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chickenparm · 2 years

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Tradition - Part Four

Check out @drawlypsy's full version of the header that can be found here!

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

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Childe/f!Reader 3,320 Words - SFW Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, future parts will be NSFW

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There’s a distinct feeling in the air of something about to happen.

Paimon doesn’t feel it - granted, this early in the morning she doesn’t feel much of anything beyond a grumbling stomach and a palpable frustration at the amount of time it takes you to crawl out of bed. At least in Liyue, there are plenty of places for her to take your mora and run your pockets dry, with or without your consent.

But at the very least, you’re able to find enough energy after a sleepless night to get yourself dressed and amble after the smattering of stars and constellations she leaves in her wake. Wanmin would be the usual goal, if not for the distinct figure of Zhongli just outside your temporary lodgings in the city.

If not for the way his amber eyes flicker to you rather than the people that pass by, you’d almost assume he didn’t notice your arrival. But he has no business here, and you’re certain he’s simply been waiting patiently for you to make an appearance. There’s a rigidity to his shoulders as he stands, arms folded to the point of seeming closed off to the world around him.

At your greeting, he seems to bloom in front of you. A tentative smile that grows more at home on his face each time you see it, the loosening of his tension as you step within speaking distance. Certainly, something is eating at him, and judging by the last time you’ve spoken to one another, you’re convinced you know what it is.

You’ll have to catch up with Paimon later, it seems.

“Traveler,” he raises a gloved hand in a casual greeting, far too uncharacteristic despite his recent attempts to acclimate to human social norms. It almost soothes the nerves that have been frayed since yesterday afternoon - but not quite. After a pause, he crumbles rather easily at your silence, “I wanted to make sure that things are… progressing as you want them to.”

Right. Things. There are a great many things that are in varying degrees of progress in your life currently, but only one sits at the forefront. Only one could be the thing that Zhongli references now. Unable to find a reason to stall, you simply shrug a shoulder and answer as best as you can. “Only the usual complaints.”

“And yet you look as if you haven’t slept.”

“Not too far off the mark.” Bitterness seeps into your tone, and Zhongli latches onto it with both hands, turning to give you his full attention. Silently he urges you to explain, and against your better judgment, you oblige. “I just made things awkward with him yesterday, that’s all.”

What you expect is to be grilled over such a statement. What you don’t expect is for Zhongli to press his palm between your shoulder blades and steer you in a direction that’s suspiciously similar to the one that Wangsheng Funeral Parlour sits in. A simple morning is turning out more complicated than you expect, but despite his archaic habit of meandering through topics at a pace that suits only himself, you often leave his discussions with a clearer head than you enter.

With that reassurance, you don’t fight it when he brings you inside, nor when he seats you at the table you’ve previously seen Hu Tao using while cajoling grieving widows over the quality of coffins. The building is blissfully empty, at least from what you can ascertain, and that alone is what lets you slump against the table until your forehead presses against the lacquered wood.

Zhongli, ever the gracious host despite using Hu Tao’s supplies meant for customers, sets to work brewing a pot of tea. He allows you ample time to wallow in yourself as he works, and even as he sets a cup in front of you and takes his seat on the other side, he lets you stew as he warms his fingers around ceramic.

But his patience has its limits, even if it’s drawn directly from unchanging Geo, and he finally sets his cup down and asks, “What have you done?”

And with words muffled due to your position, you explain how exactly you’d taken something that had seemed promising, despite its unorthodox and frustrating origins, and flipped it into something ill-fitting and awkward. The thought of seeing Childe at any point today makes your stomach twist to the point of nausea. Hu Tao wouldn’t mind it too terribly if you hide away in the Funeral Parlour all day, surely.

“So allow me to recount this.” Zhongli pauses, waiting for your objection that never comes. When you nod your head, forehead squeaking against the smooth surface of the table, he lets out a huff of laughter that barely registers to your ears. But the meaning of his words do. “Childe pushed at a boundary again, one that anyone should assume is there, and you reminded him of it. And you assume that by asserting your need for gradual progression, you’ve ruined everything?”

“Well when you put it like that-”

“That’s precisely why I have. Remember how this started? Deception and miscommunication. If anything, I think you’ve done exactly what you needed to. If affirming that you’re uncomfortable with his methods is enough to ruin this, as you claim, then is that not playing to your own advantage?”

Lifting your head, wincing at the way your skin sticks to the table as if you’d begun to meld into it, you look at him with no small measure of suspicion. “What are you getting at?”

“I’ve taken the time to think about your situation. While he’s been antagonistic in the past, Childe is by no means malicious. If you truly made it known that you find the entire affair distasteful to the point of him being unable to ignore it, surely he would lose interest and dissolve it?”

Hope blooms in your chest - all-consuming and filling every available space you have until your breaths cease for a moment. Zhongli takes a moment to sip at his tea, letting you mull over his suggestion, and you take the opportunity to really take stock of yourself.

It’s not hope at all. It’s aversion that grips you, an unwillingness to think of being so callous toward Childe. All you can see with every blink of your eyes is the expression on his face that’s been burned into your thoughts as a result of an endless night of overthinking. That closed-off tightness in his gaze as you’d pointedly told him not to refer to you as his great love, to not saddle you with the responsibility of holding his heart with both hands and trust you to protect it blindly.

To turn him away would only force you to see that same expression repeatedly, varying degrees of heartbreak painting his features as you let him down over and over. Despite the route he took to get you here, the mere suggestion that you extract yourself from this situation so indelicately makes something shift in your expression to the point of Zhongli’s notice.

“That answers that, then.” A rumbling little chuckle leaves him, accompanied by the disbelieving shake of his head. “If you don’t find yourself wanting out, then what’s stopping you from letting him in?”

And it takes you until the teapot is empty and Zhongli is politely suggesting he has other places to be today that you come up with the answer.

Nothing at all.

—

Despite how you separated the day before, Childe upheld his suggestion that he would come find you. It wasn’t immediate; you had plenty of time to pick up commissions and make your way out of the city on your own. In fact, it isn’t until you’re knee-deep in Qingxu Pool, rinsing the blood of Hilichurls off your hands that a greeting rings out from across the water.

There’s no mistaking that shade of ginger, but even if you were to make the attempt to attribute a different identity to him, he cleanly sweeps it away as he steps out onto the water. Then another, and another until he’s crossing over the surface at a steady jog, the hydro vision at his waist glowing with its use.

“You’re not easy to find, you know.” The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he does a good enough job faking it that you almost miss the way he disguises his true feelings. As you flick your hands toward the surface, letting droplets hit the water, his eyes follow the movement. Only then does he notice the wisps of red that surround you, rippling as you shift from one foot to the other nervously.

Rather than let him come to the wrong conclusion, you explain, “It’s not mine. Just cleaning up.”

And all at once, he relaxes so much that his control of the water beneath his feet nearly falters. With a wobble, he rights himself, then laughs with a flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. “Wanna get out of here?”

And with his hand held out to you, fingers outstretched and beckoning you to accept, how could you deny him? The leather of his glove is smooth against your palm as you take what he’s so kindly giving you, fingers lacing rather easily as he ushers you into stepping up onto the surface with him. It’s stable under your bare feet, with only a little give as if you were walking across a plush carpet.

While there had been distance before, it’s been shortened to the point of intimacy. Childe keeps you close even as he rotates around you, taking little backward steps toward where your belongings sit on the shoreline. Inexplicably, the world seems to lose a little of its vibrancy with your distraction as you blindly follow him. All the color, all the light, every particle that makes up Teyvat seems wholly focused toward the man in front of you.

Just like the world itself, so too are you only focused on the ten freckles you’d counted before, and how many more you can add to that number before you reach the grass.

A shy little smile spreads on his lips, finally creeping into his eyes, giving them the light that is so often missing. Perhaps that’s what is stealing the lush color from around you; a supernatural draw on the world around him to pull back the veil he clings to so tightly. All that energy must be needed to make him feel something so strong - and that honest happiness is directed at you.

In this single moment in time, standing atop the pools and allowing him to lead you wherever he could possibly desire, you can’t shake the feeling that only two people exist in this little world he’s inadvertently created for you. There is no space for anyone else, not while you’re so consumed with the way his nose crinkles at the bridge with his smile, the afternoon light reflecting off the pale skin of his collarbone.

Childe is a sight to behold, one that only you have been allowed to see.

And as quickly as it forms, so too does it fade into wisps as your feet touch solid ground and Childe slips his hand from your own. Unable to mourn the loss when he still exists with you right now, you instead fondly tuck away that memory to keep close.

With an uncertain future ahead of you, perhaps you’ll need it sooner than you hope.

Rather than putting your shoes back on, the two of you instead settle in the grass to let yourself dry off and simply rest. With your legs outstretched and your hands propped behind you, the world regains its color as the sun beats down on the greenery that surrounds Qingxu Pool. The sound of Hilichurls has long been silenced thanks to your completion of the commission, and all that remains is the gentle sound of Childe’s metal accessories knocking together in the slight breeze.

Mimicking your position, he sprawls out at your side and releases a pleased sigh. There’s no telling how long he’d been looking for you, and you hadn’t necessarily made it easy by fleeing the harbor. But inexplicably, he’d found his way to you nonetheless. Like a sixth sense, one that pulls him back to you even as you’d soundly pushed him away not so long ago.

Pressure on your hand pulls you from your thoughts, the sensation of his fingers creeping over your own as he pointedly looks up at passing clouds. The fall of his hair keeps you from seeing his expression, but the tip of his ear is pink enough for you to know he must be blushing.

It’s so sweet, so honest, that you’re unable to stop yourself from making the split-second decision to sit a little straighter, to reach for the hand he was trying to hold yours with. The sudden movement nearly makes him fall back, but he readjusts his weight and watches with something unreadable as you wrap his fingers with both of your hands.

With all your heart, you hope you look as earnest as you feel. A little concession like this might not be enough to convey exactly what you’re experiencing inside, but surely Childe would appreciate a small step forward rather than nothing at all. And that first step needs to be made in the form of an apology.

Squeezing his fingers, relishing how he seems to instinctively return the gesture, you do as you swore to yourself you would. “I was harsh to you yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“...Is that all?”

Those three words hit you hard, seeming to echo off the tall cliffs that surround the pool. Irritation at his flippant response begins to boil, and when your mouth opens to snap back with a remark, Childe seems to realize exactly what he’d said. Pushing himself to sit upward, turning to you until his knees bump against your thigh, he backtracks in a spectacular fashion.

“That’s not what I meant! I swear, that came out wrong. I just… I’m not mad about it. I needed a reality check, it just happened to be you that gave it to me.” His free hand raises, reaching toward you before pausing in the air between as if to wait for your permission. Giving in just a little more wouldn’t hurt, right?

Despite pushing at the boundary, he never really crossed it entirely. Perhaps you could trust him with a little give, the unspoken stipulation that being too greedy invites the consequence of slipping back even further. It’s a steep hill he’s climbing, but you don’t mind holding his hand to the very top.

