing. “About two months. But this is the first time I’ve worked with a professional,” you added at the end.
It was hard to hear his laugh over the treadmill but the hitching of his shoulders gave him away. “Thanks, but I’m not really a professional. I just have a training certification is all.”
Huh. Attractive and humble. If you weren’t careful, you’d develop a full-blown crush in no time.
“A certification sounds professional to me,” you insisted. There. That wasn’t flirty at all. You were merely sharing an opinion.
Jogging passed by faster than it usually did even without music. Evidently, all that was needed to make a run enjoyable was good conversation and an even better view. 
You powered off the treadmill and gradually transitioned to a walk and then a full stop. A single bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face but before you could wipe it away, only to stumble after being patted on the back by Caleb. 
Those muscles were not just for show.
You had mixed feelings about him giving you props for completing the warm up. On one hand, you were a little insulted because even you could handle jogging for ten minutes. On the other, it was nice to have him flatter you. And he seemed to type to mean his compliments.
“Thanks,” you said almost like a question as you plopped down to stretch.
“Really,” he insisted. There wasn’t any level of patronizing tone that you could detect. “You’d be surprised by how many people I work with that complain about running.”
“Really?” you exclaimed with surprise. “I wouldn’t say I love running but it’s not terrible. Better than swimming anyway.”
“Whoa, now. I’ll have you know that I was a big swimmer in high school.”
The friendly banter about the woes, or in his case, the highs of swimming got you through the stretches he showed you. Occasionally, there would be a pause while he corrected your posture but once you fixed your position, the banter started up again.  
Finally, you conceded, “I will admit that swimming did wonders for your shoulders though.”
He looked away with a bow of his head. He smiled but it was closed lipped, no teeth on display. Oops. That comment may have been a bit too forward. Rather than draw more attention to it, you diverted attention to the actual work out.
Seeming to be of the same mind, Caleb dropped it, too, and set you up at a weight bench. He must’ve have seen the doubt on your face.
“Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’m not going to have you squatting 300 pounds or anything crazy. Here. Take this and we’ll start with some dumb bell rows.”
He handed you a twenty-pound weight, the smooth metal cool against your palm. The weight was noticeable but not so heavy you struggled to hold it. A month or two of this and your arms would actually tone out pretty nice.
You peered subtly at Caleb behind you. You wouldn’t be at Caleb’s level, not just after a couple weeks but then again, you doubted most people could measure up to him even after working out everyday for a year straight.
Someone people had all the good genes.
You could’ve complained but found it much more enjoyable to appreciate the good view. In fact, it was the view that got you through the rest of the season.
“Thanks,” you panted around the mouth of your water bottle. A bead of sweat ran down your neck and you reached to wipe it off.
“You did great, really,” he said, the epitome of what a good trainer should sound like. “The scariest step is always to start so signing up for additional personal training will be a piece of cake.”
“Y-yeah.” Suddenly, your shoe laces fascinated you. “So…if I want to do that—more of this...do I choose you on from that list of trainers?”
“Sure thing. Or if you’d prefer to try someone else, all of the trainers are fantastic choices.”
“I think I’ll stick with you. As long as that’s not weird or anything…”
“Nope, not weird.”
You worked up the courage to look him in the eyes. Swirling irises of molten brown, you couldn’t help but be drawn into them. “Same time next week then?”
“Same time next week,” he agreed with a nod.
***
It had been a little over a month since you had started working with Caleb at the gym and what had started as one personal training session a week had turned into two, sometimes three. Improvement was happening steadily and you definitely felt a difference in your stamina.
Strangely enough, you were even proud of the small callouses that were starting to develop on the tops of your palms, under the fingers. They weren’t classically beautiful but at least you had proof of the work you were doing.
Having worked up the confidence, you’d also started doing some of the exercises Caleb showed you on your own. It was on one such day that you met him.
Another gym babe.
The first thing you noticed was his ass. Literally. He was in prime squat position and his short, though knee length and loose as they may be, could not hide his toned glutes.
You were embarrassed to admit that you were totally ogling him, like a dog looked at a prime cut of meat. You didn’t get star struck often, but damn.
The universe must have sought to punish you for the lack of propriety and your mp3 slipped through your sweaty fingers onto the moving treadmill, yanking the earphones out of your ears along with it as it flew backwards on the conveyor belt.
Recovering from the stumble your mp3 caused, you turned off the machine and gingerly picked out the music player, preparing for the worst.
Miraculously, the screen was still in tact and sounds was still coming through the earphones. You took another sigh of relief when you realized he was preoccupied by his own workout and hadn’t seen your embarrassing moment.
Something similar happened the next time you saw him a few days later: he was cooling down after having thoroughly trounced the heavy bag in the small boxing set-up the gym had. His arms looked so good in his cut-off tank (muscles and veins were all on display) that you froze with your mouth hanging wide open.
Another gym-goer did catch you that time but at least it wasn’t the god sculpted from marble.
You almost felt bad, like you were cheating on one of your crush’s with another which was ridiculous because Caleb was just a trainer and you didn’t even know the other one’s name.
Who knew that so much drama could happen in the confines of a simple neighborhood gym? Seriously, The Bachelor wished it could have as many good options as the gym seemed to.
***
You huffed as you pushed yourself up on increasing shaky arms. For a few seconds, you honestly didn’t think you’d be able to do it as your arms got stuck at a forty-five degree angle. Digging deep down, you managed to fully extend your arms.
“Nine,” Caleb counted. He was kneeling besides you on the yoga mat, counting, and adjusting your form here and there, while you did push-ups
Rather than descend slowly as was proper for push-ups, you collapsed to the mat with your arms squished underneath your chest. Rolled your head, you gave him your best pleading eyes and hoped he might take mercy.
That hope was misplaced. He gave a sympathetic smile and shook his head negatively. “Sorry, Y/N. We agreed on ten and by my count, you still have one more to go.”
“Can I not and say that I did?”
“Come on now. It’s only one more.” He waved his hands around like he was waving imaginary pom-poms. “You can do it!”
You managed a weak laugh. There was no way you could’ve say no. Your arms felt like they were burning but he looked adorable trying to be a cheerleader. An unbidden image of him wearing a cute male cheerleading uniform flashed in your mind and you thought he would pull one off well, what with his wide shoulders and sculpted legs.
Imagination got you through the last push-up and you groaned as you turned over on the mat, spread out like a star fish. “That was absolute torture.”
Caleb opened his mouth but was interrupted by a newcomer.
“Geez, man. You need to take it easier on your clients.”
Recognizing the voice, you found the other gym guy you’d been eyeing standing above you.
“Pogue.” Caleb held his fist out to the man who in turned bumped his with the trainer’s. Evidently, they knew each other.
Then they embraced in a full-on hug.
Okay, so they definitely knew each other. And it was hard to miss the parting caress to Pogue’s shoulders—what kind of name was Pogue anyway?—that was generally reserved for two people that were close.
Were they related? Dating, perhaps?
Your imagination fired up again and you wondered what they would look like wrapped even more intimately with one another…which was entirely despicable, you reminded yourself. There was no proof they were romantically involved, and, even if they were, it was none of your business.
The other two, who had been talking while you were maladaptively fantasizing, had continued talking and their conversation now turned to you.
“So who’s this?” Pogue questioned politely.
“This is Y/N,” Caleb introduce you. “They’re one of the people I work with.”
Pogue stuck his hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad Caleb hasn’t killed you off yet.”
“Hey! I am extremely fair with workouts, aren’t I, Y/N?”
“He is,” you said with a small smile, rocking on your feet. “Besides, he way too nice to ever become a drill sergeant.”
