#and he does his equations while holding his breath just to show how easy physics is

[red-velvet-0w0]

I don’t think most physics teachers have a) killed SO MANY people, b) carry around a radioactive device of their own making that they claim allows them to be the only person alive capable of making a real choice, as well as allowing him to create alternate universes at will, c) given me a gun in class to shoot something with, and d) have mentioned that they are planning to build a nuclear bomb

He really is one of a kind

my physics teacher is the most incredibly strange man alive

[paperpocalypse]

the space-time continuum.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 9. Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,456 words

Warning: Swearing

Five doesn’t really have any hobbies in the traditional sense.

He’s becoming more and more of a workaholic these days. The siblings love to harp on Luther for being as bland as toast, but even Number One takes the time to have fun once in a while; Five does not, at least not for the past few months. Even his weekly half hour of sanctioned free time is usually spent practicing his spatial jumps or writing equations. Lots of equations. One would be inclined to say that working is Five’s hobby, in its own, terribly boring way.

So one Saturday, when the clock strikes noon, you head over to Five’s room and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

“Well, that was easy,” you say, opening the door. Five is at his desk, scribbling in yet another notebook. “I thought there’d be more resistance.”

“Only three people in this house knock before coming in,” Five replies, not looking up as you walk over. “Mom, Vanya, and you. Mom is cleaning the living room and Vanya’s practicing, so that leaves –” he crosses a line out – “you.”

You smile. “Don’t I feel special.”

“Yeah, well, don’t flatter yourself.”

Knowing that he’ll probably kick you out if you tease him further, you instead peer over his shoulder at his work. Equations, just as you suspected. There’s a ragged edge near the spine where he had torn a page out and started over.

“Any way I could help?”

“Probably not.”

You glare at him. There’s just the slightest uptick on the corner of his mouth. “Everything has a pattern, Five. I bet I could find one in all this stuff.”

“This ‘stuff’ is space-time mathematical physics. Of course there’re patterns, but they’re all twisted together in the world’s shittiest rope.” He finally looks up at you in that piercing way of his, and you try to ignore the jump in your heartbeat when he does so. “There’s a chair right over there. If you’re going to stick around, don’t hover over me like a vulture.”

In other words, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Not bothering to press down a smile, you drag the chair over and sit next to Five, as close as you can without invading his personal space – he’s gotten more adamant about it lately, along with his growing antisocial tendencies. But today, it seems that he’s alright with your knees touching. Hands folding politely on top of the desk, you take the briefest moment to admire his side profile before examining his work closely for the first time.

Everything has a pattern. You tune out the sounds of your breathing, the crisp sound of a pen scratching at paper, your blood pulsing. Working with inanimate things is still a pain; you’d rather concentrate on living things than a jumble of numbers and variables. But this is important to Five and you want to help him, so you take in a slow, deep breath and drag your eyes down the page.

Yikes. It looks like one of the exercises Sir Hargreeves makes you train with, unfortunately. Most of the page is a derivation of some kind. You stare at the steps without blinking, eyes straining to locate just a thread, anywhere, to grasp –

“Ah-ha!” you exclaim when a trail fades into view, light blue against the pure white paper. Five looks over at you, and you grin sheepishly.

“You got it?” he asks dryly, twisting the pen once over his fingers. Still, his tone is expectant.

You fixate on the next page, and the rest of the patterns come into view, each one a different color. Five’s right – they’re all twisted together like a rope. It’s looser in some places, though.

“Got it,” you breathe. “Wow, that’s pretty neat.”

Five hums, satisfied, and resumes writing. You watch the paper intently as he continues to fill the notebook with figures, circling some numbers here and there and testing a calculation on some scrap paper every once in a while. The threads weave in and out of each other, and after a few minutes, you begin to see wisps of equations yet to be written – approximations of the best path to take. They’re faint, but you can see them. Yes!

“Might I give my humble opinion, Five?” you put in when he finally pauses.

He raises an eyebrow, pen clicking. “Shoot.”

Keeping your eyes on the notebook, you scoot closer and reach over to grab the scrap paper, plucking a spare pencil from the holder at the corner his desk. Five’s gaze burns into your hand as you start copying down the prediction as well as you can.

Once you’ve finished, you point at the denominator of the last answer in Five’s notebook. “So according to the pattern, you should –”

“Expand it as a power series in Planck’s constant,” Five mutters, leaning in to check your work. “Huh. That makes sense.” He nods, glancing over at you with a thoughtful expression. “Nice work.”