The dip of your chin is what he seeks, and his fingers glide along the curve of your jaw and beneath your ear until he’s cradling you like something priceless. In his hand he holds something he regards as precious, giving you the exact amount of tenderness for you to melt between his fingers. With a quiet sigh, you lean into his hold, closing your eyes and enjoying how something so simple seemed to remove the weight of everything, just for a moment.

This little piece of nirvana can’t be broken by his words, only enhanced with the reverence he delivers them with. “I’m appreciative that you’re willing to give me a chance. You set the pace, I’ll follow wherever you take me.”

Turning a little, just until your lips brush against the heel of his palm, you ask, “Even if I want to take us back before any of this?”

Something flashes, maybe hurt or maybe acceptance, but he nods either way, hair falling into his eyes and shadowing whatever light might have been there. “It’ll hurt, but… if that’s what you want. Anything you want.”

Letting his hand go, you reach up with steady fingers to brush the stray hairs from his eyes and tuck them to the side along with the other unruly strands. Visibly, he shudders under your featherlight touch as it travels across his forehead, down his temple, to the swell of his cheek. Curling your gentle grasp beneath his chin, you pull him in to kiss just beneath his cheekbone.

The contact is so brief that you almost find yourself wondering if it happened at all, despite being the one to initiate it. Childe’s eyes are alight as he watches you pull away, dilated and wide, so very attentive. Not a single movement escapes his notice, not even the way your breath shakes as you inhale and finally concede, “You still haven’t used your one chance up.”

Visibly, the weight that’s been holding him down rolls off his shoulders. Sitting up straight, he blindly grabs both your hands in his own and gets to his feet with a little less grace than usual. Your affirmation of this potentially working out is enough of a chance for him, it seems. Brighter than the sun above, he asks, “Have you ever been ice-skating?”

“Yes, a long time ago.” Your answer comes before you can think better of it. But he doesn’t prod like you expect him to. Once, not so long ago, he’d asked if you’ve ever been to Snezhnaya, and your answer had been negative. There are very few other places in Teyvat that would allow for an activity like that, none of which you’ve been to either.

No, gliding across ice was something done in the distant past, on a world blanketed in snow so thick that roads were tunneled through an infinite number of layers. The only hand that held yours as you learned how to glide across the ice was that of your twin, clutching you tight so neither would fall.

“This should be easy for you then.” The grass sweeps against your calves as he guides you back to the water, the subtle glow of his vision on his hip not quite enough to hold your attention for very long. His hand is so warm, even through the gloves he wears, and even the water isn’t enough to cool you down as he performs his little water walking trick again.

“Right, so,” something in him feels revived, alive with excitement as he gives you a wider smile than he ever has before, “it’s the same principle. I won’t let you fall, so don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Maybe you say that a bit too quickly, but it’s the truth. Childe doesn’t seem to know that, nor does he tease you for it like you expect. Today has been a series of subverting your expectations on all fronts, and it’s with little surprise that you realize he’s going to be no exception to that phenomena.

Mimicking his movements, calling back to when you had once worn blades on your feet rather than skin-to-water, you let him pull you along with his hand. Faster and faster, until the world seems to blur past. And he’s laughing, bright and joyous, loud enough that you can hear him over the wind rushing in your ears as you try to keep your pace.

Like he’s done this a thousand times before, he maneuvers you with ease to a slow glide that feels almost natural. The slower speed lets you focus more on him as he muses openly, “I travel like this quite often when it’s just me working. But it’s more fun with two, I’d say. You’re a pretty sight when you’re laughing.”

Oh, you suppose you had been matching his happiness quite easily. Your cheeks hurt from the exertion of it all, and you wonder about the exact moment you’d started. The memories seem distorted and muddled from the rush of excitement, and that’s reason enough for you to accept it doesn’t really matter.

Whether you started out this way, or he encouraged it out of you, the result is just as sweet.

#childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #reader insert #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #tradition

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mywifeleftme · 8 months

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274: Nap Eyes // Whine of the Mystic

Whine of the Mystic Nap Eyes 2014, Plastic Factory (Bandcamp)

Can’t speak to the sound on the original 2014 pressing of this guy from Plastic Factory Records, but the 2015 Paradise of Bachelors/You’ve Changed edition sounds pretty revelatory to me—kudos to the folks at the plant, and to Mike Wright and Peter Woodford for the mixing and mastering. Talk about Nap Eyes tends to quickly descend into the Nigel Chapman show—the vocalist’s laconic cadences and ambling lyricism offer plenty of grist for a critic to chew on, but here on the LP the rhythm section is mixed loud and way up front so that the insistent throb of Josh Salter’s bass becomes as difficult to ignore as the pounding of your own pulse in your ears when you’ve run too hard. Whine of the Mystic was recorded at Drones Club in Montreal back in 2013, which is basically just a none-too-large loft apartment in my current neighbourhood where they do raves sometimes, and the record sounds just like listening to the boys play while wearing good custom-fitted ear plugs. That rawness does a band who can flirt with a nutritious beigeness a lot of good—the guitars singe and flare, the amps sizzle, and the feeling of this band as a slack psych live force comes through.

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I’ve been a huge fan of Nap Eyes since I caught them in Ottawa back in 2014, and people generally dig them when I recommend the record (with the exception of my pal Meghan, who despises them with the grumpy exhaustion that comes of seeing a band you don’t like constantly opening for bands you do). As such, Whine of the Mystic has been with me through a lot—the best songs (like “Dark Creedence,” and the last four) make a shimmering soundtrack to existential hangovers; walking toward some workaday Calvary in the rain; handrolling cigarettes badly; pining for girls if only to keep in practice; not getting a master’s; being 27 as hell for many years. It’s full of little touches that still delight me, like when they kinda morph into the Proclaimers for a bridge on “The Night of the First Show,” or the way the raincloud pacing of “Dreaming Solo” finally cracks open into the most amiable outro jam imaginable.

Giving your record a punny name is a risky choice, and as a phrase Whine of the Mystic skirts the edge of dorkiness. But in the end, I come down on it as an apt synopsis of the album’s charms. Chapman’s plaints linger on the humdrum, yet they paint the experience as intoxicating, Halifax as the backdrop for an ancient mystery cycle that repeats itself wherever life’s taking place. It brings to mind an exchange from Louis Malle’s The Fire Within, a superficially dull but emotionally feverish movie I haven’t thought of in ten years. The main character, a suicidal alcoholic who feels drained by what he perceives as the world’s absence of meaning, talks to an old friend, who has settled into a steady life as an academic and a husband. I don’t remember much of what they talk about, besides this:

Alain Leroy: Dubourg, what will you do tonight? Dubourg: Tonight, I'll write a few pages on my Egyptians, then make love to Fanny. I fall into her silence as into a well. At the bottom is a great sun that warms the earth.

All life is quotidian, but the primal and transcendent lies within that quotidian life, if you can truly immerse yourself within your own. Good luck.

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274/365

#nap eyes #monomyth #'10s music #canadian music #indie rock #jangle pop #indie psych #nigel chapman #music review #vinyl record #halifax #halifax music #nova scotia #nova scotia music

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shivunin · 1 year

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HELLO AGAIN!!! for the wip ask game: 🌤️

Wellll, Zen, since it's you c: Here is something not-Dragon-Age for once.

(wip ask game)

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

The door to the room slid open while she was still considering the pile of objects on the far side of the room.

“Shepard,” Garrus said.

“Garrus,” Shepard said.

She tried to be casual. Tried to be like she had been, before. It was hard when he was one of two people she actually trusted here, but she tried.

“The thing about this place,” he drawled, ambling past, “is you actually need to touch the weights to lift them. You know, use your muscles and all.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, crossing her arms and cocking her head.

This was an easy one—she’d had to push hard to do it before she’d gotten the amp, back when she was still a street kid. Now, it was cake.

One of the weights lit with blue, floating gently above the rack. Garrus had been reaching for it before—it was one of a set shaped for turian hands—but now he dropped his arm and turned to shoot her a sardonic look.

“Well, would you look at that,” she said, deadpan. “No hands.”

“Shepard, you have biotics?” he said, equally deadpan. “I never would have known. You keep it so quiet.”

#sorry this isn't a mass effect blog lol but this is what i just finished #in the sense that i thought it was done but now i have a great idea and it's going to be a few chapters instead #but well here we are #not dragon age #the banter still needs a little refinement but it's one of my favorite things of theirs #(banter in general not specifically this banter)#shivunin scrivening #ask response #ask game response

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invisibleraven · 2 years

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Late Last Night

Luke can't sleep, so he goes for a walk, ending up in Los Feliz. Who he meets there will end up changing everything.

Honestly this idea came to me late last night and I've been pecking away at it all day. I dunno if it's going to go anywhere from here, but I thought I'd post it and see what the reaction was.

On AO3!

Luke held his breath as he eased open his window, praying it wouldn't creak and alert his mom that he was sneaking out.

Again.

They had already gotten into it once tonight and Luke wasn't eager for a rematch.

It's not that he hated his house or anything, he just needed to get out for a bit. He and sleep weren't on speaking terms right now, and he found a walk usually calmed his restless mind.

Slipping through the window, he made a soft thud on the ground, and he stilled, not hearing anything but his own shallow breathing and the vague late night traffic that never seemed to stop in LA. Not even in his sleepy little suburb. And nothing ever happened there.

He felt a chill in the air, pulling his flannel tighter around himself as he ambled down the drive, looking back only once to ensure his house remained quiet, dark, and still. It remained solitary so he continued on. The neighborhood had an eerie quality to it this late... Or was it early? Luke figured he was just one owl hoot away from being the atmospheric start of a slasher film.

He kept walking, enjoying the quiet of the world, though his brain was still going a mile a minute. What he needed to do was write, get his thoughts down on paper in some form so they would plague him no longer.

His travels brought him to Los Feliz, and as he walked by the picturesque houses, and he stopped when he noticed light coming down the driveway of one. Through a dense in line of vegetation, he could see a spacious garage, and light coming from within, accompanied by soft piano music.

Lured by the siren song of another night owl musician such as himself, he took cautious steps towards the sound. The door was open a crack, and he peered in. He could see guitars hung on the walls, amps and mics in a pile by the stairs, and the centrepiece of the room, a grand piano.

Sitting there with a glimpse of a smile on her face was a middle aged Latina woman, a long head of dark curls streaked with silver, traipsing down her back. She looked up at him and he saw her sparkling brown eyes, drawing him in. "Hello mijo, what brings you out at this time of the night?"

Luke took a cautious step in, amazed that she was still shredding the complicated piece on the piano while talking to him. "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk, ended up here. Then I heard you play..."

"A fellow music lover I take it?"

Luke bit back a smile as he got closer to the piano and her. "Yeah. Me and my friends are in a band called Sunset Curve. We're pretty good."

"Show me then," she said, waving to a guitar on the wall. "Play me something."

Luke pulled out his phone, "I mean, I have our demo right here if you wanna hear it."

The woman nodded to the guitar again and Luke bit off a smile before taking it down. The instrument was still in tune, the strings giving a satisfying twang as he struck them. He picked out the melody he had been working on, a haunting ballad about a late night together, sharing everything two people could. But then it ended, as the sun rose in the sky, a new beginning bringing about an ending.