Pogue shoved Caleb lightly and Caleb elbowed him in return. “I know he doesn’t look like the type, but he was quite the drill sergeant back when we were both swimmers. He just hides the competitive instinct under his charming smiles.”
That peaked your curiosity. “No way, you guys swam together back in the day?”
“Spencer Academy was state champs three years running in our time,” Caleb admitted. “But nowadays I do my thing with personal training and Pogue more into MMA.”
“MMA?” you questioned.
“Mixed Martial Arts,” Caleb supplied. “You’ve probably seen him hogging the punching bags in the back.”
You most certainly had but you weren’t about to confess that to either of them. It would be too embarrassing and might even toe the line of harassment.
“You are more than welcome to share bags with me, any time,” Pogue grinned teasingly.
A thought hit and flowed out of your mouth before you could stop it. “You guys should give me a lesson sometime.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you were interested in that sort of thing,” Caleb said, surprise coloring his voice.
“Are you saying that you don’t think I can?” You weren’t sure what made you say it. It’s not like you were hardcore dedicated to trying it. 
Whatever the cause it had Pogue chiming in save the situation.
“What prince charming means is that we would love to give a demonstration sometime.”
Caleb down at his watch because of course he still wore one instead of just using his phone like most other people. “Damn. Our hour is up Y/n and I’m late getting my next client. But we can hit the punching bags next time, if you want…?”
“Sure. Uh. Does Wednesday work for you?”
Both of the men nodded and Caleb called over his shoulder as he jogged to the lobby. “It’s a date. Schedule it online and I’ll approve it.”
The word kept replaying over and over. Date. Date. Date, date, date. He probably didn’t even mean it like that but it didn’t stop your heart from fluttering.
Waving goodbye to Pogue wit a promise of seeing him next week, you bounced off to grab your phone from the locker room. There was nothing wrong with scheduling your next session ASAP.
It’s a date.
_______________
Pogue boxing does make a fetching image. Pogue and Caleb in the ring sparring together even more so. Debating whether to make a part 2. 
Caleb always seems to be the hardest for me to write so I hope he sounded okay in this. This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I decided to finally post it. 
Thanks for reading! 
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pillage-and-lute · 4 years ago
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An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)
Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,
Read it on Ao3 HERE
Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided.  The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus
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“Come in.”
It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.
Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.
The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes. 
He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.
He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook. 
The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”
Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.
“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”
Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”
“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.
“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.” 
Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.
“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.
This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.
“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.
“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.
They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.
A family tree. 
“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”
This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.
“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face. 
“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”
“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”
Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”
“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.
“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”
“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”
“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”
They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while. 
“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.
“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”
Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.
Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.
“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase. 
Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”
They arrived back at the study without another word. 
They sat.
“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out. 
Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.
“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”
Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.
“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”
“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”
Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”
The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant. 
Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.
Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.
Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam. 
“Can I try it on?”
Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.
He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement. 
“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming. 
Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”
Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.
Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.
“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”
Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.
“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”
Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”
“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”
Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.
The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too. 
Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.
Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.
“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.
“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.
“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again. 
“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.
“Should I open the box from the countess?”
“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”
The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.
Jaskier gasped.
“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”
It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side. 
“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”
“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”
Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”
Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.
“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.
“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.
There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.
“My lord, it is time for supper.”
Damn. 
Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.
The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.
To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.
All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.
Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.
“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 
“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.
“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”
“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.
“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.
“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.
“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”
Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.
Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.
“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.” 
This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment. 
“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.
“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll. 
“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.
“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.
“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink. 
“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.
Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.
“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.
“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.
“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life. 
“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”
“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.
“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”
“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating. 
“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.
He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.
Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.
“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”
“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”
Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”
“I wouldn’t want to defile...”
“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”
“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.
“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”
“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”
Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”
Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.
There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.
They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.
The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table. 
They rose. Vesemir bowed.
“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”
Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”
He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.
The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.
They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.
“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.
Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.
“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.
“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”
Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again. 
“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”
The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”
The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.
“What a cunt,” Lambert said.
“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”
Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”
“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”
And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.
“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”
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What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what. 
We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.
Tag List!  @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata  @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast  @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna 
@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think. 
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thesunshinebunny · 4 years ago
Text
When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)
Series Master list
Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader
Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)
Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?
Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.
AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.
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The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.
I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.
Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.
Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.
I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.
I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.
The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.
"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"
No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.
"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"
The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.
"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"
Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.
“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"
The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.
"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"
I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.
Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.
"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...
"SASHA!!!"
Again.
Again I’d been unable to do anything.
Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.
Again.
I had seen a mate die. Again.
My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.
My whole body was about to collapse.
"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"
My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.
“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"
My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.
"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"
In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.
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Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.
"Sasha died"
Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.
"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."
It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.
Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.
"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"
Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.
"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"
Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.
I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.
My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.
"Are you ok?"
That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.
"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"
I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.
"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"
He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.
"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"
I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.
“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"
My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.
"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”
Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.
"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"
Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.
"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...
“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"
I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.
I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.
"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"
I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.
I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.
"Leave Eren"
His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.
The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.
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crazy-sevens · 4 years ago
Note
Heyo, I wasn’t sure eid you took requests, but if you do could you do a part two to “An Excuse to make Christmas Jokes”
This was a long time coming but hope you like it!
Part one here
***
The hero had never felt more humiliated in their entire life. Not when their voice cracked at an eighth grade talent show. Not when they tripped into the punchbowl at prom. Not even when they had to dress up in a pink rabbit costume for Halloween at fifteen because their parents made them match with their little sister. At least there weren’t any witnesses to their embarrassment this time. 
The hero sat tied up in a red ribbon, gagged, and sitting under a Christmas tree. The flush in their face being almost the exact same shade of red as the ribbon. 
The villain had been gone for about ten minutes. And the hero knew that because there was a clock on the wall. Weird for what was basically a prison cell, but the room where they were sitting in was actually a really nice living room. 
Great. That made them feel so much better about this.
They looked up at the Christmas tree as the ornaments glinted in the light. Soon enough the villain would be back bringing whatever torture device that they called the hero’s Christmas present. The hero would have to be gone before then. Gone with what they had come here for. 
But no matter what they couldn’t think around this. The ribbon was tight, binging their arms and legs together so they could barely move. They couldn’t use their powers with the gag on their mouth and nobody around to use them on. And there were dozens of guards out there, so they wouldn’t even make it out, let alone with the device. 
The hero closed their eyes and leaned against the tree. The ornaments clattered together with a soft clink. They were made of glass. At least the villain had some taste.
Wait. Glass. 
The hero scooted themselves around and kicked the tree over. They winced at the sound of the ornaments shattering, but they couldn’t worry about the noise right then. They flexed their fingers and grabbed a shard from the wreckage. It was a little difficult but they managed to cut through the ribbon with the shard. They then tore the gag off. 
They felt in their sleeve and breathed a sigh of relief when they found it; the one thing the villain’s guards hadn’t taken from them- a hairpin. They picked the lock quickly.
They smirked. Sometimes they were so good it was frightening.
And on that note, they tripped on their way out. 
Nevermind. 
Before they could pick themselves up, a boot pressed against the small of their back. “What do we have here?”
The hero reached out with their power. “Hey get off of me!”
The boot’s pressure lessened, but that was about it. Of course it wouldn’t work that easily. “And why should I do that?”
“Um, because,” the hero scrambled for a convincing story, “because you’re unsatisfied with your boss and you want them to respect you more,” they blurted out. “I can help you.” They hoped they had struck the right cord. When trying to convince someone to do something, it helped to give them a good reason to. The power enhanced those feelings and moved the person to act. The hero could only hope that the guard was unsatisfied with his boss. How that fact might relate to letting the hero go, they weren’t sure. Maybe they would actually believe the hero could help.
Who knows? This wasn’t their best work anyway.  