The compliment brings forth all sorts of gushy feelings that you’d rather die than admit to anyone, but the happiness shows on your face anyway. “No problem at all. Piece of cake.”

Five flips through his notebook again, then closes it and tosses his pen onto the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he looks past you and through the window before leveling his gaze back onto you. No words are exchanged for what feels like an eternity.

“So,” he finally says, right when you wonder whether he wants you to leave. He crosses his arms. “Why’d you really stop by?”

“What?”

“Well, to put it nicely, you’re not exactly a math person. Especially when it comes to the kind I’m doing, so …” Five tilts his head toward you.

You balk, scrambling for a way to explain without sounding like a buffoon. He simply waits, letting you brew as usual, as if he has all the time in the world until you come up with something. “I just …” you finally manage, shrugging weakly, “wanted to hang out with you. You’ve been kinda cooped up in your room lately, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing that?” You gesture to his notebook. He nods. “What is it, exactly?”

“A spatial jump study.”

“Spatial jump study?” you echo, blinking with surprise. “Why?”

“Dad wants me to know how my power works as part of my training,” Five says flatly, standing up and walking towards his nightstand. “It’ll prepare me for time traveling – even though I’ve been ready for months already.”

You blink rapidly, taken aback. “You can time travel?”

He opens a drawer and rummages through its contents, picking something up. “Technically, I already can, since my spatial jumps manipulate time to a certain degree. If Dad would just let me, I could jump months forward. Maybe even years.” He tosses whatever he’d been holding to you. Instinctively, you catch it. “You dropped that after our last mission, by the way.”

You look down at your hand. In it lies a small keychain in the shape of a fluffy little bird, lemon yellow and cartoonish. Frowning, you pick it up by the keyring and dangle it closer to your face. Did you drop this one? You remember that you had lost a keychain when one of the robbers tore your jacket pocket, and that you had gone with birds that day, but to be honest you don’t quite remember what it looked like. You have a lot of bird keychains. The perks of joining the famous Umbrella Academy, you guess.

You pocket it anyway. “Thanks,” you murmur, touched either way.

Five shrugs and strides back over, hands in his pockets. “No problem. It was easy to spot.”

“I’ll say.” Standing up, you glance at the alarm clock next to his bed and gawp at the time. 12:20. There’s only ten minutes left? Geez. “Well … I better get ready. I’ll see you during training, I guess.”

Reluctantly, you make your way to the door, hearing the muffled clunk of your chair being set down as Five returns it back to its rightful place. Right. But when you open the door, preparing to step out into the hallway, he calls your name.

You quickly look back. “Hm?”

“Let me know if you need any help with your puzzles,” he says.

A smile immediately crawls onto your lips. Nodding, you look down at your feet and then back up at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

As you walk towards your room, strangely giddy, you pass Diego on the way. He gives you a weird look but you hardly care, reaching into your jacket pocket to touch the cool metal within.

See you then.

[uponrightful]

You brought this on yourself 🤣 I love how you give Crosshairs point of view so often, but I gotta admit, I was wondering what Dutch was thinking here…it’s all about the spicy longing for me… so

Carefully he wrapped his arms around her, and covered her hands with his own; Caging in her upper body to stabilize the little shake of the gun by taking some of the weight off her arms.

“Confident?” He asked with a hint of mockery to hide his weakening resolve.

She settled back against him tighter, and with a resolved breath she answered;

“With you…? Definitely.”

Such a good fucking girl. He sprawled over her hips with his own, and pulled himself tight against her. Steadying his breathing just long enough to make sure she could follow it easily enough.

“Then take your shot.” He ground out heavily against the shell of her ear.

Crosshair watched the shot leave his rifle, and could already tell she’d made a direct hit. It was actually perfect, and he couldn’t help but loose his concentration from the sensation of her body jolting back against him. She’d handled it flawlessly, but he didn’t miss the little whimper that escaped her when the gun rocked back into her shoulder once again. He wanted her to take one more shot, begging for another just one more excuse to feel her underneath him. To Cross’ utter shock, Duchess began laughing happily at the mere sight of finally hitting her target.

Commentary Track for Coriolis Effect

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I'll give you my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character's- when I wrote it!