When the last chord rang through the air, Luke's breathing was heavy as he glanced up at the woman who looked stunned before erupting in rapturous applause. "I think you're more than pretty good there mijo."

"Thanks," Luke said with a blush. "Did you write the piece you were playing earlier?"

She laughed. "Oh no, that was Mozart. But I'll give you a Rose Molina original if you want." She then played a soft lilting piece, then transitioning to a harder rock style, her voice raspy and sweet, her accent coming out more as she belted.

Luke let a cheer as she finished. "Wow... That was incredible!"

Rose ducked her head, her hair obscuring her face a little. "Thanks... What's your name sweetheart?"

"My name's Luke."

Rose smiled. "Well Luke, as fun as this has been, it's well past my bedtime, so I can't imagine how long ago yours was. How about you head home, try and get some rest?"

Luke rubbed the back of his head, blushing. "Yeah, you're probably right." He made his way towards the door. "Thanks for letting me hang and play for a bit Ms. Molina."

"Rose," she insisted. "Come back any time Luke, feel free to make as much music as you want here. In fact..." she paused then, thinking, then lit up with a smile. "My daughter, Julie, she's about your age. I think she'd love to hear your music. Just don't tell her I said that or else it'll become some lame band her mom likes."

"Well then, I'll be sure to come back," Luke assured her. "Maybe not in the middle of the night though." They both laughed at that, and Luke waved before exiting the studio, turning back at the end of the drive, only to see it dark and lonely. Rose must have booted it to bed once he left, so Luke shrugged and went on his way once more, finding sleep came much easier this time.

The next day after school, Luke found himself walking the familiar path once more, stopping at the top of the drive. Only this time, the music was halting, mixed with curses and tears. Luke approached cautiously, not being a huge fan of girls crying; he always felt so useless because he was never sure how to help them. A charming smile and offer of a song usually didn't go well in those instances.

He knocked gently on the door to the studio, though it swung open against his fist. There was a girl there, swiping tears away from her eyes and looking up at him in embarrassment. Luke could see this must be Julie right away, she looked so much like her mom. "Sorry, it's just... I was passing by, and I heard music, and then crying... are you okay?"

Julie sniffled and have him a weak facsimile of a smile. "I'm alright. I was just trying to play and I can't. It's like I'm stuck."

"You wanna duet?" Luke offered. "Might help unstick you. Or I could call the rest of my band, we could jam together and you can join or not, less pressure that way."

"Yeah, that'd be nice. I'm Julie by the way."

"Luke. Lemme call the guys, they'll load up the van and be here in a jiffy."

The minutes between the phone call and the van pulling up were long and awkward, Luke and Julie filling it with idle chit-chat. Thankfully Reggie all but burst into the studio, a beaming bolt of sunshine that burnt away the air of gloom that had been permeating the space. He all but bounced over to Julie, and she gave him a much more genuine smile than she was able to muster earlier.

Bobby and Alex followed behind, lugging the gear and grumbling at Reggie about helping, but were cordial enough to Julie. Set up was quick, and soon Sunset Curve was playing a concert with an audience of one.

Julie grinned wide at them, bobbing her head and then getting up to dance as they played, and when Luke offered her the mic to sing along, she snatched it up, belting the words. The music almost faltered as she began to sing, Luke exchanging glanced with his boys.

Was this girl for real?

Her voice was gorgeous, hitting every note with ease, sounding angelic and devastating all at once. She elevated their sound and Luke felt his heart give a little skip as Julie sang at him, showing the gap in her teeth. Followed her with his eyes as she twirled around Reggie, the bassist blushing as she granted him attention, and Luke was tempted to drift over to join them as they sang the bridge together.

Alex shimmied in his stool as Julie rocked out in front of him, adding in a drum frill that Luke honestly loved. Bobby was a bit too cool to give her any more than a wry grin, but when her back was turned he sent Luke a look that clearly read 'holy shit dude'.

Luke knew now why Rose told him to seek out Julie. Her talent deserved to be heard, and all she needed was someone to elevate her. He wondered what she would say if he asked her to join the band.

Finally the song ended, all of them smiling and breathing heavy. Julie looked at them all, "Thank you for that really. It's just what I needed. Thank goodness you happened to be walking by when you were Luke."

Luke bit off an impish smile, and blushed. "It wasn't all me honestly. You can thank your mom, she's the one who told me you would like our sound."

Julie froze at that, turning to Luke. "That's not funny."

"I-it wasn't meant to be?" Luke stammered.

Julie turned to Luke, hands on her hips, and her next words turned the blood in Luke's veins to ice. "Luke, my mother died a year ago today."

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #julie and the phantoms

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kingscyrus · 1 year

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♛with @lunaferrous

The day felt off, a tingling in his soul as if a warning bell was going off. He couldn't put his finger on the sensation, yet it seemed familiar to previous situations he found himself in... could be compared to déjà vu. When was the last time an attempt on his life was acted out? Perhaps a few years ago or so, and this itself felt the same. He'd never understand those who harbor so much evil they wish to crush a blooming flower whose purpose is to bring beauty & vibrance, only to wither at the hands of evil. Cyrus strolled with worry in the back of his head, body tense and alert for any unexpected occurrence. At first, he summed that perhaps it was stress that was starting to wear and tear on his body, so taking a step out of the castle was a possible solution to this dreaded emotion. Yet, upon ambling through the royal garden, it only seemed to grow heavier. Colorful hues glanced around his surroundings, trying to spot odd behavior, people, or out-of-place objects, yet nothing screamed to him to investigate, all until a sudden sparkle caught his attention. Gleaming momentarily from the tower above, now that was out of place. An armored forearm raises in front of his face, hitting the sun perfectly to cause a reflection, hoping to disrupt whatever was staring him down from the high tower. Cyrus was always one to listen to his instincts, for his instincts are what has saved him countless times beforehand. Seeing the tight predicament he found himself in, the best course of action would be to find cover. The King amped up his pace, keeping mindful of retaining his forearm up and angled to ensure the shot or spell -- whatever it may be didn't get a perfect target on him, but not only that, he started to abruptly change his pace by stopping, resuming, moving side to side, anything to try and throw off the assailant. This movement was swift and clean, almost like he was dancing with death. One false move and it's over, or it would put him at a considerable disadvantage. If anyone had the balls to assassinate him, he was sure not to underestimate them; they had to be strong, and he was going to apprehend this figure that lingered in the shadows, one way or another. As he continued to strafe, he was getting closer to the entryway of the castle, which led out into the garden. A robust voice announced his concerns toward a few guards who hastily gathered and routed their destination toward the tower. Even if this gleam or darkened aura that shrouded the tower came to be nothing, it was in his best interest not to take any chances.

#main v. a kings journey #lunaferrous #hopefully this response was ok if you need me to fix anything or redo #please do let me know! ;w;

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feverinfeveroutfic · 2 years

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flowers for alexander | chapter thirteen

“You might want to wear these,” Florence told Francine.

It was about an hour before the show was about to start, and the two of them lingered in the back of the main room as if they were producers of the entire gig. Florence handed Francine a pair of earbuds for the sheer volume of noise that was about to take place before them. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she could be attending a show, much less a tour, while pregnant, but she was there on the floor with Francine and with their backs to the wall.

“I would think so, given it’s a room filled with metal and metal pipes,” she told her as she took the earbuds and tucked them into her ears, one after the other.

“It’s going to be a bit, though,” Florence told her.

“Huh?” Francine took the one in her left ear to better hear her.

“It’s going to be a bit before the show starts, though,” Florence repeated with a bit of a sneer. Francine chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just—I made a rookie mistake just now. You know me, sometimes it happens. Pobody’s nerfect.”

Florence sighed through her nose: the boys were all in the area behind the stage preparing for the show, and all the while, she couldn’t stop thinking about Alex out there on the grass with the flowers. She had to talk to him, if nothing else, find out what was on his mind with it all. There was no way that she could lay herself down before him and entice him in that fashion, but she could in fact communicate with him.

She glanced over at Francine and the inquisitive look upon her face as she gazed up to the high ceiling overhead.

“What’re you thinking about?” Florence asked her.

“Thinking of everything but nothing at the same time,” Francine replied; she lowered her head a bit, but she never moved her attention away from the pipes closest to the ceiling. Florence directed her gaze there as well: the outsides of the pipes themselves were smooth, as smooth as they were when she ascended up the ladder rungs for that examination. But she noticed an extra shadow near the very top, however, and something she had not initially seen before then.

“Do you see that anomaly up there?” Francine asked her in a low voice.

“I do, yeah,” Florence replied with a nod. “It’s like a little shadow up near the top of the pipe there, like there’s a bird or something up there.”

“I don’t think that’s a bird,” Francine told her with a shake of her head. She tucked that one earbud into her jean pocket, and she rolled up her sleeves. Florence watched her stride on over to the ladder, complete with her hands tucked into her own pockets and her expression quizzical. She peered up to the ceiling once again and the shadow never moved. She directed her gaze back down to the stage, and she spotted his tall, slim figure there at the far side, right before the stacked amplifier with his guitar slung over his shoulder. His black disheveled curls sprawled over his upper back and his shoulders, topped by a cluster of soft little plumes that seemed to glow under the bronze light from the metallic walls around him.

Florence sighed through her nose and ambled over to the steps on the side of the stage. They creaked under her weight, but she persisted up them to the very top. All the while, he kept his back turned to her: his black button-up shirt and black jeans both fit rather tight to his body, almost skin-tight, and it in turn accentuated the shape of his back and his hips. At one point, he gave his hair a slight flip with a flick of his head: he kept his eyes closed, so she could only see the full tip of his nose as well as the smooth prominence of his eyebrows and his forehead, the point of his chin, and the full shape of his lips. Florence kept on walking closer to him: he kept the volume on the amp down low but she could hear him plucking and strumming ever so lightly.

The times that she heard him jamming in the next room early in the morning or late at night, and he would keep everything on the down low in the meantime; but she nevertheless still heard him. Those long, lanky fingers with a death grip on that pick, and those metallic strings tight on his left fingers like little knives.

No pain, no gain.

She cleared her throat.

“Alex?” He never said anything. She spoke in a loud enough voice for him to hear her, and he kept it down low as well. It wasn’t like anyone couldn’t hear her: she glanced over to the right in time to find Francine ascending the ladder to those pipes. It was a fleeting thought, but Florence wondered if the other two ships had any problems on their ends as well.

She returned to Alex, who still kept his back to her: her eyes wandered down the middle of his back all the way down to his hips and his ass. She recalled the first time that she ran her hand down the seat of his pants and felt that soft flesh back there. Such a slender boy and yet he managed to feel nice and full in all the right places.

She cleared her throat again.

“Alex, may I talk to you?” she asked him. He stopped right then, and he slumped his shoulders a bit. She peered up to the ladder on the side of the stage once again, and she knew Francine was all the way up there. She returned to the back of Alex’s head, that long mane of flyaway black curls sprawled all around the upper part of his back.

He sighed, complete with a rise and fall of his shoulders. She needn’t be distracted by the shape of his body, especially since she was married to another man. But she moved in closer to him, close enough to where she could smell his cologne as it wafted off the sides of his neck and the lush curls of his hair. The feelings were still there after all, but she needn’t kindle the fire again.