But it actually seemed to be working. “Really?” the guard asked.
“Uh, yes,” the hero said. “Just let me up and we can talk all about your feelings and maybe try to start a union or something.”
The boot left their back. The hero stood up and brushed themselves off. Then they punched the guard square in the jaw. The guard fell over unconscious.
Then they dragged him back into the room, tied his hands and feet together with scraps of the ribbon, then they tied the gag around his mouth. They smirked. Now they were starting to feel better.
They walked over to the foyer, the sounds of music and chatter echoing through the door to their left. They could leave. Sneak out through a vent or something. But they couldn’t pass up this opportunity. The villain thought they were taken care of, so it would be perfect to find the device. 
They snuck through the house. 
No, house wasn’t really a good description. More like a mansion. Or a palace. It wasn’t very inconspicuous, but it was one of the most guarded places in the city so it didn’t really have to be. With that in mind, the hero knew they had to keep sharp, and they had to be patient. 
The latter being the most difficult. 
They regretted knocking out the guard. He could’ve given the hero a tour. But now they were just stuck checking every room. There was nothing for a while. 
Nothing until they found the villain’s office. 
It was pretty average in terms of officeness. No signs of villainy about it. No giant swirly chair to turn dramatically in, no assortment of stuffed creatures, no giant red button that opened a trap door for someone on the other side to drop through. 
It was disappointing to say the least. 
They searched all the drawers, checked for false backs or secret openings, but still nothing. But then they looked in the file cabinet. There were multiple files for people whose names the hero didn’t recognize, but at the front of them all was a file marked, Arch Nemesis.
Of course. 
They grabbed the file and tucked it under their arm. They couldn’t read it now. They only had so much time left before the party ended. If the device wasn’t in the next room they would cut their losses and leave.
But one thing they failed to notice: it was quiet. That wouldn’t be much of a problem normally, but when they had searched before they could still hear pieces of loud conversation and music through the hallways. There was none of that now. The party was already over. 
And the hero realized that too late. 
“Really you couldn’t wait ten minutes for me to come back? Admit it, you missed me.”
Before the hero could turn around, strong hands grabbed their arms, pinning them behind their back. The file dropped out of their hands.
The villain hummed into their ear. “Someone’s been looking into things they shouldn’t have.”
The hero tried to kick but the villain only responded by kicking the hero’s legs out from under them. They bracketed the hero’s hips with their own, and they kept the hero’s arms pinned above their head. 
“Get off of me.” The hero growled.
The villain rolled their eyes. “You really can’t get it into your head that your powers don’t work on me, can you?”
“What can I say? I’m stubborn,” the hero said. “And you’re a liar.”
The villain laughed. “You can hide it all you want, hero, but I know the curiosity is driving you crazy. A problem you could never solve.” 
The hero struggled, but the villain’s grip was like iron. “It’s not a problem. I can beat you without my powers.”
They could taste that lie in their mouth like bile. No they couldn’t. They could never beat the villain without backup and the villain knew it.
They shook their head. “You know I wasn’t going to tell you before I gave you the present, but I really think you’ve earned it.” They leaned in close. “I have the same powers as you do.”
The hero stopped struggling. “What?”
“I know! It was a little . . . frustrating at first, I can’t use my powers on you either, but you’ve been the most interesting hero yet.” Using one hand the villain pulled something out of their pocket. It looked like a dog collar. “I have learned that if you simply disable the other person’s powers, instead of cancelling out, your powers will finally work on them.” 
The hero’s heart stopped. That’s what the agency had sent them looking for. 
It had all been a setup.
The villain’s smile widened. “So, Merry Christmas. I know it’s early, but, hey, you’re worth it.”
“Keep that thing away from m-”
The hero’s voice died when the villain clipped the collar on.
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deadinside-butstill-horny · 4 years ago
Text
The Night We Met
Part One - The Night We Met
Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader
Words: 5.3k
Summary: Murphy's sister travels to Colombia after realising Steve might not quite be A-Okay and meets the Javier Peña.
Content Warnings: 18+ Smut-ish (I wouldn’t wanna read it out to my mom), dry humping, dirty talk in Spanish which reader doesn’t understand so does it really count?, gratuitous love of the black shirt from the torture scene.
AO3
MASTERLIST
Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you'd like to see anything in particular. If it's in my wheelhouse, you'll definitely see it.  
Pedro in the black shirt in this scene is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie. 
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If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake. 
Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin' airline ticket. You had attempted to grab life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentarial bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into a full scale panic attack if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.
Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim. 
You were fuckin’ dumb. 
Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar. 
You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.
His calls had gotten less and less frequent until he stopped returning them all together and the only reason you knew he was alive were your pep-talks with your sister-in-law, trying to help her keep her shit together, but hell, you weren’t a therapist or a miracle worker. So when Connie rang asking to stay at your place you had obliged and she had returned to Miami a mere shell of her former self. 
After a mammoth amount of prodding over the course of two days you managed to wring the truth out of her, not the nuggets of information she had given you over the phone in hushed whispers during her time in Colombia but the whole messy story; the communist Elisa Alvarez, Steve’s kidnapping and the cold edges your brother was developing. 
It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn't have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed.  A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret. 
You had to check on Steve. 
He hadn’t answered a single one of your many many calls. You packed light and told Connie the morning of, and whilst she didn’t like it, she understood. You supposed that a part of her was relieved to know her husband would have someone in Colombia that wasn't there to kill him. 
So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother's address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other.  The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian. 
When the plane finally touched down, you stood from your seat emptying the last few drops of whiskey which had tried to evade you onto your tongue, you picked up your backpack and queued to leave the plane.
The second you left the aircraft the humidity hit you like a brick wall, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. On a normal evening you would appreciate such a warm climate, but now the heat meant frustration to your tired brain and it only added to your baseline levels of anxiety as your hairline and upper lip were drenched as you walked through the arrivals gate.
Cards on the table; you didn’t have much of a game plan, you spoke no Spanish and stuck out like a sore thumb. You had the address but no means to get there, you didn’t relish the idea of getting in a taxi as a woman alone in a foreign country, but with little to no other options you went to hail one of the cabs that sat outside the airport.
Your fears turned out to be for naught, well not quite naught as the man had raked his eyes across your body for a large percentage of the trip in his mirror, but he had the good grace not to kidnap or murder you, which for you meant it was a successful journey, how low you had set the bar was just occuring to you.
After paying the gentleman he dropped you outside what appeared to Steve’s apartment building. You take a moment on the pavement to recollect yourself ready for your reunion. Peeling your denim jacket off, you decide instead to wrap it around your waist, tying the sleeves securely. With a harumph, you grab the handle of your suitcase, and drag it behind you. Your success thus far gives you a second wind of determination.
Though apparently dumb luck can only get you so far, because after heaving your suitcase up a flight of stairs and rapping on the door of apartment 20 until your knuckles ached, it began to dawn on you, you had no clue if this was even the right building.
“Fuck.” you mutter to yourself, you should’ve rang Connie or tried Steve again when you landed, but you’d been so single minded in carrying out your plan all common sense had apparently abandoned you. So with a million different scenarios of things you could’ve done better playing out behind your eyes you dragged your suitcase to the small lobby of the building, where the front door stood.
You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here. 
Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands,you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.
You must have sat with your head in your hands for around three hours before anyone of note arrived, you had received strange looks from residents in their comings and goings as they stepped around you, your expectant looks turned to disappointment when you realised they weren’t Steve. In fairness, you, a gringa sitting on the stairs at 2am, most likely wasn’t a daily occurrence to these homeowners.