* send one in here *

*cracks my knuckles* "Ask and you shall recieve my loveley" I say as I chuckle deviously. In no way does my fianceé send a worried look in my direction as I start typing furiously.

***

To begin, Dutch chose to lay prone for a reason. It's actually not the best position for herself -fundementally- and she chooses to ignore that because it's how she pictures Crosshair doing it. That mental image of his shooting like this is ingrained in her mind, and Dutch has too much interest in him to try and position herself any differently. His rilfe is longer than standard, weighs at least six pounds more, his trigger is softer, and the scope sits a little too high to see from it clearly at this angle. All of that comes within seconds of holding it, but Duchess ignores all of that against her better judgement. It's a taunt, as much as it is an impulse to put herself in his preverbial shoes. She can literally feel Crosshair watching her, and althought that's a very distracting thought, Dutch is set on impressing him.

Note: This choice -of positioning- was made not just for logistics, but also because it fits her personality. Duchess isn't shy, and she is certainly not inexpereinced. I thought about this being a "standing" scene but Dutch wouldn't let me. 😅 Although she is extremely independent, her character's biggest weakness is a strong desire to impress -or be accepted. This stems not only from her time with Phantom Squad, but also from the lack of times in her life that someone has told her "good job". When she chooses to lay down, she's literally opting out of the security she would have of making an accurate shot, just to take a chance on impressing Crosshair. That's a risk/guess... But Duchess isn't afraid to try anyways.

The whole time she's actually a lot more concerned with making her shots than anything else. Constantly checking her form and doing anything she's learned in the past to prove that her size isn't a limiting factor like Crosshair says it is. Her shoulder hurts, and although it would otherwise be enough to make her stop -she has her own career effectiveness to worry about- Dutch isn't leaving until dominates this gun. It's not until she hears Crosshair's sigh that it clicks in her mind that he's still watching her struggle, but not taken the oppertunity to stop her from continuing.

Note: Weapons mirror their users. And when I created Duchess, I made the serious decision that a lot of her ability to characterize others would come from their armor and weapons. That's just who she is, and what she knows best. So, in this scene... Dutch is literally equating Crosshair's rilfe, as to a part of him. If it's harsh, that means he is as well... If it's a sensitive model, that says something about Cross. If she can't control it easily, that's an indicator of the man who wields it. Really pay attetion to the way I compare Crosshair to his 'Puncher throughout the fic. I do it with extreme purpose, and although it's not always easy to spot, there are many times I allude to their symbiotic nature.

The moment Crosshair is close enough to touch, all of that subtle teasing about his weapon from earlier is gone. Ultimatley, Duchess can have a smart mouth, and know how exactly how to use it. But Cross presents a whole new kind of intimidation that she doesn't know how to handle. For Duchess, power only comes in two ways: Physical Prowess, or Rank -wheather that by government facilitated, or sibling rank due to the Phantoms. She's never experienced the way Crosshair acts twoards her. Duchess knows he respects her -because of he he listens to her seriously- but he also challenges her to do things she'd be otherwise criticized for with a hint of disbelief. (Like mouthing off, or betting that she couldn't shoot his rifle, despite that being against regulation.)

The moment he puts his leg between hers, Dutch is a ball of nervousness. Sex is nothing new to her, but that kind of confidence in particular, is completely foreign. Normally she's the one who initiates things like physical dominance in personal space. Dutch is so caught off guard, and her whole body freezes up, because she's realising that she likes Crosshair doing that. It's a release of power that she's constantly holding up, and that kind of vulnerability is hard to let go of after making such a habit of about being the strong one. After all, since Phantom Squad, she's had to depend on herself alone.

It's when he grabs ahold of her jaw and tells her to relax that she's really down bad. 🥵 She knows it should be nothing but a technical comment on her form, but he's commanding about it . Literally ordering her to let go, and release that tension. That feels fucking amazing to hear and feel, coming from a stoic guy like Crosshair. She knows his rifle is harsh, and occasionally he is as well; But that's becoming all the more desirable the more he directs her. Pushing her down against the floor, guiding her back against him... Doing simple things, but silently demanding she follow his orders. Duchess doesn't have to do anything -or think about anything- other than letting him take the lead, and she's daydreaming about if he's like that in other areas.