He never moved a muscle. Florence moved in close enough to where she could lay her head against his back. She could see it on his face.

“Alex?” She lingered even closer to him, and he bowed his head and relaxed his fingers on the fretboard: even from behind, she could tell that he had that look, that look as if he had just done something bad.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him in a kind voice, and he shook his head.

“Nothing,” he quipped. Florence raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, Florence. I promise you.”

Her eyes ran down the curvature of his back. She wondered about Eric right then, and if he could hear anything from there. Her feelings in check, she finally reached up and lay a hand on his left shoulder, the one without the guitar strap. He never moved right then.

“Alexander Nathan Skolnick, I know you,” she told him. “When there’s something wrong, you acknowledge it, not run from it. What’s wrong?”

She noticed that he was breathing harder. He swallowed, and he finally turned around to face her.

His bottom lip trembled as if he was about to burst into tears right there before her. He inched back from her as though he was bracing himself for the absolute worst from her, but she merely stood before him with her hands pressed onto her hips. Her belly only carried a slight shape to it, but she took a glance down nevertheless. She could see it in his eyes, and she could sense it even if she only looked on at him rather than feeling him up from the inside.

“Florence!”

She whirled around to find Francine, Eric, and Zetro right by the doorway off to the left. She then returned to Alex.

“I’ll be back,” she promised, and she ducked on over to them: though she had a way to go before she showed any more, she still kept a hand clasped onto her belly. Florence made her way down the steps again and rounded the base of the stage to meet up with them: Zetro’s frizzy dark hair seemed to glow against the incoming twilight outside of there. As she came closer, Florence wondered as to how Francine made her way back down from the ladder so fast, but it was nothing to fixate on, especially as Eric moved in closer to her. The presence of his body there next to her allowed her to forget about Alex: the embers succumbed to the real fire that she felt with her husband.

“Exodus’ ship broke a pipe,” Zetro explained in that slightly gravelly voice. “You’re kind of the only mechanic we have around here.”

“Oh, shit, really? How bad is it?”

“One of the joints popped open and there’s steam trickling out,” Eric explained as he put his arm around her.

“Trickling out, so it’s not that bad,” Florence followed along. “Okay, uh… we can switch off the water really quick and gimme a socket wrench. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“I’ll see if Gary and I can find the main valve,” Zetro said, and he ducked out of there and back outside. Francine turned to her and Eric.

“Not even going to ask how you got down so fast,” Florence remarked.

“Magic powers,” Eric told her, and she chuckled at that.

“I’ll tell you later,” Francine promised, and she ducked out after Zetro to fetch a socket wrench. Florence and Eric were alone there in the doorway: Alex stayed back on the stage with that guitar over his shoulder, but he seemed in no urgency whatsoever to do anything else. Florence set her hand on her belly, to which Eric brought his gaze down to there.

“Nathalie,” he spoke out of the blue.

“Nathalie?” Florence echoed him.

“If we have a daughter, let’s name her Nathalie,” he told her. “I dunno, I just… I feel it in my bones. We’re having a girl and she’ll be named Nathalie. Nathalie Lucille, after Lou. Nathalie Lucille Blackwood-Peterson.”

“What if it’s a boy?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“I’m feeling Stanley, after my middle name. Stanley Luciano.”

“You sure are dead-set on naming our little one after Lou,” she chuckled.

“He’s my best friend,” he said. “You know that.”

“Where’d Nathalie come from?” she asked him, to which he shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a thoughtful look in his face. “I just felt it in my bones.”

She leaned in closer to him, and he put his arm around the small of her back. She closed her eyes when Francine’s voice caught her attention again.

“Flo! Water’s switched off!”

“Okay, Frankie, I’ll be right there!” Florence called out the door.

“Want me to walk you there?” Eric offered her.

“Please.” She showed him a smile, and then she planted a little kiss on the side of his round face. The two of them stepped out of the doorway and onto the grass together with the waning golden light of the sunset at their backs.

Exodus’ ship had parked up right behind Testament’s airship, and they had only opened the big front door part of the way. If the steam only trickled out through a small break in the pipe, then, Florence figured, there was no reason for only keeping it open part of the way. But she and Eric rounded the far side of the ship for the easier way inside there, through a larger gap in the doorway that was big enough for the two of them to slide through without too much effort: drummer Tom, Gary, and Francine all stood there off to the side with a pair of long black leather gloves, a silvery metal clamp, and a long silvery socket wrench all respectively in their hands.

Florence stood there on the floor with her attention fixed on the parts of the pipes closest to the ceiling.

“It’s close to the floor,” Tom told her as he handed her the gloves. “There’s a little puddle on the floor..

“There’s also water running down the side there,” Gary added.

“You guys are acting like I’m about to disable a nuke,” Florence cracked as she snapped the gloves on over her hands, right followed by the left. “It can’t be that bad.” Gary handed her the clamp, and Francine handed her the wrench, but she stood still with her gaze fixed on the pipes.

“What’s the matter?” Eric asked her.

“No goggles?” she asked them.

“You said it couldn’t be that bad, though,” Gary pointed out.

“Yes, ‘couldn’t’,” Florence explained. “Doesn’t mean it is or will be.”

“Part of our training involves safety,” Francine told them.

“The water’s shut off and we’ve got about thirty minutes before showtime,” Tom reminded her. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Florence looked over at Francine, who sighed through her nose and lingered closer to the wall. Nothing more to do than trust,

“Okay, but if a major leak happens, make sure I have goggles,” Florence declared. She peered back at Eric and locked eyes with him. She then leaned in closer to him for a kiss on the lips.

“Please be careful,” he whispered to her. Florence returned to the pipes before them, and she walked on over to them. Indeed, there was a bit of heat paired with a damp feeling in the air as she came closer to those pipes on the wall: she spotted the lines of water in the side right under the joint closest to her chest. She opened the clamp all the way, and she gripped it onto the brass joint and turned the screw until it was nice and tight.

She then opened the wrench and held it onto each nut on the joint. She pictured herself teaching her child how to do handy work such as that, especially since steam was quickly becoming a way of life at that point.

Florence triple-checked the nuts to ensure they were all nice and tight before she took off the clamp, and she doubled back to that massive front door.

“That was quick,” Tom remarked.

“Some of the nuts were loose,” she told them as she clasped the clamp and the wrench with both hands. “Kind of terrifying, if I’m honest, because each of these ships were made in junction with each other. If one’s faulty, I can imagine the other two have problems, too, and especially if we’re going to be making steep descents down to the ground often, too.”

“Well, damn,” Gary said with a folding of his arms over his chest. “What do you think we should do?”

“I can do a quick rundown of all three right now,” she suggested. “Check out Death Angel’s ship, and then Testament’s. It’ll only take about ten minutes, maybe.”

“Yeah, definitely do it,” Eric encouraged her.

“We’ll be waiting,” Tom promised her with a wink.

“Please be careful,” Francine beseeched with a stroke of her arm.

Florence bowed out of there, and she headed for Death Angel’s ship next door: those five boys were congregated out front and they watched her all the while. She grimaced at the thought of Andy being hit with a pillar of steam, that little nine-year-old boy being beaned by superheated water, and she checked the nuts there four times to ensure those boys would be safe. They applauded her when she was finished, and she headed back to Testament’s airship at the front.

The front part of the ship was wide open and empty as she examined those nuts on the pipes. She peered up to the ceiling again to that dark shadow: Francine probably never saw what was up there, and yet she promised Gary that she would be back in ten minutes flat.

She heard the clearing of his throat right behind her.

“I still love you,” he whispered right into her ear. Florence turned her attention back to him, and he flashed her a little wink. She gazed back to the rest of the starboard before her, and then, once the coast was clear, she returned to him again.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he told her in a slightly louder voice, and she shook her head.

“Not even Eric?” she asked him in a hushed tone.

“Not even Eric.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, though,” she pointed out. “I don’t want to keep a secret from him. I don’t want to make the same mistakes as I did with you.”

“But you have to,” he insisted.

“No, Alex. I can’t. It’d be a betrayal of his trust. It’d be a betrayal to you, too.” She peered down at her belly. “And it’d be a betrayal to mine and Eric’s child, too. We can’t raise our son or daughter with a big secret like that looming in the background. Besides, I can’t stay here long—I promised Gary I’d be back to him in ten minutes, and it’s been five so far.

“But… I still love you,” he insisted in a small voice. “I still really love you. You can’t spare those five minutes, either?”

Florence frowned at him, complete with a knitting of her eyebrows at him. She inched closer to him and she rested her hands upon his slender shoulders for a light little massage.

“I don’t really know what to tell you, Alex,” she confessed in a near whisper. His full little lips, like plump ripe little cherries, pouted a bit at her. How she recalled the first time she kissed those lips, the way that he seemed to be flustered afterwards. She gazed into his eyes, blue and bright as the sky following a rainstorm, and as deep as the hole in the earth down below the ship.

The nuts on the pipes behind her were fine, and thus, she leaned in closer to him.

Her lips on his own. The feeling simmered low inside of her, the cold embers at the base of the fireplace the morning after, but they were still there. She could still feel them, and she knew that she would be on his mind for the entire evening. She held back and gazed on at his handsome face, slightly flustered from the feeling.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

“Yeah.”

“Keep it a secret?” he asked her.

“You know it, baby.” She tapped the full tip of his nose, to which he parted his lips and let out a low whistle from the feeling.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are,” he confessed, and he pressed his hands to his hips. Nothing could deny the rosy look to his face, though. Florence squinted her eyes at him, and he hastily ran his fingers through his black hair: the small plume of gray at the crown of his head showed itself at the roots all the while, and then those curls on top fell back down onto his head.

She chuckled at him.

“You’re so cute,” she told him in a low voice, and then she made her way out of there, still with the clamp and the wrench in hand. Even if she greeted Eric with a kiss, and even if he rewarded her with a myriad of kisses to confirm their love for an eternity, and even if he found his way out of there, she knew that she would always still taste him.

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mamamittens · 3 months

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Promises to Keep (Sneak Peek)

I'd like to put more words down before posting on AO3 for this new little fic. Yeah, lol, another pokemon fic. This one Sword/Shield into Scarlet/Violet.

Still workshopping some stuff and I'll hopefully finish a few other stories before posting, but we'll see. I'm terrible at keeping plot bunnies to myself.

Warnings: Pokemon violence against a child, blood, mentions of divorce and infidelity.

Feolette (Ten, Female): pronounced Fee-oh-let

Kladenet (Sixteen, Male): Kla-de-net

Word count: 1,667

Klad smiled as he pitched the tent just outside of Wyndon, certain that he’d be able to see the city itself if he traveled up the steep hill. But it was late and, frankly, they’d traveled quite fast as the reportedly weak blizzard began to pick up. He still had plenty of time to make it to the gym and register for the finals.

Ocara, his steadfast inteleon lingered near the cooking fire, not overly fond of the weather but keeping an eye out anyway. Slick, his low amp toxitricity ambling in the snow in feigned boredom near his sister. Madam, ever watchful hattrene she was, assisting in building a snowman fondly. Tweety preened her feathers with a regal menace only a corviknight could manage as snowflakes dusted her back.