By the time he came through the door, your eyes were closed and your head was leant on the bannister, trying to get what little rest you could. Your eyes opened a crack to see a man and a woman enter the building and turn right, the man had his arm around her as he stared at you in confusion, the look was so quick you may have missed it if you blinked, but they were talking in low whispers of Spanish and from the looks of things he didn’t give you a second thought. 
So you extended him the same courtesy and shut your eyes once again, you heard the metal jangling of keys going into the lock, the sound of smacking lips and then the door was closed. You figured that was the end of it, instead you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you, your eyes shot open as he rounded the corner.
“Estás bien?” The man questioned. It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you, as you took him in you were struck by your stupidity, how could you have dismissed this man so quickly even in the throes of a mental breakdown. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own as you realised he was waiting for a response. 
“Uh… no hablo... español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.
“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.
“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”
“Yeah… Stevi...Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason. 
“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”
“Sister? Mierda... does he know you’re here?” 
“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”
“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed. 
“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second. 
“I’m Steve’s partner, Javier.” He held out his hand which you were more than happy to take in a shake, his tan hand was soft yet strong as it held your own captive within it. “C’mon in I’ll give him a call, God knows what time he’s planning on getting back.”
“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again. 
You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.
“You’re not interrupting anything.”
Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it's a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.
If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive. 
So you nodded and used the hand he hadn’t released yet to pull yourself up into a standing position. He wasn’t particularly tall but he still towered over you, your eyeline gave you a great view past his black shirt which was unbuttoned quite liberally, you assumed that was courtesy of the woman he’d entered with. 
“Thank you,” you nodded at him with a genuine smile of relief. He didn’t reply, only grabbed the handle of your pull along suitcase before extending his arm towards his apartment and motioning to wordlessly say, after you. 
Now you know how people say when you can feel a stare? You had the sensation before, but as you leaned over to pick up your backpack from the bottom step, you felt his eyes laser focus on your denim clad ass. You turned your head in disbelief and found his eyes still lingered there for a moment before meeting your own. Unbelievable. Part of you was flattered, the other part was bemused that he had a beautiful woman in there waiting and here he was ogling you.
You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more. 
Steve’s hot partner was an ass man... Good to know. 
...
As it turns out Javier’s girlfriend, or what you we’re starting to think was more of a one night stand, was not happy with the situation at all, you came to this discovery as Javier pointed you to the sofa before beginning arguing with her in hushed Spanish, the beautiful woman huffed and sent a dirty look your way before storming out and slamming the door behind her, with enough power to make it shake in its bearings. You raised your eyebrows at Javier from your seat. He shook his head with a sigh and began lighting up a cigarette, he turned and offered you one. 
“No thanks, I quit.”
“Woman with an iron will?”
“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.
He smiles before clearing his throat and moving over to pick up his landline. Javier presses a combination of buttons, before putting it to his ear and blowing the smoke from his lungs. His eyes met yours as the phone rang, he gave you reassuring wink. 
“Murphy? … Yeah…  you need to get back to your place now... You’ve got a guest.... No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”
Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother's partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months. 
“He’s on his way,” He confirmed what you already knew but you liked hearing him speak so you nodded in thanks. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments, as you two perfect strangers shared one another's company.
“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.
“God, yes.” You all but moaned at the offer. Javier chuckled, and grabbed a second glass from his cupboard, before pouring you both a generous serving.  He walked around the back of the sofa, and passed you the glass of liquid gold and took a seat next to you. Close enough to initiate something, but not touching, quite a respectful distance. 
Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner's sister and he was doing the decent thing. 
“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.
“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with false surprise, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.
“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.”  You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it's a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds. 
He flicks through the channels, for a few seconds before sighing and dropping the remote in your lap. Taking your assignment seriously, you sit up, bringing yourself a few inches closer to the man next to you, purely accidentally of course and begin flicking through the channels as Javier had done moments before, though 3am TV scheduling left a lot to be desired. 
News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!
“Ah, now we’re talking.” You mumble, eyes stuck on the screen of the Colombian Soap opera playing. The two of you sat in silence once again as you slowly sipped on your drinks watching drama play out. 
You watched in silence for around ten minutes, not understanding a single word of what was being said. The scene was on two latino actors sitting in a bedroom. The woman was sat on the bed being confronted by the man in a serious tone. 
“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman's tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman's words.
“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son... I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…”  Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.
“Oh shit,” You gasped at his words, but your attention diverted to the screen where the two had continued their heated argument and began kissing or rather where the man was devouring her neck, “I’m getting vibes that he might be open to forgiving her.” 
You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own. 
How was he so goddamn warm? 
All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.
You took a gulp of your drink, trying to refocus for the third or fourth time this evening, trying so desperately to reign in your inner school girl and focus on the television, though that didn’t help as the actors were now eating one anothers faces on a bed. The silence was thick with tension, though that could’ve been entirely on you; one innocent touch of a man's elbow and you’re a blushing mess.  
Get a grip Y/N. 
The silence dragged on as you pretended to watch the soap opera you had absolutely no understanding of in a futile attempt to ignore the man next to you. You can only imagine what he thought of your levels of focus on the tv, as you stared at the box in the corner of the room like it was the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time and you were getting ready to write a full-scale analysis on the work of art. 
Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.
“You came all the way to Colombia... Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host.  You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully. 
“Steve stopped answering the phone, I mean he’s always been shitty at checking in, even when he was in Miami. When he got here we’d have a catch up every week or so, we all know how dangerous it is for you guys over here, so we joked about calling it ‘the alive check’. For the last couple of months, I was checking in with Connie more than Steve but he’d still pick up once every week, without fail. Then four weeks ago the fucker stopped answering my calls all together and Connie showed up on my doorstep with Olivia in tow last week.”
“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it's probably ‘cause he’s busy...  He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.
“My brother always answers my calls. Or at least he used to. I can’t begin to understand what you guys are going through, but I’m not losing my brother to some piece of shit Colombian drug dealer.” 
Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”
“How is he?” You interrupt Javier’s attempt at diffusing the situation with humor, turning to him on the sofa. You rearranged yourself, bringing your leg up so your knee touched his thigh as you gave him your full attention,  you plucked the smoke from between his lips and held it between your two fingers as you spoke. “Tell me Steve’s fine. Tell me I’m worrying for nothing and I’ll get back on that plane and leave tomorrow morning."
You take one drag and offer it back to him, he accepts it, deliberately looking you in the eyes as he places the cigarette in his mouth, attaching his lips to where your own had been seconds earlier.  He takes it from his mouth and stubs it on an ash tray that rests on the arm of the sofa, his focus is single minded on his task. The pressure in your lower stomach is mounting as you stare at the tanned man before you who is carrying out a menial task that has you more turned on than you’d ever admit. 
When the red tip is extinguished thoroughly, taking much longer than you thought it needed to, Javi turns to you, his mahogany eyes have you pinned in your tracks. You found yourself admitting they were gorgeous for the second time this evening, they were the type of brown you could never quite describe, they had so much depth, not quite a chocolate, not quite coffee, they were rich and deep pools. They reminded you of the forest, not the green leaves but the earthy brown, the strong beams of wood that held everything up around it.
Javier's hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.
You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.
“Quiero saborearte…” He whispered so lowly you barely even heard it before he leaned in that last inch and captured your lips in a single, chaste kiss. Your lips connected and you realised the heat you had felt from his arms had been nothing. Fire coursed through your veins upon contact, surging through your blood and going south to a pressure that built in your lower stomach. 
Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching.  He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system.  You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother's partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.
You were here for Steve... 
“... This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint. 
“Never is.” He leaned forward and captured your lips. You didn’t have any fight left in you, exhausted and at wits end you embraced your spiral into stupidity instead and your hands glided across the clammy skin of his neck to grab at his short ink black hair. You wrapped your fingers around it to drag him closer to you, your lips clashed, all teeth at first but you didn’t care as his tongue began to fight against yours for dominance. 