Note: Duchess takes a fully submissive role here. She's fully receptive to Crosshair's leadership, and it's because she enjoys being thought of as weak -or little- on occasion. Her background is full of war accolades, and confidential missions she knows to be successful. All of it culminating in this unspoken war register of a badass woman who fights like a clone trooper. But that's not realistic to uphold all of the time. Everyone likes to be taken care of sometimes, and Duchess just happens to really like someone taking control every once and a while. And with Crosshair, she feels safe enough to let that happen, and also enjoy the sexual aspect she's been thinking about all this time as well.

Duchess admits to feeling confident with him here for two reasons. Number one, she's still trying to be a little teasing. It's natural to have a little fight in her all the time, and with Crosshair, she thinks that flusters him. (She's right by the way...) But secondly, it's her desire to show trust. Crosshair might be fit right up against her, whispering sexual innuendos in her ear, but Dutch ultimately feels safe like this . The rifle isn't going to hurt as bad, she's going to hit the target, and Crosshair's weight is emotionally grounding. They might be attempting to do some target practice, but Duchess is literally getting the equivalent of a weighted blanket and reassurance that her true self isn't unworthy of attention. Plus, it's coming from a man who otherwise appears completely disregarding of anything with a noticable flaw... That's something Dutch will never forget. The best sniper in the GAR is helping her... And he's happy to do so, by getting as up-close and personal as a man could get.

His hands cover her own, rough and calloused, but they're unbelievably gentle. Cross is almost hesitant, and Duchess can tell he's actively trying to ease her tension. The way he speaks is soft, and quiet... Making her feel like jelly. Being asked to follow his breathing pattern, his arms tight around her, legs somewhat twisted into hers, his thigh tight against her core... It's all seductive, and essentially surrounding her body with him. And Dutch can't help but eat it up. She wants more. No one has ever done something so simple, but effective in drawing out her desire to think of herself as something worth coddling -in a sense.

Duchess might hit that target in the end... But the only reason she did was because Crosshair had relaxed her enough so he could aim . (She didn't make that shot. Crosshair did all the work, she just pulled the trigger.) It was the first time Duchess felt like she was being tended to fully, and that's that had her acting so lighthearted at the end.

***

I fucking love writing these. Please don't ever stop sending them in!😅🤍

[honeypirate]

Hello hello~! I was hoping to request an Imagine or headcannons of Hinawa with a shy and/or easily flustered S/O? I love him so much and the man deserves more fluff, thank you!

I hope you like this! I enjoyed writing it but I didn’t take the writing as like an established SO like the hc part. I went more how reader and Hinawa get together.

Hinawa would be hooked on the way your cheeks flush just by making eye contact with him

He found himself trying to make you blush whenever he could

It was easy for him

It’s how he realized he had feelings for you

The way your every emotion shone on the surface

He thinks its the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

And mans knew every way to make you flustered

A wink here

A smile there

A note left on your desk saying how pretty you looked

Or how he loves the way your eyes shine fiercely when you’re protecting the city

Or just that he loves you

You love collecting and saving those notes

Doesn’t do PDA at work, he almost always keeps it professional

But the moment work is over

Simp mode

Always holding your hand

Or brushing his fingers through your hair

Loves to have his arm around you while you sit together at dinner

Makes sure you get the first plate when he cooks

There’s this thing he does that you love. Where he’ll cup your cheek and press his forehead against yours, your eyes closed as you just take the moment

He does this so often because one of his favorite looks you give him

when he pulls back and brushes his thumb on your cheek bone, smiling at you softly

Your small smile and eyes full of adoration for him, he can physically see you swooning for him

A moment of calm love that is worth everything to him

♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡♡´･ᴗ･`♡

You’ve never been able to hide how you were feeling, any thought was shown on your face, your emotions on the surface. Which made it extremely hard when you discovered a crush on your superior. For a week you were constantly asked if you were feeling well because every time you looked at him your cheeks flushed, any time he made eye contact your cheeks would turn red and you would look away, not noticing how he would smile softly at you.

You didn’t quite know the rules on office dating but you couldn’t ask because the person who would know is Hinawa and you know if you were to stand in front of him thinking about relationships you wouldn’t be able to speak, you would be a blubbering blushy mess, so you decided to do the only option. Avoid. avoid. avoid.

For the next week or so you avoided looking at him, if you had to be in the same room you forced yourself to look at your paperwork or talk to Maki, making every excuse to leave as soon as you could. After seven days you weren't any better off and you know he noticed your strange attitude only when he’s around, trying to catch your eye or get you to talk to him but he doesn’t want to force you. after the 9th day he can’t let it go, if you hate him then he’ll help you transfer to a different company but first he needs to talk to you to know what’s going on. He goes to Obi with his thoughts.