His sister, Feolette, laughed. Bundled in a warm winter coat, bright red against the white snow. Fuzzy hat pulled over her long silvery hair. Tan skin flush from the cold as she sought Madam’s approval—not that she was ever denied by any of his pokemon.

Truth be told, Klad… honestly resented her going with him at first. This was supposed to be his journey. Finally striking out from Postwick to see what he was made of. Not having his ten year old little sister following behind him. But given the frigid ass household they had left behind, he quickly set aside those feelings.

Their mom was trying hard enough to hold it together in the wake of her pending divorce. Klad’s exciting adventure would always be tainted by that—but at least now he’s gotten to share it all with his little Feo. It made the journey less… lonely. Constantly butting heads against Bede and Hop’s internal crisis. Whatever the hell was going on with Hammerlocke. With his sister, Klad had to be mindful of how hard he pushed himself on his journey. Resting often and letting his pokemon explore.

He could honestly say he wouldn’t be half as impressive if it hadn’t been for these unexpected detours. Taking both of their minds off of their dad.

His affair.

Total disconnect that had been growing for years now.

Klad huffed, turning back to his curry. One good meal and bonding before they braved the city and the constant eyes. Settle both of their nerves. And older lady pitched a tent nearby but she had turned in already, offering him her sides she ‘simply couldn’t possibly finish before they went to waste’. Her eyes lingering with fond delight over his little sister.

She knew who they were. Impossible not to given how he’d charged through every last gym with his own little shadow cheering him on. He never let her out of his sight without one of his pokemon to escort her around. Just to be safe, though she always had her rotom phone.

The wind picked up, sending a flurry of snow into his curry as he let it simmer just a little bit longer. The blizzard was mostly to the south of them, but the food would be ready in time for them to turn in for the night, warm and safe in the tent from the natural elements. His team would appreciate the meal before the finals too—

And then heard Feolette scream.

--*--

Gillian huffed, pulling her jacket closer. She’d dragged Cam out here to see if they could get some B-Roll and perhaps catch a few hopeful challengers on the way to Wyndon. But she underestimated how cold it would get as the blizzard rolled in. Still, it provided some lovely scenic shots to set the mood for any interviews. She settled on getting one last shot of the Wyndon glowing in the fading light before calling it a day. The top of the last hill a perfect vantage point.

Cam cursed, tugging on his gloves before steadying the camera on his shoulder and slowly panning across the horizon. Breath puffing out in thick, white clouds as he turned to the path behind them, down the steep slope where a few people slowly made their way to the city and out of the blizzard. A couple of tents visible by their lamplight despite the billowing snow.

“Oh, Gills, I think I see that kid! You know, uh, Kladenet? The one with a little sister traveling with him?” Cam called out softly. “Heh, looks like they’re bunkering down for the night—mmm, curry. Looks good.” He mused distractedly. Gillian smacked his shoulder.

“Then we’ll have to be out here first thing tomorrow to catch them before they get to Wyndon. It’ll be impossible to do an interview in the city with all the hype that kid’s been getting.” Gilliam noted, quite pleased. “That other kid—Champion Leon’s brother, Hop? He should be nearby too. They’ve been pretty close—ah, Miss Marnie too, though interviewing her is out of the question. Piers had her sign exclusives ahead of time.” It was a bit of a bummer, considering how all three—pardon, four—seemed to be close. Kladenet and Hop were understandable. They were practically neighbors. But Miss Marnie was a shock, the girl a bit standoffish and Team Yell… a very good deterrent for unwanted attention.

“Wait… is that?” Cam breathed out in horror. Gillian leaned over to see the preview screen as he looked through the viewfinder.

Her heart stopped as a fucking massive shape cut through the snowy sky. Swooping down with fury and landing right on top of a small, red shape. The camera lens struggling to focus as a child’s scream cut through the twilight sky.

“SHIT! CALL AN AMBULANCE!” Gillian shrieked, trembling as her rotom phone obediently dialed the number.

“Wyndon Emergency line, how may I—”

“A wild corviknight just attacked a kid—just outside of Wyndon. She’s going to need immediate assistance! O-Oh, Arceus—” Gillian watched through the shaking camera lens as the poor girl was given a brief reprieve, the corviknight lifting just enough for her to turn over.

It happened so fast—a feral pokemon cry ringing over the distance as the little girl sobbed, trying to protect herself. A thick, vicious burst of water slamming into the shiny corviknight as a noticeably smaller corviknight shoved it further back with sharp claws. Blood spraying across the snow from dirtied talons. The young man—just a boy aiming to be champion—ran over and pulled the flailing child to his chest. His voice all but lost to the wind, though the tone of worry carried regardless.

“Emergency services are on their way—is the wild pokemon being taken care of?” the alert service worker informed Gillian. Cam wrenched his camera away from the heartbreaking scene and watched as an entire champion-ready team harried the vicious bird pokemon. No escape in sight, nor mercy to be found.

“Y-Yeah… S-She’s sustained some sort of injury, we’re too far away to see what exactly, but she’s definitely losing a lot of blood.” Gillian turned towards the city and saw a specialty craft ambulance flying their way. Desperate, she waved towards them and signaled down the hill.

Trembling and feeling sick, she watched as they loaded the poor girl onto the cab, a lady from the other tent waving the boy away as he retrieved his victorious team and clambered in to join his sister.

All that was left was an overturned pot of curry, a weather safe tent for two, and a smear of blood in the snow. Splashed across the white and making Gillian feel… dirty.

“…Keep the footage for the police report. But only the police report.” Gillian whispered, shivering as Cam wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They both trembled. After a long moment, several adults who happened to be nearby cleaning up the sight for Kladenet’s return, they turned around to return to Wyndon city. Where they promptly gave their eye witness testimony to the chief officer Jenny.

She looked as disturbed as they were.

A shot of the pokemon was carefully edited to remove any trace of the girl, Feolette, and handed to the authorities to look into.

The area was a bit rough, high level pokemon quite common, but never had Gillian seen one go after someone like that. Especially one so big. It had scars all over, grooves deep in it’s steel body.

Unusually aggressive even for corviknights, it would need to be tracked and brought in for research. To ensure this was a quirk of the pokemon—to be so vicious—and not an underlying issue in the area.

“Thank you for bringing this in… as difficult as it must have been to witness it like that. Will you be seeking quotes to report on the incident?” Gillian hesitated.

People needed to know of the danger…

But the idea of breaking the news before even the kid’s parents could hear about it… and it wasn’t like she had any right or relationship to break that before Kladenet could.

“Sort of. I’ll keep the details vague. But people should be on the lookout for that pokemon.” Gillian finally relented. “At the very least, I’ll withhold anything more in depth until after the finals. No one is going to be listening to anything but that… and that poor kid… he doesn’t need people asking about his sister in the middle of his matches.” Gillian sighed, picturing it already. Less reputable reporters would chomp at the bit to have even a clip of him reacting to such questions.

Chief officer Jenny nodded, relieved and approving.

“Good call. Assuming he doesn’t drop out entirely.”

Gillian hadn’t thought about that.

She likely would under the circumstances.

But to come so far… and those pokemon. Yikes.

They’ll probably appreciate the opportunity to vent against strong opponents.

Either way, Gillian wouldn’t blame Kladenet one bit. Just goes to show that even champion-ready trainers need to keep an eye out for danger.

She just hoped it wasn’t the kid’s sister that paid the price for that lesson.

#pokemon fanfiction #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon oc #tw: pokemon violence #may change details later #sneak peek #wip #Promises to Keep

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writtenbydenim · 1 year

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@nanlanmo continued!

Jessica's hands are shaking. There's blood, sticky and turning dark, up her arms and her eyes are wide as she ambled into the main room of the dining hall from where she'd been hiding in the pantry. She'd heard Jacob's voice and at first, she'd thought it might've been a trick. The killer that'd murdered her roommate trying to bait her out of her hiding spot by sounding like Jacob, but that was insane. No more insane than the night they were all trapped in, but still. "I'm sorry--" She murmured, turning her attention up to Jacob's face, her bottom lip trembling as she allowed relief to wash through her. She wasn't alone.

"He--" Her voice cracked, "He killed Sarah right in front of me." The redhead had wanted to fight, had actually managed to pull her dying friend away from the killer for a brief moment before the other girl was tugged away from her. It was her blood that was smeared on Jessica's arms and clothes. "I didn't know what to do so I hid, I'm so sorry." Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as her breath hitched, "Why is this happenin'?!"

Jacob doesn't know what's happening; All he knows is that the camp has gone freakishly quiet. It was the weekend before camp, which the counselors always spent in preparation- though most of the time was spent partying, and enjoying the lack of responsibilities the outside world forced upon them. It was his home away from home, and suddenly he found that many of the people were missing. Some stupid prank amping up to its big crescendo he figures.

As he scanned her, taking in the scene he realized it was not just some sick prank. That the blood he'd seen on the docks was real, not some FX that one of the other counselors thought would make for a good stunt. "There.. was blood-" He shook his head. "Sarah's dead?" He repeats and the disbelief was apparent in his tone. "Fuck.. Uh.. We should get to the office." He states. In the office, there was a radio- if it hadn't already been sabatoged.

#nanlanmo #i. jessica hamby #m. jacob c.#v. slasher

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empatheticampersand · 5 years

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I think tonight was maybe the best night of my life. Quick exposition - I saw a musical that I was so enamoured with that I made some fanart that ended up reaching the writer/lead who invited me back to see it again, where I met the cast and was absolutely starstruck. But the thing that really pushed the whole thing to eleven was they were all calling me D’mitri, and dude, and man.

At the start of this year I was terrified that I’d be buried in a dress and they’d call me a sweet girl at my funeral. For the last four years I just wanted to survive and didn’t even think a future would be possible for me. I didn’t have a concept that I could ever be an adult man.

Things get better, they get so much better, you just have to wait and hold on.

#amp ambles #sorry for the long absence #I think I've found what I've been missing

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talkspriteedits · 7 years

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An Equidansprite fusion talksprite?

I... love him

Mod A

#homestuck #sprite edit #fusion #eridan #equius #Anonymous #Amp Ambles

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pxppinmolly-archived · 4 years

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I write and say Molly isn’t much different in her Overlord verse personality wise --

However.

That really depends on her company.

When Molly is dealing with her work she is much more cold and ruthless. She bares her fangs and will not hesitate to rip someones throat out. As mentioned she got where she was for a reason.

Molly had decades of pent up rage and the build up of intolerance toward everything she’s ever dealt and been given with and she finally let it loose and unleashed the potential she had.

Not only did her rage and carnage escalate, but truthfully, her other feelings of carnal desires rose. She does have a few close confidants that are rather on her hand and foot -- putting it simply honestly she has a few close simps that she definitely use for personal pleasure as WELL as business protection.

But, Molly still is ‘the same’ when dealing with certain people. She still holds a compassion and kindness, she’s still sweet and caring. That can never change from Molly. She still holds a big heart. But that heart is wielding a fucking knife.