He tasted as good as you imagined, he was the right combination of sweet and bitter, with undertones of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue. Your response to his assault on your mouth told him it was go time, Javier pulled you into his lap and his hands lowered to your ass. Your body was flush with his own as your breasts pressed against his chest, you could feel every solid line of his lithe body against your own. 
You licked at his honied tongue, before withdrawing and pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on the soft plush skin. His mustache tickled your upper lip, a sensation you weren’t used to but could so easily grow to love.  This made him tighten his grip on your backside in response and he let out a throaty groan at the meat he found there, Javier was definitely an ass man, you felt his bulge pressing against your core as you both began grinding against each other in earnest. You felt like a horny teenager as you grinded on a man you barely knew. 
You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throught your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered  “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”
He said it with such surety that your body convulsed in on itself without even needing to know what the man above you was saying. You could only hope it was absolutely filthy and profanity ridden, because then at least, the sentiment would be shared. He bit at the lobe of your ear before his hands left your breasts and travelled to the hem of your tank top, getting ready to pull it over your head.
It was strange to say that you remembered your brother was on his way here as a man tried to take your t-shirt off, but that’s just the way it went. You knew if that top came off, dry humping would be the most PG action of the night and if Steve turned up and found you mounted on his partner, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled. 
You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man's hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser. 
Sighing, you threw your body sideways before you could change your mind and ended up on your back. Javier followed you, caging you with his frame as he covered your body with his own.  Gripping your face like he was a starving man and you were the only sustenance he’d ever need. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to give in to that magic tongue but you couldn’t let this go any further so you placed a hand on his chest.
Taking your cue he paused his tongues assault on your mouth and stopped, resting his forehead against your own. You were both breathing heavily trying to come back down to reality, his eyes were no longer the chocolate brown you’d been comforted by when you met, but rings of obsidian staring into your soul. You wanted this man, my god you did. But this would make more problems for Steve.
The two of you stayed that way for a while, foreheads and bodies pressed against one another until both of your breathing evened out. The silence dragged, heavy in the air as you two strangers both waited for the other to break it. 
“...Is Steve okay?”
“...No... He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding. 
The loud knock on the front door startles you both as you’d been so wrapped up in one another you’d not heard the steps leading to it. The two of you split apart like a pair of guilty teens caught in the act. You both stared at each other for a second before he nods at you and walks to the front door whilst rearranging his bulge discreetly in his jeans, this was something you pretended not to see as you sat back up right on the sofa. You had only a moment to fix yourself, as you pulled your tank top from where it was hooked by your breasts and ran your fingers through your hair so you didn’t look like you’ve just had the ravaging of a lifetime. 
Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve's voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “...what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it's not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.  
Steve looks from you, to Javier and then back to you once more in complete surprise. It takes his brain a hot second to process that you’re here in front of him and in Colombia before he rushes you. Clutching you tight and hugging you to his chest. You hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob leave your brothers chest before he collapses into you. The front door and Javier’s bedroom both in rapid succession, giving you the privacy you knew your brother would need after breaking down like this.
You couldn’t support Steve’s weight with your considerably smaller frame and the two of you fell to the ground as you held your broken brother. His body shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in your shoulder.
You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia. 
This had definitely not been a mistake. 
Part Two
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iceeckos12 · 4 years ago
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time travel snippet
little time travel au oneshot. season 5 jon travels back in time to season 1. from the perspectives of tim, martin, and sasha. 3.5k.
i dont think i need to tag anything, but please let me know otherwise.
Tim wakes up that morning, and it’s just like any other day.
Well—no, okay, that’s a bit misleading. Today is his first day working as an archival assistant, so he’s one part nervous, one part that breathless, exhilarated feeling you only get when you’re about to do something unfamiliar that may or may not redefine your life for the foreseeable future. When he says “it’s just like any other day”, he means that he wakes up, and he’s a normal person doing normal people things like eating a healthy breakfast and going to work.
(So, no. In short, he doesn’t realize that today is the day when It happens, that big, life-changing event that you think will Never Happen To You.)
He gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom. Washes his face of whatever residue that’d built up during the night, tries to scrape away the evidence of his nightmares, smiles big and bright at the mirror to see how successful his efforts were. He’s betrayed by the traitorous bags beneath his eyes, but that’s okay. Sasha taught him how to wield concealer as a shield whenever his past wore down his armor.
He shoots twin finger guns into his reflection, making soft pew, pew! noises that are almost too-loud in the hush of the bathroom. Then he turns on his heel and walks away, sauntering and humming along with the chorus of Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5.
He gets to the Institute twenty minutes before he’s supposed to—not because he’s trying to impress his boss or whatever (he and Jon have known each other long enough that there’s no point). It’s just, Jon will probably want to make some sort of game-plan before the actual workday starts. 
The poor man had been relieved to an almost comical degree when Tim had said yes, I’ll come with you to the Archives. It’s painfully obvious how out-of-his-depth Jon is with the whole “Head Archivist” thing. Tim’s honestly baffled as to why Elias had singled him out for the position in the first place, considering his lack of qualifications.
But, whatever. It’s fine! Tim and Sasha will be there to help him—although the third assistant is a bit of a problem, considering that they know absolutely nothing about him. There’s no guarantee that this Martin Blackwood won’t report inadequacies or mistakes back to Elias. If that’s the case, Tim and Sasha will have to be Jon’s safety net, which is partially why Tim is hoping to talk to Jon before anyone else gets there.
He also wants to talk to Jon because he just knows the man is probably working himself up over all of this. Maybe reassurances won’t do away with the source of anxiety entirely, but at least it’ll remind Jon that he’s not alone, and that he can count on Tim and Sasha.
As expected, when Tim gets there he can see a sliver of light pouring out from the cracked door of the Head Archivist’s office. He selects a desk and sets his bag on top of it, noting a set of strange gouges in the fake wood with a raised eyebrow, and then an internal shrug. The Institute issued laptop is near the far edge of his desk, and his collection of pictures are strategically placed so that he can see them all clearly.
His eyes linger over the image of him, his mother, and his brother. Their smiles are almost perfect replicas of each other, like someone took a mold of one of their faces and recreated it twice over.
Briefly, he closes his eyes. Then he shakes himself, releases a slow, steadying breath, and goes to check on Jon.
Tim’s not sure what he’s expecting to see when he goes into Jon’s office.
(That’s misleading too, though. He’s not sure if Jon will be visibly calm or upset, if he’ll be on his laptop, if he’ll be picking at the skin around his fingernails, as he so often does when he’s stressed. He is expecting Jon as he is and always has been—a twenty-some year old going on sixty, who wraps his gruff, grumpy demeanor about himself to protect the soft, vulnerable core he likes to pretend doesn’t exist.)
He comes up to the door, and the soft rectangle of light that emanates from beneath the door paints the tips of his shoes gold. “Jon?” he calls softly, rapping his knuckles against the frame. There’s a soft rustling noise—papers maybe? but no audible response, so he shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m coming in.”
Tim steps inside, a quip instinctively readying itself on his tongue—but then his gaze lands on Jon, and he freezes dead in his tracks.
Even years later, he still vividly, viscerally remembers the moment he saw Danny standing on the stage underneath the Royal Opera House, the way he’d looked...not quite right. The wrongness had been subtle, so much so that it had been unnoticeable upon first glance, upon second glance. The longer Tim had looked though, the more obvious it had become, exposing all the little faults in that almost-perfect recreation of his brother.