“Y/L/N get in here” you felt your stomach drop as Obi calls your name, a string of ‘fuck’ is the only thing in your head as you scoot your chair out and walk into his office.

You salute and stand at attention, your gaze frozen on the back wall “sir.” he gives you a nod and you move your hands behind your back, you can feel sweat start to roll down your spine under your shirt. “y/l/n” Hinawa says from his spot leaning against the wall to your right, you held your breath as he spoke, watching him from your periphery. “You’ve been avoiding me for a while now, and the most important thing in a company is trust, if you don't like me, can’t trust me,” you expect the worst but you let out your breath when he finishes “then we will help you transfer companies”

You notice that his voice sounded sad, a feeling you haven’t whitnessed many times on him. “But what i want to know if what made you hate the Lieutenant” Obi says and you frown, you feel your cheeks start to warm as they continue to question you, the anxiety and tension you feel building “did he do something or say something and you're just too nice to confront him?” Obi asks and you feel your heart racing, Hinawa pushes off the wall and comes over, standing in front of you, standing so you have to look him in the eye “Y/L/N if I did anything to offend you I am truly sorry. If i made you hate me, just tell me so I can make it right” you feel your cheeks flush full force, dark red, he looks so kind, that’s something you always liked since you met him, he has always had kind eyes.

The kindness in his eyes and the way he was talking to you broke all the walls you were trying to build, everything crumples as you feel the panic starting to bubble over “I don't hate you! Okay?” you say in a panicked huff, your eyes show how much you have been hiding, your eyes widening as you regret your outburst but you can’t look away from his eyes. “Captain, can I speak with them alone?” Hinawa says, not looking away from your eyes. “Yeahhhh that might be a good idea” Obi says and he awkwardly hurries out of his own office, closing the door behind him.

Hinawa doesn't say anything right away, he just waits for you to relax a little, watches as your eyes calm down and your posture gets less tense before he says “why have you been avoiding me Y/F/N?”

you sigh “I’ve been avoiding you because being around you is hard. It’s hard because all of my feelings for you come rushing to my face. I get so flustered around you. I thought it would be easier if I just took myself out of the equation” your voice was quiet, your cheeks were cooling off, a pink now instead of red, and your eyebrows are furrowed. Your heart was racing as you watched him put the pieces together in his mind, your palms sweating as you hope and pray this moment ends quickly, at least you could always count on Hinawa being blunt and to the point, just reject you quickly so you can leave.

What you don't expect is the way the corners of his mouth turn up and the smile that spreads “you like me?” you let out a breathy laugh, your words coming out quickly “sodamnmuch” you feel the weight fall from your bones, the brick in your stomach dissipates as the truth is finally said. No going back now.

He pulls off his hat and tosses it on the desk next to him, running his hand through his hair as he chuckles “I’ve been wracking my head for days wondering why you hated me, thought that maybe i flirted too much and made you uncomfortable”

you gasp “wait wait wait go back” you say and raise your hands, he looks into your eyes again “what?” he asks and you take a small step towards him “you.. You’ve been flirting with me?” you ask, your hands frozen in the air “yes. I thought you knew. I thought it was obvious” you think back the past couple months, the way he would smile at you sometimes, his hand lingering when you would hand him something, the time he complimented your hair.

“I’m an idiot” you say with a laugh “i just thought you were being nice. I never thought someone such as you would go for me” he takes your hands from the air and holds them in his own “what? A plain man falling for a beautiful, smart, kind wonderful person such as yourself?” you shake your head with a laugh “no, a strong, hardworking, caring, sexy man going for a shy timid simpleton who isn’t as brave as they act” he cups your cheek with one of his large calloused hands “you are one of the bravest people I know, you don’t give yourself enough credit”

When you left the captain's office, you were greeted by Obi leaning up against the desk right outside the door “well?” He asks and Hinawa sighs “well what?” Obi stands up with his arms out “amazing! I expect the proper paperwork on my desk tomorrow” you blush and look at the ground, your heart seems like it won’t catch a break today. “Yes sir” Hinawa says and then tucks your hair behind your ear “dinner, after work. Okay?” You nod with a smile “sounds great”

—

As much as Hinawa didn’t approve of many PDAs at work, he couldn’t help but love the way you would blush when he would whisper something sweet in your ear or when he would leave you notes to find that say how proud he is of you or how beautiful you look. He knew you were shy and loved to take every chance to see the way you would beautifully get flustered because of him. Always looking for new ways to make your eyes light up and your cheeks flush. Now that you were together he made it his mission to find out every way he could show you he loved you and every way he could make you blush.