Molly, as usual, uses her sweet and kind nature to make her seem rather unassuming. Sure, other people would know better, but it’s still something she always found useful. That isn’t to say either she isn’t sincere, because she is! But she refuses to show all her cards unless she has to put down her hand, if that makes sense.

#OOC #Don’t Be Fooled By The Pink She’s Not Playing Dolls (Overlord Verse)#Please Do Not Judge I Had A Lot To Drink (Headcanons)#im rambling kinda but im just #MOLLY IS STILL COMPASSIONATE IN THIS VERSE BUT SHE HAS A LOT OF #WRATH AND LUST IN HER CARNAL SINS AMPED KINDA UP #idk i just woke up a lil bit ago n to distract my spiraling i mjustr #ambling #KJS

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mysticofseven · 4 years

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Yoga and Meditation Classes in Ahmedabad

Mystic of Seven is one of the leading yoga and meditation institute/classes of both local and other parts of Gujarat. We are providing classes for more than 5 years. We are a well-known reputed institution and we have a large client base. Customer satisfaction is important with our services. Our expert professionals train you best way so you can get the best results. We have much experience and…

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heygerald · 2 years

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OLD HABITS DIE HARD - PART 5/8

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x oc

Storms totally fucking suck. But some people make them a little bit better.

Catch up here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / *bonus chapter* / part 4 / ... / *bonus chapter* / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / *say yes*

Wind and rain howled outside the window, smattering the tarmac with pools of puddles that the crew would have to avoid come morning if the storm really did last until then like the weather reports predicted. A few palm trees swayed in the distance, illuminated by a sparse shock of lightning every twenty minutes or so. Zoe imagined that the lawn would be extra green come sunrise. Though, knowing the California coast, it would burnt a golden brown before the weekend.

Before she would get to enjoy it.

The lamp in the corner flickered with a rumble of thunder.

She settled her head onto the couch cushion to eye it listlessly. It barely lit anything in the room up as is, and so part of her hoped that it would stay on just so she didn’t bang her shins when she finally convinced herself to get up off the couch, but part of her also selfishly wanted to be swathed in darkness so she could just sleep in the common room instead of her own bed.

Another shock of lightning, another rumble of thunder.

The lamp stayed on.

She sighed, settling deeper onto the couch cushions, eyes drifting over the memorabilia as if that would miraculously lull her to sleep. It was a pointless endeavor, she knew, but still better than admitting that she likely wouldn’t sleep at all tonight.

Zoe was too amped up to do much of anything other than stare at the ceiling in misery, wishing that the storm would pass before too long, hoping to forget about the upcoming mission but knowing that was an impossible ask given how close it was now.

Blerg.

She hated nights like this; when she was stuck with nothing but her thoughts.

As if hearing her silent cries, someone flicked on the overhead lights, startling her upright. She groaned and threw her arms over her face. Almost just as quickly the person realized that the room wasn’t empty, and shut them off.

“Oh, shit, sorry.”

Darkness swallowed them both whole, and with nothing but the dull corner lamp, Zoe had to squint to make out any features. She saw blonde hair, green eyes, and a square jawline; all she would recognize even in her sleep.

“Jake?” she asked.

“Oh,” he ambled a little closer, squinting down at her. “Zoe? What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the calming sounds of the roof being ripped off its hinges, obviously,” she quipped in a ragged, sleep deprived voice. The joke didn’t quite land like she had hoped it would, and Jake scrubbed a hand over his features as if trying to rid himself of his sleepiness. Clearing her throat, she frowned. “What are you doing? It’s, like, midnight.”

“It’s almost two am,” he gave her an odd look.

Not having expected that much time to have passed, Zoe glanced at the clock on the wall. Big, blurry red letters blinked down at her with something that felt awfully judgmental for an inanimate object. She sighed realizing he was right, before depressing back onto the stuffy couch cushion.

“Oh. I didn’t even realize that… what are you doing?”

Jake grunted. Not quite awake but not quite asleep either, and bumbled through the darkness towards the fridge. With an ineptness that she wasn’t used to seeing in him, he managed to hit his shin on the counter.

He cursed, hopping a little on his other foot, before opening the fridge.

“I was hungry,” he told her while blearily riffling through its contents. He was quick to pull out a water bottle and only after gulping down half of it, did his voice sound a little less sleep-ragged; smoother, like she was used to. “The storm woke me up. You want something?”

Her stomach twisted in knots. “No,” she told him wisely.

“There’s not anything in here, anyways,” he sighed, sounding eerily annoyed for having just woken up a few minutes earlier. Eventually, he settled on a bowl of grapes. Shutting the fridge, she could barely make out his bright eyes peering over across the room. They squinted a little, discerning, and she was suddenly happy for the darkness. “Have you slept at all yet, tonight?”

Zoe blushed, glancing out at the storm.

“Not really.”

“Oh... do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s just one of those nights, I guess.”

“Aw, c’mon, Buzz,” he said, sounding more and more like his flagrant, smug self with every minute that he was with her even though his voice still had that croaky twang to it from just waking up. He nudged her legs aside with the back of his hand before promptly plopping down onto the opposite end of the couch. Zoe didn’t even bother protest; just let him stretch out, socked feet bumping her bare knees, shoulders wiggling as he adjusted into a more comfortable position. “I know you better than you think. It’s two am and you sound exhausted. And, if I remember correctly, you like your sleep.”

“Who doesn’t like sleep?”

“You like your sleep like a mother bear likes its cubs. Aggressive enough that everyone knows not to get between you and your bed.”

“You sure do know how to flatter a girl, Seresin.”

There was a gleam of light that she figured was him rolling his eyes, before something bounced off of her forehead. Zoe plucked a grape out of her bra.

“Did you just chuck a grape at me?”

“No,” he said. Then did it again.

“Will you—stop!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he simpered, popping a handful of grapes into his mouth to punctuate the point. Zoe might have punched him if she had more energy, but being angry this early in the morning took more effort than was worth the outcome. So, instead, she rolled her eyes at him before eating the grapes she had in hand. Jake watched her for another moment before softly nudging her with his foot. “You can talk about it, if you want. That always helped back during school.”

It did.

And, in some ways, it didn’t.

Especially when she didn’t know who he was right now; didn’t know what sort of shoulder he was offering to be, if it was just a ploy to get into her pants or something more. They definitely weren’t enemies, and ever since he had apologized to her on the beach they had fallen back into old patterns from when they were friends. He would save her a seat at lunch, she would offer him some water after a hot run on the tarmac. There was laughing and jokes like there used to be, but there was also something that there didn’t used to be.

Side eyeing and gentle touches and, dare she say, almost intimate conversations where he actually seemed interested in what she had to say. But she definitely wouldn’t say that they were more than friends because he was still him and she was still her and Zoe wasn’t about to throw herself back into that situation just yet.

Not that there was a situation to begin with because Jake was quieter now, stared at her more, frowned a little bit tighter when she joked around with Rooster but he didn’t flirt or make sexual innuendoes or ask her to bed. So there wasn’t exactly anything to think about except the fact itself that she was thinking about him constantly.

Which left her feeling like her stomach was in her throat. Like she was dive bombing in her jet. Like she wanted to punch him just as much as she wanted to kiss him.

“You’re gonna get picked, you know,” he said quietly, mistaking her moment of overwhelming thoughts as hesitation. Zoe furrowed her brows at him all the same. He looked at his hands, fiddling with a stem of grapes, before continuing. “For the mission. You and Stitch are shoe-ins. I’d bet that you’re Mav’s first choice for a wingman on this thing.”

She shook her head, eyes darting to the window where she watched raindrops streak down the pane. “Phoenix and Bob did way better in the timed exercise this week.”

“He takes two teams.”

“There’s still Fanboy and Payback. They had a better record than us today.”

“Maybe,” Jake shrugged. He was wearing nothing but a loose fitting tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants, and if she didn’t know him better, she might have thought that he was the epitome of comfort right now. But his smile was small and his eyebrows were pinched in the middle. “But Payback can’t handle the G’s that it takes to climb the hill. He’s passed out once already. And Fanboy has been struggling with getting a lock on the target.”

“Hm,” she pulled her sweatshirt tighter around herself. “Maybe.”

“You will,” he reaffirmed.

It was nice to hear that he had so much confidence in her; maybe more confidence than she had in herself, and not wanting the moment to be unbalanced, she nudged him with her pink toes. “You’re gonna get picked too.”

For once in his life, Zoe would have described his smile as bashful.

“Maybe,” he said.

She smiled softly at him, liking the way that he was quiet and shy in the dark when there was no one else to see, but also not liking the way it felt so familiar to all those years ago. It had been easy to fall in love with Jake. So easy that she cursed herself for it in the time that followed, wondering why she hadn’t seen the red flag, why she hadn’t caught on, why she had been so stupid.

But here, now, she realized that she wasn’t stupid.

Jake Seresin was just someone that was easy to love, even when you knew that you shouldn’t.

Zoe turned away before she could think about it anymore, roving her gaze to the ceiling where she watched lightning streak across the shadows every couple minutes. Jake didn’t say anything else, either. In fact, he fell so silent and still that she thought he might have actually fallen back asleep. But, when she glanced at him, he was just munching on his grapes with a thoughtful look on his face.

She pulled a lip between her teeth, chewed on it, then started, “hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

A clap of thunder shook the entire building to the point that Zoe wondered if the foundation hadn’t splintered in two, and she jolted upright on the couch with a mangled squeal. Luckily, it wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the storm still raging outside, but the opposite end of the couch shook from Jake’s incredulous laughter.

“Jesus,” he wheezed. “What even was that noise?”

“Shut up,” she kicked him.

“No, seriously, is your throat alright? Because I know you’re scared of storms, but I think you might have just permanently damaged a vocal chord or something, Preston.”

“Oh, shove it,” she chucked a pillow at him. It hit his face with an indelicate thud, but did nothing to wipe the smile off of his features. Huffing, Zoe wrapped her arms around herself and tried to lie back down. Though, her gaze flickered to the window before she could stop herself when another flash of lightning peeled across the stormy sky. “I’m not scared of storms. I just… don’t, you know, enjoy them. No one does.”

“I don’t mind them.”

“No one with a brain then,” she harrumphed.

“I thought you liked the rain.”

“I do,” she said. Then, momentarily paused to glance at Jake. “How do you know that?”

“Seriously? Anytime it was raining back during training you always get this cute little smile on your face. You would drag me to sit with you outside on the porch so you could listen to it. I even went running with you one day during a fucking monsoon.”

“It wasn’t a monsoon,” she rolled her eyes.

“I had a cold for, like, a week.”

Zoe frowned, considering the memory. “I forgot about that.”

Really, what she meant was, she was surprised that he had remembered that in the first place. Or the fact that she liked listening to the rain. Their relationship hadn’t ended well, and Zoe had done everything she could in her power to forget about the days they spent talking to one another about nothing, wrapped up in bed, sharing their hopes and dreams with each other. Memories like that were too painful to consider when she lingered on how Jake had broken things off between them as if it were nothing.

But, if it were nothing, would he still cling to those memories?

Deciding she didn’t want to linger on that particular thought, Zoe nudged him with her toes, amending, “oh, yeah, I do remember. You complained about it for the next month. Something about how you thought you were gonna die.”