Looking at Jon now, it’s the first and only thing he can think of. Because—yes, there’s the long, silver-streaked black hair, there’s the rich brown eyes, there’s the pair of spectacles that make him look far older than he actually is. But that’s where the similarities between the Jon he knows and this Jon end.
Jon’s always been a small man, but his feigned haughtiness makes him seem much bigger than he actually is. Except—except this Jon looks smaller somehow, his shoulders curved protectively inward, like he’s trying to present less of a target. And there’s something about his face, too—his expression is too sharp, too much—
But the worst of it is his eyes. There’s something very wrong with his eyes.
Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Jon? He doesn’t say it out loud though, just keeps staring at Jon, a heady mix of terror and horror making any sort of reaction impossible.
After a moment Jon’s lips thin, contorted by some distant cousin of displeasure, and he rises to his feet. Tim stumbles instinctively backward, his breath escaping him in a sharp gasp that’s immediately swallowed up by the apathetic stacks of books and papers surrounding them. He’s struck by the fact that if he dies here, it’s unlikely anyone will notice; he’ll become just another set of marks gouged into the desk, willed away with an uneasy shrug.
Jon freezes, lips parting subtly, as though he were about to speak. Tim feels his breath catch in his chest, unable to shake himself out of the clouded stupor his mind has fallen into.
In the end, Jon says nothing. Just releases a long, slow breath of air and sits back down, pushing his chair close to his desk. The motion looks heavy, tired, as though it takes far more energy than it should.
“You—you should go,” Jon rasps, and there’s something off about his voice too, though Tim can’t put his finger on why. He can’t cobble together enough of a train of thought to make sense of any of this, all he can think of is that clown ripping Danny apart—
He stumbles out of Jon’s office, sits down at his desk. Stares down at the cheap, fake wood, at the gouges that have marred the otherwise pristine surface. Puts his head in his hands, and tries to will his heart to stop pounding in his chest.
-0-
Martin’s heard things about Jonathan Sims.
He’s not usually the type to pay attention or encourage gossip, as the vivid memories of his classmates tittering cruelly whenever he walked by still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.The problem with the Institute is that the employees get bored pretty easily. Though most would consider academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal to be fairly interesting, it’s still academic research. And the subject content can get to be a bit...repetitive. There’s only so many gruesome statements you can read without thinking, oh great, more meat.
So the employees gossip a lot, and while Martin usually tries to keep his head down and avoid it, it’s difficult not to overhear some things. And from what little he’s heard, he’s...a bit concerned. Rude and unsociable has frequently been mentioned, as have arrogant and unnecessarily finicky, and worst of all, a bit of a stuck-up know-it-all.
Normally he tries not to put too much stock in office gossip—he’s well aware that the grapevine tends to exaggerate one’s most undesirable traits—but if any of it is true, then he might just be in trouble. It was hard enough being a library employee when his boss wasn’t even paying attention most of the time. If Jon is as exacting as they say, it might be enough to expose the fact that Martin has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. And if that happens, then he might get fired, and he can’t get fired, he needs this job, he can barely keep up with his mum’s medical bills as it is—
Calm down, Martin tells himself firmly, pressing his hand against his sternum, as though that will be enough to quell the rising panic. It’s only your first day. Maybe he’s nice, and we’ll actually be good friends.
(With his luck? Yeah, right.)
The Institute looms in the distance, growing closer with every terrified, grudging footstep. A shiver runs up his spine at the sight of its imposing presence, a dark, ugly blot of a building against the backdrop of the iron grey clouds.
If there’s one thing he’s good at though, it’s keeping his head down and muddling through until he’s able to figure out what is actually expected of him. He can twist and fold himself into whatever role they need him to fill, as he has done so many times in the past. Not easily perhaps, but he has always managed. The alternative is untenable, after all.
So he takes a deep breath, and shoves his panic down as deep as possible. Lifts his head and forces a smile onto his face, like a good attitude will be enough to protect him from his boss’s wrath.
He could really do with a cup of tea.
Martin trudges down the stairs, giving the blank walls, the old-fashioned carpet, a dubious look as he does. The Archives themselves are as he remembers it—he’s been down here a couple of times when Gertrude made a request for something specific, but—
He pauses when he notices a man sitting at one of the desks, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders aren’t shaking and his breathing is even, so Martin doesn’t think that he’s crying? He’s just….sitting there, his stillness so perfect it’s almost inhuman.
“Hello?” Martin calls softly, cautiously, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.
The man looks up, revealing a very handsome face and brown eyes so dark they may as well be black. His cheeks are dry but his eyes are bright and a little wild, and his mouth is pressed into a small, tight line. He doesn’t speak, just keeps watching, blinking dazedly in Martin’s direction. Martin gets the feeling that this person isn’t entirely there at the moment, like a house in which every room is lit, but there are no people inside.
He swallows and shifts nervously back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to call for some backup. Eventually he sets his bag on the floor and shuffles a bit closer. “Um—are you—is everything okay?”
The man blinks rapidly, some semblance of awareness creeping back into his gaze. He shakes his head slowly, pushes his short, gelled hair back from his head. His hands are trembling. “I’m...yeah, I’m fine. It’s—everything’s, it’s…”
But then his gaze lands on something over Martin’s shoulder, and all the color drains out of his face, his mouth shutting with a painful sounding click. Martin quickly spins around, searching for whatever could’ve scared him so much—
There’s someone standing in the doorway of Gertrude’s office.
There are so many things that one normally takes in upon first meeting another person: their hair, their skin color, all the little wrinkles and marks that give you the briefest insight into their life. Martin looks at posture first, tends to check if a person is intentionally looming, or if they’re making themself smaller.
But all Martin can see are the eyes.
There’s—two of them he thinks, but two is such an arbitrary number when the thing you’re applying it to doesn’t ascribe to human values (he’s not sure how he knows that—how does he know that—?). That horrible, terrible gaze is an unerring arrow, all-encompassing, all-consuming, piercing the deepest corners of his mind. It hurts in some distant, nebulous way he’s not even sure he comprehends—
Then he blinks, and the sheer terror, that feeling of the horrible, violating exposure of everything that he is, abruptly snuffs out. What’s left is just a person, wispy and small, his slight frame fairly drowning in a chunky, cable-knit jumper. He’s leaning against his doorframe, his eyes—two big brown ones, rich and unfathomably sad and more than that, human—drinking Martin in, his lips parted in a soundless gasp.
“Um—” Martin glances over his shoulder, and almost leaps out of his skin when a land falls heavily on his shoulder. The man who’d been sitting in the chair is standing just behind him, a strained but polite smile on his face.
“Hi Jon,” the man says, an undercurrent of a warning in his voice.
Martin glances between the two, his confusion growing with every passing moment. This is not what he was expecting when he first came into work today, and the uncertainty makes him feel strange and off-kilter.
The person in the door swallows once, twice, then straightens, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When he speaks, his voice is soft, tentative, a little ragged around the edges. “Tim. It’s, um...it’s good to see you.”
“Martin Blackwood, was it?” Tim continues, injecting a bit of cheer into his voice. It takes Martin a moment to realize that he’s being addressed, and he shoots Jon—this is Jonathan Sims?—an uncertain look before nodding slowly. “We’re happy to have you on the team.”
“O-Oh?” Martin squeaks, then grits his teeth and bodily forces his voice back into its normal range. “I’m—um, I’m happy to be here?”
“Good,” Tim says through a grin that looks more like a grimace, giving Martin’s shoulder a friendly pat. The look he shoots Jon is a dark, mistrustful thing. The look Jon gives him back is fragile, vulnerable, that winds the tension in Tim’s shoulders so tight it has to be painful.
Jon’s gaze flickers to Martin, just for a second—and then he disappears into his office, leaving the door cracked behind him.