It’s been a few weeks since you got a note, you weren’t even thinking about it as you finished filling out your paperwork at the end of the day, your stack just a little bit bigger than normal after losing a bet with Arthur. You had to finish his along with yours, which didn’t bother you, it was fair since you chose to bet.

You sighed in relief as you picked up the last few pages of the stack, your lips turning up into a smile when you saw the little folded piece of paper underneath them. You pick it up, your thumb brushing over your name in ink on the front before looking up to where Hinawa was. When you catch his eye you raise your eyebrows and he tries to hide his smile but fails miserably as he turns his attention on you, waiting to watch you read it.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, your cheeks already flushed as you open the note. You scan over the few words and smile bigger, the urge to raise your shoulders in the way you always do when you get flustered and hide your face in your shoulder was strong but you took a breath, reading over the words one more time “you can always bet on my love for you” it was signed with a small heart. You chuckled at how cheesy it was.

You folded the note again and placed it over your heart, looking up to Hinawa again, you can feel your racing heart under your palm, ‘I love you’ you mouth back to him and he nods once, the tips of his ears turning pink as he goes back to his work. You fold the paper and stick it in your chest pocket on your jumpsuit already excited to add it to your collection.

[joonie-beanie]

Meet my OM! MC - Bean

Yes, she’s a self-insert MC. But that’s why I’m playing the game so lemme live aljkdaksdl;

Also! Check out this commission of Bean by @/frujiko !

Name: Bean (June is her real name, but they refer to her as Bean most of the time)

Height: 5′8 (173cm)

Age: 23

Sexuality: Bi

Likes:

Sweet foods

Peace and quiet (w/optional soft music playing)

Food that involves noodles

Steak (medium-rare)

Easy-to-play video games (Mario Kart, Smash Bros, etc)

Reading/writing smut

Thunderstorms

Open communication

Dislikes:

Anyone who says that cats are demons

Hot weather

Nail polish (on herself)

Chihuahuas (w/Luke as an exception)

Confrontation

Sudden, loud noises

People who lack patience

Ocular headaches (she only wears glasses when she has one)

Relationships with the Demon Brothers:

Lucifer:

Thinks he’s the most beautiful man in existence.

Is immediately attracted to him at first glance.

However, she’s also intimated by him, so she never goes out of her way to make a statement of her affections.

Lucifer embodies pride, which is the sin Bean lacks most (especially with regards to self-image)--hence why she’s intimidated of him at times. Despite him being kind to her, she feels like he’s in a different league.

Therefore, Bean does her best to treat him normally--trying to be someone he can rely on, and be proud of. (She really loves making him proud).

Lucifer, of course, is aware of the little wall she puts up when around him. Like there are thoughts on her mind that she doesn’t want him to know.

He respects her distance, at first, but eventually attempts to figure out what it is that’s causing her to treat him more distantly than his brothers (yes, it bothers him).

Aside from Bean’s complicated feelings for him, she’s always reminding Lucifer to take care of himself, and asking if she can do anything to help out. 

Since she loves to relax, she hates seeing Lucifer so busy all the time, so if anything, she’ll bring him a meal, or come and ask if he wants someone to make conversation with while he works. (He appreciates her greatly for these little acts of kindness).

Also, once Lucifer finally makes her walls crumble and elicits her true feelings, their relationship becomes more physical (sharing skinship like with his brothers, etc). And she is ESPECIALLY flustered by any show of affection from him.

He tends to use her real name 90% of the time, which she doesn’t have a problem with. (It makes their relationship feel just a little bit more special).

Mammon:

Bean thinks his stupid tsundere ass is cute and annoying all at the same time.

She’ll bully him a little bit, but will always follow up with affection, because she doesn’t want him to take her little jabs to heart.

Since Bean loves the casino, they end up being gambling buddies.