Indignation swept the smile right off his face. “I had a fever, Preston. People die of the flu every year, you know.”

“Not in April.”

“My bones were cracking every time I moved,” he popped another grape into his mouth, chewing through it while still arguing, “I was pretty sure there was fluid in my lung. You could have killed me. Maybe that was your plan all along.”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have by now,” she huffed.

“There’s still tomorrow.”

She almost laughed. At him, at his humor, at how easy it was to fall into an intimate atmosphere when around Jake. But another clap of thunder boomed in the sky, effectively ruining the moment before he might have said something stupid enough to ruin it himself. With wide eyes, she glanced through the window nervously.

“The storm’s passing, Zoe. It’s gonna be fine.”

“It doesn’t sound like it’s passing.”

“The thunder is getting further apart,” he pointed out, all rough voice and tired eyes as he watched her. Still, that did little to quell the queasiness in her chest. She felt his weighted stare for another, long moment. Then, Jake set his empty bowl aside before waving a hand to her with a sigh. “Alright, come on.”

She glanced away from the window, furrowing her brows at him. “What?”

“You’re practically shaking the entire damn couch.”

“Okay, well, I was here first,” she said, nose in the air, if only to help her ignore the fact that she was shaking as much as he said she was. “But, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna cuddle you. Go bug Payback if you want someone to spoon.”

“I don’t wanna spoon anyone,” he said. Then added with a look, “and if I did, it definitely wouldn’t be him. Coyote is more my kinda guy. Or Bob, maybe.”

“Seriously?”

Jake shrugged harmlessly. “What can I say? The kid’s cute. Something about the glasses I think. Maybe the accent too.”

Zoe thought about how weird that sounded coming from someone like Jake. Someone that screamed masculinity and bro-code when he was strutting down the beach with sun-kissed shoulders because he refused to use sunscreen. Then again, he was an easy going guy who liked to joke around more than anything else. And he actually cared about his friends; despite what he said that might prove the opposite.

The oddness of his comment distorted with another crack of thunder.

“Seriously, Preston,” he waved at her. Almost impatiently. Almost because his tone was soft and encouraging, rather than annoyed or bored. His eyes gleamed in the darkness with something she couldn’t quite place, but that she selfishly hoped to remember come morning. “It’s not a big deal. I cuddle my friends all the time. But it is almost three am and we both need to sleep at some point.”

“You don’t have to wait around for me,” she argued, voice weak at best. “Plus, it’ll be... weird.”

“It won’t be weird,” he stated with a sigh. There was something vulnerable in his voice, though. Tomorrow, she would wonder if he did it reflexively or if he was trying to cover up something else. “Come on.”

Zoe bit her lip and looked at the storm outside, considering how much she did want to crawl into his arms despite everything. He had always made her feel safe, his arms tight around her, his breath hot on her throat as a reminder that he was real. And with her nerves fried from weeks of training and stress, she considered the possibility that doing so might actually get her to relax.

Sighing, she relented. “Okay. Just until the storm passes, though.”

"Just until the storm passes,” he said quietly.

He smiled a little when she looked at him, but it was tight at the corners. It matched the stress ringing his eyes, the slight furrowing of his brows. An odd thought; she rarely saw Jake stressed about anything, let alone something as trivial as asking a girl to cuddle.

“Okay,” she said again, this time more to herself as she tried not to linger on the look or the sound of his voice, the couch creaking beneath her as she moved.

It was a little awkward at first; bumbling.

Zoe tried to remain as small as possible as she fell into the space between him and the back couch cushion; him trying not to move her too much as he tried to put an arm beneath her shoulders; both of them struggling to remember the last time they had done something as intimate as this.

“I told you,” she muttered. “Weird.”

“So weird,” he replied. “It’s like we’ve never seen each other naked before.”

They blinked at each other. Him almost in disbelief that he had just said that and her stunned that she didn’t really mind the joke all that much. And when Zoe shook her head with a laugh, Jake did too. Something washed over them in the next moment. Something, not quite familiar, but peaceful. Not quite understood, but wanted.

Together, their bodies seemed to mold to one another like muscle memory.

Jake pulled her a little further onto his chest. She settled a knee between his legs while draping her free arm over his torso. His fingers skimmed where her sweatshirt had ridden up, shocks of warmth tingling along her spine from the simple touch. When she hitched her hip into a more comfortable position Jake settled his other hand onto the smooth indent of her leg. And when they were finally comfortable, they let out a deep, long breath in unison.

Suddenly, the storm didn’t feel so near.

“See?” he mumbled into her hair. His tone was breathy, and lacking the normal smugness that she had grown to hate over the years. “Better, right?”

There was a crack of thunder.

Zoe held her breath until she realized that it was, in fact, getting further away, and as Jake pulled her a little tighter against his chest, she nodded.

“Yeah,” her own tone was breathy. “Better.”

They fell into a comfortable silence like that. The storm growing further and further away, their eyes adjusting to the dimness of the room, the rain playing a staccato pitter-patter on the window pane. Somewhere behind them the clock ticked away. However, for the first time that night, Zoe didn’t seem to mind.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” his chest rumbled underneath her ear. “You have that look on your face.”

“Look?” she frowned up at him.

Jake said nothing though, gave nothing away about which particular look he was talking about or how he could recognize it in such a poorly lit room. Maybe that was a question she didn’t want answered anyway.

He arched a brow and she relented.

It never did take much prompting from him. Sometimes, when it came to Jake Seresin, she wondered if there was anything that she wouldn’t give up should he ask.

“I’m thinking about how I hope it’s still raining in the morning so I can go for a run. Even if the tarmac is wet, I still like to run in the rain,” she told him, only the barest sliver of joking in her voice. She would like to go for a run in the rain. But, seeing as how they still needed to perfect their flight maneuvers, rain was not something that she wanted to deal with slowing her down. That thought alone had the humor leaching from her voice. “And… I’m thinking about the mission.”

“Are you scared?”

She frowned. Was she?

“No,” she told him after a moment had passed, shaking her head against his shoulder. His breath hitched at the movement, and she forced herself to stop, assuming that her hair was tickling him. Instead, she cleared her throat while toying with the strings on her sweatshirt. “Not for myself, anyways. I guess I’m more worried about everyone else.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she admitted. Maybe everyone would be totally fine and they could all go out for drinks afterwards. Or maybe something would go wrong that would result in the loss of a teammate. Or maybe everything would go wrong resulting in no one making it home. “Do you think that…”

He shifted, peering down at her through the darkness. “What?”

“What do you think is gonna happen when the mission is over? I mean, everyone is gonna get new stations; we’ll all get scattered. Probably around the world. Which sucks.”

Jake’s eyes tightened for a moment before his gaze darted to the window. “Rooster will visit you anywhere, you know. He’s made that fairly clear. He never stops talking about you when you’re in a training exercise without him.”

“I know. But it’s not just him. It’s Phoenix and Bob and Yale and…”

You.

The word caught in the back of her throat. Unsaid, unspoken, but somehow still floating in the air between them before she was able to stop it. She felt Jake go stiff beneath her, and suddenly Zoe wanted to disappear into the couch cushions so that she wouldn’t have to face what was coming next.

The flirty grin or sexual innuendo. The snarky comment. The rude rejection.

Eyes shut, she didn’t notice the way that Jake’s gaze darted over every inch of her features in shock, or the way that he licked his lips nervously, or the way that his hand tightened ever so slightly on her hip.

When he finally did speak, he said none of those things.

“You and Phoenix have been friends for years. She’s pretty committed to keeping you around, so she’s not just gonna forget about you. And neither will Bob. He’s a Southern gentleman, afterall. He’s probably been raised to write thank-you letters to every person he meets. Yale is an idiot, but he’s always on his phone. And as for…” Jake paused, licking his lips once more, before settling on, “the rest of us, we’re gonna miss hanging out with you. Miss the way that you get so fucking competitive at darts or sing completely off-key during workouts or obsessively knock your hand three times on the table before leaving for good luck.”

Zoe frowned. Did she do that? She didn’t even know.

“I’ll, ahem, we’ll miss you more than you could probably even realize. It’s not gonna be the same without you around. So don’t worry, you know. We’ll keep in touch.”

“Yeah?” she blinked up at him.

“Yeah,” he smiled. Toothy, but just a little bit cautious. “Definitely. Plus, everyone comes back to see Penny a couple times a year and she’s not even a pilot. You’re definitely better than her.”

“Then Penny?” Zoe shook her head with an uncharacteristic giggle. She blamed it on the sleepless nights and the passing storm. “Not so sure about that. She gives you beer.”

“A close second then.”

She snorted. Jake winked.

They didn’t argue it any further. Perhaps the only time in their history that she had let him call her second best without Zoe really minding all that much.

And as the storm moved off into the distance, the pair found themselves enjoying each other’s company on the stuffy, common room couch more than they ever thought possible. Zoe liked that he was warm; the hothead took the nickname a little too literally, she thought, and seemed to radiate heat no matter what he was wearing. She also liked to listen to the steady beat of his heart. It played a different rhythm than the rain outside. One that was somehow more soothing to her in the darkness. And she liked the way that his hand seemed to subconsciously smooth circles on her leg.

Maybe, she thought in a lucid state, she just liked Jake.

Before she could dwell on that thought, he nudged her in the side.

“Hm?”

“The storms past,” he told her.

She didn’t see why that mattered all that much. “And?”

“You can’t fall asleep here,” he whispered. She realized that he was right and pried her eyes open—not having realized she closed them in the first place—to find him looking at her with soft eyes and an even softer smile. “Stitch will dump a bucket of water on you if he finds you in the morning.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t he?”

Ugh. He definitely would.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “I’m coming.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he laughed.

Zoe waved him off as Jake sat up. He was careful not to give her an accidental elbow to the face, and while she pawed at her heavy eyes, he put his bowl into the sink. He returned a moment later to pry her hands away from her eyes. She swore his skin was burning rings around her wrists.

“Don’t make me carry you to your room,” he said, fixing her with a mischievous look.

She batted his hand away, actually afraid that he might.

When Zoe stood, Jake was right there; firm chest pressed into hers, head tilted down as hers was tilted up, eyes gentle as they roved over her exhausted features. She had been thankful for the darkness a lot tonight; it hid her blushes and her screams and her worried looks. But right now, as they stood inches apart, Zoe wished it was a little bit brighter inside so that she might catch a glimpse of what he was thinking.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

She licked her lips, poked her cheek with her tongue, and finally decided the best thing to say was the easiest. “Thanks for… being a friend. This helped a lot.”

Something indiscernible muddled his face.

“Yeah, of course. Anything for a, uh, you know… friend,” he said, as if it had been the obvious thing to do, but his voice cracked a little at the end, and his eyes were a little too wide for him to blame it on sleep. Noticing, he cleared his throat. “Now seriously, come on, let’s get you to bed before it starts storming again.”

He made for the door.

Zoe frowned at the sudden absence of his warmth, not having even noticed how much she had been leaning towards him until he was gone. Her body almost ached at the loss; a reminder that, no matter how many times she promised herself that she was over him, there were some memories that would forever be ingrained into her muscles.

Then, she thought about what he said.