Tim and Martin stand there for a second, staring at the door. Tim’s still tense as a bowstring, and his grip on Martin’s shoulder is almost uncomfortable. The air in the Archives feels stuffy and too warm, and there’s a strange prickling sensation on the back of Martin’s neck, like he’s being subjected to close scrutiny.
Then Tim sighs and lets go of Martin’s shoulder, a little of the tension bleeding out of him, and without it he looks small, deflated. He goes back to his desk and sits down, booting up his laptop without a word of explanation to Martin.
Martin stares at the back of Tim’s head for a moment, a number of questions clamoring around in his brain—what the fuck was that? What’s wrong with Jon? Why are you so obviously suspicious of him?—but the words won’t come. Breaking the silence feels...sacrilegious, somehow. Every breath of air sticks against the back of his throat.
In the end, he doesn’t say anything either, just sits at his desk and takes out his Institute-issued laptop. Stares blankly at the screen as the machine slowly, laboriously, comes to life.
-0-
Sasha’s not entirely sure how to interpret the tense atmosphere that has descended over the Archives.
The first day she’d arrived a couple of minutes before she was supposed to, prepared to follow Jon’s direction and help him adjust as best she could. (Her feelings about Jon’s promotion...didn’t matter. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t his fault that Elias was an old-fashioned misogynist.)
But when she’d come down the stairs, Tim and the assistant she didn’t know, Martin, had been seated quietly at their desks. They’d both had the same distant, shell-shocked look on their faces, like they’d received some shattering, horrible news. Sasha had sent Tim a confused look, but he either hadn’t noticed it, or hadn’t wanted to explain.
She hadn’t even seen Jon that first day, just received a polite email asking her to start organizing the statements according to the system which he’d devised.
It’s been almost three days, and nothing has changed. Oh sure, they’ve all started organizing the statements as directed. Tim cracks jokes, Martin tiptoes around them and makes copious amounts of tea. That strange tension that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, like the world is holding its breath in anticipation, hasn’t faded though. And while she doesn’t know Martin all that well, she knows that something’s still up with Tim. He seems more subdued than usual, keeps sending uncomfortable looks in the direction of Jon’s office—
—which hasn’t been open since that first day. She hasn’t seen Jon at all either, no matter how early she arrives or how late she stays. The only proof she has that he’s still alive is the polite email she periodically receives, detailing some specific task that he wants for them to do.
Even then, his emails are...odd. She’s not sure how she can tell, but they feel...awkward? Stilted? Like he’s only half-aware of what he’s typing, or like he’s only asking them to do things because he feels like he should, not because he has any actual goal in mind.
Normally she’d be frustrated by this, would complain bitterly to Tim about Elias passing over her for someone who obviously doesn’t properly appreciate the position they’ve been given—except that she knows Jon. He’d made a point to explain the situation to her himself, an apologetic twist tucked into the corner of his mouth. More than that, he’d asked her to follow him to the archives, saying that he wanted the two people he trusted most, her and Tim, to come with him.
He respects her too much not to take this job seriously.
The strangeness of the archives is only emphasized by Jon’s complete and utter lack of presence within it, but she doesn’t—she doesn’t buy that. She doesn’t believe that he’d just suddenly decide not to do the job he’d been so anxious to excel at. 
More damning than anything is Tim’s complete, utter silence regarding Jon’s strange behavior, but whatever he knows about it, he isn’t saying anything. Martin is willing to talk, but he seems to be as lost as she is.
“I—that first day, Jon…” Martin shrugs, shooting a nervous glance toward the door leading to the archives. He’s been spending a lot of time hovering in the break room making tea, not that she can blame him. “He—I mean obviously I don’t know him very well, but he seemed...upset?”
“Upset,” Sasha repeats dubiously.
Martin lets out an exhausted sigh and turns away, waving a dismissive hand. “Look, I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. He just—okay, so, bear with me for a second, but he reminded me of this guy who used to live in my neighborhood.”
Sasha backs off, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. “Okay?”
“There was this little old couple that used to live in my neighborhood. They were—they were really sweet! The husband used to give candy to us younger kids. But um—sometimes you’d see him sitting in the rocking chair on his porch, and it was like...he wasn’t entirely there? Like, he’d just sit there for hours, rocking and staring at nothing. That’s—that’s what Jon’s expression reminded me of.”
Martin gets more animated the more he talks, Sasha notes; his hands move in broad, sweeping gestures, his expression twisting into an expression of extreme concentration. The moment he finishes he deflates again, tucking his hands into his armpits self-consciously, a hedgehog curling protectively in on itself.
“So, yeah,” he finishes eloquently.
“Huh,” Sasha says thoughtfully.
She gets back to her desk. Looks over at Tim, who’s studiously working through a box of statements, his mouth set in a neutral, concentrated frown. Takes a deep breath, letting the taste of dust and old papers sit heavy on her tongue.
Then she opens her laptop and starts looking through the catalog of cursed items that are currently being held in Artifact Storage.
(She doesn’t think that she’ll find anything, but—but just in case.)
-0-
They all get the call the next Monday morning: Elias Bouchard was found dead in his office.
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bartistic · 4 years ago
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Bruce Goes To The Market!
knife tw, food cw, incredibly dumb self-indulgent concept cw, outsider (oc) pov
It is universally acknowledged that a cashier possessing free time, will be in want of an extra task to fill that free time. At least, that’s what James’ managers seemed to think. Privately, he agreed, as he found restocking the shelves to be a most agreeable pastime, one that could in fact suck up hours of his eight hour closing shift.
He was in the soda aisle, debating whether sparkling water belonged with seltzer or with the rest of the store brand items, when he noticed a broad-shouldered man in sunglasses and a Gotham University sweatshirt, inspecting the selection of diet tonic water and looking utterly flummoxed. Customer in need of assistance!
“Hi, how are you doing tonight? You need help finding anything?” Mentally, James winced at the preppy-ness of his ‘customer service robot voice’ as his favorite coworker Stephie liked to call it. Luckily, he’d thrown his voice out enough screaming to Queen karaoke the night before that his voice stayed in the normal octaves rather than shooting into the stratosphere. The man straightened up and looked down towards James, who suddenly felt very short in all of his 5’9” glory. (Well, 5’8 3/4” but who’s counting.)
“Yes, actually. I’m new to the store, could you direct me to where the soap is?” Oh god. Of all the things it had to be the one item James swore was never in the same aisle twice.
“Of course!” He lied through his teeth. “Here, right this way.” Turning, he set off towards the general direction of where the soap tended to lie, with a variation of four different aisles. Luckily, the first aisle was correct, and he watched, intrigued, as the customer gave a thorough inspection to at least 14 different bars of soap. “Anything else I can help you with?” He added, as the man finally selected a bar and placed it in his basket. The man looked sheepish.
“This is actually the first time I’ve been in a grocery store. I’m not usually the one doing the shopping. My—the person I live with gave me a list, but I honestly don’t know where or even what half of these things are.” He held out a grocery list, scrawled in an elegant cursive. It was double-sided. James checked the front of the store, where the other cashier was engrossed in his phone while trying not to appear engrossed in his phone. It was an hour and a half until they closed, and he was pretty sure there was only one other customer in the store at most.
“Sure! Alright, so our first step should probably be to hit the deli, seeing as they have the longest wait times.” After walking the man through ordering Roast Beef, Prosciutto, Pastrami, Swiss, Havarti, Gouda, and Picante Provolone (what) they moved on to the canned goods. “We should probably grab a cart, I don’t think that basket’s going to be able to hold all of this.” Turning into the canned goods aisle, James sighed.
“Caution: Hazard Detected! Precaución, ¡Peligro Detectado!” The store’s resident useless robot assistant was stuck in place, screaming at a small bit of an onion peel that had fallen to the floor.
“Batsy, I swear to god.” James went over and kicked the peel under one of the shelves, pressing the button on the robot to reboot it.
“...Batsy?” The customer sounded somewhere between bemused and amused. Perhaps just ‘mused.
“Yeah, it’s our obtuse robot that only sees what’s right in front of it and makes a big fuss over literally nothing. It can’t even clean anything up, and the few moments there actually is a spill it just skids through it and makes it worse. Technically corporate calls it Patsy, short for Patrick, because we’re Patrick’s, you know? But since this is Gotham, we call it Batsy. Short for... Batrick. I’m not the one who came up with the name, that honor goes to my coworker Stephie. She’s, uh, not working tonight.” James internally began banging his head against the shelves. Why. Was. He. Like. This. “So, do you know what brand of chickpeas your... roommate wanted?”
/ / /
Finally, after another 45 minutes of shopping, they were ready to check out. James noticed the shift had changed while he was away. “Alright, so I can actually take you at this register over here, ‘cuz I’m still logged in and all.” He gulped as the customer began to load up onto the belt. This was... a lot of food. He’d scanned around a quarter when he officially ran out of room, turning to bagging instead. “Let’s get you another cart, actually, so we can load into that without squishing what you haven’t unpacked yet.” He moved to go grab one, but the customer was faster, jogging back with another cart before he could even finish bagging all the protein shakes. There were, admittedly, a lot of protein shakes.
Scanning the meat-substitutes, James scanned his own mind for an avenue of conversation. “So, you mentioned that it’s your son who’s the vegetarian. How old is he?”
“He’s 13. It’s not religious or health-wise or anything, he just really loves animals. Our house is practically a zoo on a good day, and that’s not even counting all his siblings.”
“Oh, how many kids do you have?” It had to be a fair amount for it to be ‘all’ his siblings. The customer opened his mouth as if to answer, then shut it again. He seemed to be thinking. Did he... not know how many kids he had??
“Legally I have... fffffour? Five? Yeah... that sounds right.” James tried to hide the bewildered expression in his own face, but he must not have been doing it well. “That makes me sound like such a bad father. No, I promise, I love them all, I just have quite a few of their friends living with us as well, and I’ve known those kids long enough to feel like they’re my kids too. Not to mention the whole difference between the ones I’ve adopted, the one who was my ward who I then retroactively adopted, the one I’m fostering, and the one who is legally an emancipated minor. And... the one who. Is no longer with us.” James blinked. That was indeed complicated.
“You must have a lot of love in your heart,” he settled on, finally.
“I just h— Oh, #%*$.” The blueberry container had burst open, all over the floor. James internally groaned.
“Oh no! Sorry about that, that’s the third one tonight. The packaging is just... not great. Do you want me to go get you another one?”
“No, I can get it. Thanks though.” The customer gingerly stepped through the minefield as James power walked to go get the clean up supplies. Six feet away, Batsy was screaming at a blueberry.
“Eat your heart out, Mister Miyagi,” he aimed a light roundhouse kick at the button to reboot the robot. Batsy got two feet before it encountered another world-ending-threat, danger level blueberry. James sighed and went to go clear that area first.
/ / /
Finally, almost everything was scanned. James was scanning the bread and rolls as the customer fit all the bags into the two carts, like an expert game of tetris. There were a few hiccups where James had had to explain that you probably shouldn’t bag Raid with milk, or that it was a good idea to double bag heavy items, or that you should wait until the end to put the eggs in (and there were a lot of eggs. Gaston-levels of eggs. Probably to be expected with that many kids in the house. Hah. eggs-pected.) But by the end they were working like a well-oiled machine. James bagged the last item, hit the button to total it, and watched as the customer realized he forgot his deli items.
“I’m just gonna— gonna run and go get those real quick. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Can you fill out the charity question real quick though? Th...thanks.” The customer was gone before James could question him on the fact that he’d used the custom amount option to apparently donate $1k to Gotham General’s children’s ward. It was... probably a mistake, but he’d wait around to check. He turned as he heard the beginnings of a commotion behind him, from the one other customer in the store. This guy’s whole aesthetic just screamed gross, from the white-boy dreads to the Blue Lives Matter gaiter mask. It looked as if he was having trouble at self-checkout. James was about to head over to help when his coworker passed him. He turned back to keep an eye on the clock. 10 minutes until closing. Please come back with the deli items soon. He heard an aggressive murmuring that sent chills up his spine, a distinct feeling of Not Right Bad. He turned back to where his coworker was engaged with helping the other customer. His coworker who was... very pale. Frightened. The customer whose hand glinted silver with... oh #%*$, that’s a knife. Not Good Very Bad... oh hell no, you are not hurting my coworker on my watch.
“HEY #%$&FACE, EAT BEANS!” As the aggressive customer turned to meet the container of garbanzo beans that was currently hurtling towards his face at the maximum speed a theatre-kid-who-never-did-sports could throw, the world seemed to throw down. Faintly, James could hear rational thoughts pounding at the door to his mind, begging to be let in. Thoughts like ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for attacking a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for cursing in front of a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for damaging the merchandise’ and ‘You can’t even throw a ball to save your life, there’s no way that’s going to hit him.’ Praying to Freddie Mercury, Elton John, and all other things holy, James watched as the beans sailed through the air and struck their target true— albeit a little lower than planned.”
Grossface automatically brought his hands down to protect his nethers, apparently forgetting that their was a knife in his hands. He let out a second agonized howl as he stabbed himself in the balls. Blindly, James groped around for more ammunition. Holding out a zucchini as threateningly as he could, he watched as the would-be aggressor ran out of the store as fast as he could with both hands clasping his junk. “Are you okay?” He asked his coworker, feeling his voice echo through the suddenly very-quiet-sounding store. She nodded mutely. He nodded back, then turned back to his register and oH shit there’s His Customer, holding the deli items.
“Nice shot.” Okay, this time he definitely sounded amused.
“I... am so sorry about the beans, I can get you a refund on those or I can go get you some more or—”
“No need, they definitely went to a good cause.” The customer grinned and held out the deli items. Faintly, James began to wrestle with the bag to get to the barcodes. Finally, everything was scanned, for good.
“Alright, will that be everything?” The clock read two minutes until closing.
“Yes, that should be everything. Again, thank you for all your help.” James watched as even with the membership points taken off, the total soared to over $750.
“Alright, your total is... $754.33, here’s some coupons and a survey slip. If you fill that out you get entered for a drawing to win a $500 gift card. Which... I don’t know that you’d need, but. Why not.” The customer reached into his wallet and counted out 5 $100 bills. Then he pulled out a black card. He paid off the total with the card, then handed the bills to James.
“Here you go, I wasn’t sure how much you tip cashiers.” James opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish.
“People don’t normally... tip cashiers...” and especially not HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS.
“Oh. Well, you were a good cashier. You deserve it. And here—” at this he pulled a crisp business card out of his wallet. “At Wayne Enterprises we could use quick-thinkers like you.” Pulling down his sunglasses, he gave a quick wink. James waved absentmindedly as BRUCE #%*$ING WAYNE walked out of the store. He looked down at the business card. Written upon it were the words: “Call here for an interview, mention Malone and they’ll know I sent you. Best of luck with the current job— BW”
James sat down. The clock was 10 minutes past closing before he remembered to look at it. There were a million thoughts running through his head. Oh my god I joked around to a billionaire. I cursed in front of a billionaire. I chucked a can of beans into a man’s nutsack in front of a billionaire.
But oddly enough, the only question that remained at the top of his mind was this:
This is because I have black hair and blue eyes, isn’t it.
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