Gaze nervously flickering outside, her frown deepened, as she quickly followed.

“But… it’s not going to, though, right?”

* taglist (thanks for asking!) @luckyladycreator2 @rosiahills22 @the-winter-marvel33 @chaoticassidy @ashleyzhu0514 @fulla02 @puriini

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x oc #jake hangman seresin x oc #hangman imagine #hangman x oc #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #fluff #more to come #i tried?

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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HOWDY!! how are u doing?? Its that person who asked if you would write something for that deku imagine that @candy-hime wrote, about you and deku forced to live together and you corrupting him it could be you or reader but I just love that concept of corrupted! Deku 😩🙏🏾💕💕

Thank you, have a nice day/night!! 😪💜

OH HI HAHAHA MASSIVE BET, I think I’ll do a little bit of both. This will probably be a little self indulgent but I’ll still put it as an “x reader”!

Tw:noncon, misogyny, the reader is a bitch, vouyerism

It was a dare by your friends to live with Izuku Midorkya for a month if you really could handle any type of man.

You’ve dealt with Hawks’ cocky nature, Shoto’s bland comebacks, Bakugo’s constant state of rage- you’ve done it all. Any type of scummy or tiring man a girl has to date you’ve seen in all of these men. They’re practically walking red flags.

Until you’re forced to room with Deku for a whole freaking month.

You just don’t get him! Why is he always so cheery? What the fuck is he smiling about? And who the hell is he baking for? There’s only two of you in the house, it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything.

You don’t buy it. There has to be some kind of catch to all this facade of a gentleman.

“Hey, Y/N?” He knocks on your ajar door and peeks his cute little face in. “Did you have dinner yet? I was gonna eat but then I thought I’d have some ramen with you-“

“Did I say you could enter?” You slowly lift your head up from your laptop and glare at him. “Are you some kind of pervert? What if I was changing?”

“N-no! I’m so sorry, I should’ve let you answer first, I just wanted to see if you were hungry-“

“God, what are you, my dad? Is that what you want? For me to call you Daddy?” Sneering, you jump up from your bed and stall towards the door.

Deku stumbles over his feet to retreat after seeing the look on your face. “No! Not at all, what? Come on, I didn’t mean any harm-“

“Yeah? Then knock before you enter closet perv.” And with that, you slam the door mere inches away from his startled face as hard as you can, uncaring if the low this on the other side of the wood was his connection to it swinging shut.

“What a fucking brown-noser,” you mutter loud enough for him to hear.

It’s odd how long you wait behind the door before you can hear his footsteps retreat.

A week later you decide to amp it up a notch. There’s no way he’s so fucking green, there’s gotta be some twisted thing inside him that makes him tick.

And so on the day of his turn to do laundry, you decide to dump your fanciest and sluttiest undergarments into the laundry basket.

He’s in some dorky apron when you catch him kneeling over the bag, ruffling through clothes and spraying them with detergent like the good little boy he is.

You perch on the couch behind the laundry room and wait. He doesn’t hear a thing with his headphones blasting some stupid happy-go-lucky songs in his ears.

Eventually he pulls out your lace g-string, and stares at the crumpled mass in confusion. He unravels the lace and stares at it for a good minute or two in surprise you think.

But nonetheless, like the chivalrous man he is, he shakes his head and slaps his reddening cheeks to get over the shock before reaching for the spray.

This was your cue.

You make sure to sound out of breath and extra irritated when you flounce over to his kneeling form and snatch the garment out of his hands.

He jumps a bit and takes his headphones off when he sees your hand descending.

“Oh, it’s just you. You scared me for a sec’ there,” he laughs sheepishly and rubs his neck. “I was just doing the laundry, sorry if that looked weird.”

“Looked weird? You’re fucking disgusting, Dick-u. I’ve been looking for these for days now, and where do I find them? In your grubby little hands.”

His jaw drops open.

“Huh? No, you’ve got it all wrong! It was in the basket, I swear! You must have misplaced it by accident or something.”

“Oh, so now you’re calling me a liar? You think I’m crazy or something? Im not the one sniffing girls’ panties!”

He frantically waves his hands to negate your accusation but you merely spit on the floor next to him.

“Don’t touch my shit again you fucking freak. Go buy a pocket pussy or something since you can’t keep it in your pants.”

At this, he pinches his eyebrows together and starts getting up.

“Hold on, what’re you being so aggressive for? I told you, they were just in here, I’m not that kind of guy.”

He steps towards but you don’t back down. Rather, you jab a finger in his toned chest and bring yourself face-to-face with him.

“Dont fucking walk up to me like that you douche. You’re the one in the wrong here, so I wouldn’t be so aggressive, like you said. Come at me like that again and I’ll fuck you up.”

With the lace in hand, you barely contain your smirk as you storm back into your room, relishing in how Izuku stands like a statue in the same place as you left him, his hands curiously curling into fists and his nostrils inflated.

But behind the safety of your door, he doesn’t continue any shenanigans.

He stays relatively quiet and out of sight for a couple of days, and you start to get bored again.

So this time, you put all your cards on the table and do a double whammy.

One night you call Katsuki, a fuck buddy of yours for a while and use him to help you get off.

You’re not really horny, but the blond side does have a way of getting you there. Luckily, your room is right next to Deku’s so your plan is executed to the best extent.

“Katsuki, oh Katsuki, please. Fuck, fuck yeah, ‘wanna hear you cum for me baby, I want you to bruise my cervix,” you babble loudly as you shove two fingers in your pussy and use your thumb to press on your clit.

“Yeah, you fucking whore, you like that? You like knowing that a shitty nerd like him’s prolly getting off to you calling my name like a slut? I bet you do, keep fucking yourself to my voice, do it otherwise I’ll bruise your ass black and blue when this month’s over.”

“Kat-Katsuki please fuck meeee dadddyyyyy oh fuck-Kacchan!” You cry out and cum violently around squelching fingers.

You put the phone down for a moment to catch your breath, but hear nothing from the other room.

Your face falls as Bakugo rambles on the other end. You hang up with him mid-sentence and remove your fingers from your legs, licking it off absentmindedly and thinking of your next move.

The next morning, you don the tiniest pairs of shorts you have in your closet that accentuates the shape of your ass and the skimpiest bra you can find that shows a peek of the top of your nipples.

You tie your hair up and amble out into the kitchen where he already is, reading something on his his phone and sipping form a black mug.

He barely darts his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth in a hesitant greeting when he sees what you’re wearing.

He chokes on his drink and does a massive double take, juice spilling from his open mouth.

You raise an eyebrow and smooth your baby hairs, rolling your eyes and walking behind him to grab your own cup.

“See something you like?” Water trickling is the only sound in the room apart from your quip.

“Uh, n-no. Just swallowed wrong I guess.”

“Wonder why,” you drawl with a bored voice and edge closer to his back.

He’s hunched over, mindlessly scrolling too-fast on his phone to be deemed as actually reading anything. You recognize this form of coping from people like yourself who try to find distractions at parties where you don’t know people, just flipping through tabs to look like you’re actually doing something.

As you walk around him again, you make sure to train your eyes on his own, hounding he out for the moment he slips.

And slip he does, but only after you pretend to stretch and lift your self on your tippy toes in front of him, your shorts hiking up to show some cheek.

It’s only for a moment, but while the cup is against his mouth and his phone in his hand, his eyes dart to the exposed skin, then back up to your triumphant eyes.

“I knew it.”

He sighs and puts his cup down. “Knew what?”

“That you were a sick little virgin who gets off on staring at girls.”

“Y/N, I wasn’t-“

“I also know,” you raise your voice above his and slowly walk over to the table on the other side across from him, leaning forward and making sure that your tits squish together as you drop them on the countertop, “that last night you were totally listening to me on the phone with Bakugo. I heard your grunts and disgusting fapping noises. You don’t have to make it so obvious that you don’t get any.”

And this time, regardless of his indignation and frustration, he can’t stop himself from watching your hands trail up the sides of your bra and slowly drag the material down, down, down until your perfect breasts spill out and embrace the cold granite.

You honestly have no idea if he jacked off to last night’s call or not, but he doesn’t seem to be denying anything.

His mouth opens the widest you’ve even seen it. His face is beet red, and he visibly starts to perspire.

Your hands mold the soft skin and squeeze until your nipples swell and peek out from between your ruthless fingers, but you still look as bored and slightly curious as ever.

“This is all you’re ever gonna get, you sad incel. Take a good long look at them since I know this is what you’ve been wanting this entire time now.”

His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

When he groans and starts to bring his down down between his legs, you strike.

“I guess I really was right. You’re not some nice guy, it was all a facade. Can’t wait to tell everyone how fucked in the head you are.” His vision starts to clear as you sneer at him again and start packing your tits back where they belong.

As you turn around, you call out over your shoulder, “Oh, and by the way? You whimper like a little bitch.”

It’s silent as you walk with your head held high back to your room, sure that you had broken him and that he was going to take his loss with his own held low.

You don’t really expect to hear the thunderous sounds of someone dragging their chair away and positively sprinting towards you.

You turn halfway and your eyes widen as you see him barreling towards you with the most terrifying expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“What the fu-“

But you don’t get a chance to finish your exclamation, because Deku body slams you onto your bed and immediately seized your wrists above your head. You can feel his hard-on rub against your mound as he straddles your flailing body and keeps you pinned between his muscles calves.

“Get off of me, are you fucking crazy?” You scream and toss your head side to side, trying to arch your back to throw him off of you-which only succeeds in pressing your mound against his.

“You teasing slut. All I’ve done is try to play nice with you, but you just had to fucking push it, didn’t you?” He rages quietly, his arms shaking in effort not to snap your wrists in half. You still as his jaw clenches and trembles, his green hair hanging over his eyes that reflect nothing but malice and hate.

You’re scared. For the first time this entire month with him, you want him away from you and off of you.

“Look, I-I messed up, I know, I’m sorry-“

“-You’re sorry?” He laughs high pitched and you cringe when he thrusts his face towards yours, practically brushing noses and seeing his bloodshot crazed eyes.

“Yeah, you will be sorry. After today, you won’t ever fuck with me again. Or at least want to. I’ll do whatever the hell I want with you though since that’s what you’ve been so hellbent on achieving, right?”

His scarred hands waste no time in yanking down your bra the same way you did before, except much less gentler than you did by yourself.

“No, no, Deku please, I’m really sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” You whimper and struggle again beneath him, which is promptly stopped with a loud squeal when he pinches your nipple.

“Shut up. Wanton bitches like you don’t get to beg for mercy.”

He smirks and lets his tongue flop onto your strained neck, slobbering like a dog all over you.

“This is what you wanted right? For me to put you in your place and fuck your needy hole? And you had the audacity to call me disgusting,” he laughs and draws back, mocking your wobbling lips.

“Oh, oh baby don’t cry,” he holds both your wrists in one hand and uses the other to caress your cheek, slapping it hard when you turn away from his touch. “You’re just gonna get what’s coming to you.”

He indicates what he means by grinding his hips against the front of your shorts, snickering as you whimper and dipping his fingers below the hem, teasing you cruelly.

“Whose whimpering like the bitch now, huh?”

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