Unlike Mammon, however, Bean knows when to stop. Lucifer only allows Mammon to go to the casino with her 1. Because it’s the Devildom and he doesn’t want Bean going alone, and 2. Bean had promised him that she would make sure Mammon stops gambling once he reaches the end of his prepared budget.

Mammon feels comfortable talking to Bean when he’s not feeling the greatest. Or, rather, there’s no talking, but just him holding onto her tightly, or laying in her lap while she pets his hair.

Bean enjoys all forms of skinship, so she’s more than happy to give him cuddles, hugs, etc. The only time she gets annoyed is when Mammon interrupts her while she’s busy, or gets too clingy.

Overall, the two get along fairly well.

Levi:

Bean loves Levi.

She relates to him in a lot of ways--including being an introvert, and enjoying anime and video games. So, she tries to befriend him.

After the whole TSL incident--once things get worked out--Levi finally allows her into his life, and they become close quite fast.

While she doesn’t understand half the shit he’s talking about sometimes, she listens to him and supports his interests nonetheless.

At least once a week, Levi demands that she come over for a game night. Once his brothers pick up on the trend, they start showing up as well (which peeves Levi sometimes because he just wants to spend time with Bean).

Don’t tell him, but every so often, Bean will message the brothers who tend to show up (Beel, Belphie, Mammon), and ask them to not come to game night since “Levi is having me help with a dungeon run and wants peace and quiet”.

....he has never said that to her, but she knows he wants to have some alone time, and so does she, so Bean doesn’t feel bad making up a little white lie.

Also, she absolutely loves giving him affection. She honestly can’t explain her need to kiss him on the cheek, or hug him for a solid 10 seconds, but it happens fairly often once their relationship gets better.

Maybe it’s the way he blushes, and slowly begins returning all of her shows of affection? Yeah, that might be it.

Satan:

Their relationship revolves around literature, love of cats, and late night discussions.

Bean and Satan see each other as someone they can have a solid, intellectual conversation with, so sometimes they’ll show up at each others doors with a bottle of wine, and a topic in mind, and will rally the conversation back and forth until they’re too tired, or tipsy, to keep going.

Bean misses her cats back up in the human world, so Satan makes a point of taking her to cat cafes, or sending her stupid cat videos on Deviltube whenever he finds one.

Bean isn’t into classic literature like Satan, but once the demon finds out she enjoys writing, he becomes entirely too curious as to what, and eventually (after Satan wears on her enough), she admits that she writes smut.

Satan becomes her unintentional beta-reader, once she shares a piece with him, and he actually gives her very constructive feedback.

He promises to keep her dirty secret (hah) from his brothers, if she sends him what she considers to be her best stories so far (because he honestly does enjoy her writing).

At the end of the day, the two have a comfortable, friendly relationship, and really value each other. Simple forms of skinship between the two come as natural as breathing air.

Asmo:

Asmo is absolutely the self-care force in Bean’s life that she both needs and fears.

Despite his self-centered nature, he’ll be damned if he allows Bean to leave the Devildom feeling anything but confident in herself.

And so, in spite of the fact that in the beginning, Bean wants to run away from Asmo, eventually he manages to become someone that she feels she can confide in. Especially when it comes to her body-image issues.

She feels like such a burden when she’s having a bad day, but Asmo is more than happy to be there for her--whether she asks or not--and she really appreciates him for that.

She’s also more than happy to be Asmo’s doll to dress up, put make-up on, etc. and he loves her for that. Of course, he loves to do those things to himself, but it’s so much fun to have a willing subject.

The two also have a habit of giving gifts to each other. Bean gives Asmo a gift to thank him for his kindness towards her, and then suddenly they’re in a constant back and forth of never ending gift giving. (It’s honestly really sweet).

And when it comes to skinship, Asmo is very open--giving hugs, kisses, etc. And whenever Bean initiates skinship with him of her own accord, he honestly melts a little.

Beel:

BIG TEDDY BEAR. Oh, and food buddy.

Bean wants to cuddle with Beel literally whenever possible. She loves walking up and being able to hug him with her face pressed between his tiddies. Because she’s tall herself, knowing a big boy like Beel excites her so much.

And of course, Beel loves all of her hugs, and shows of affection. He accepts them all with a smile, and is more than happy to reciprocate.

One time, Beel picks Bean up during a hug, and she gasps. Beel immediately worries if he had hurt her, but she just says she’s not used to anyone being able to lift her up, and Beel then makes a point of lifting her   into hugs. He also gives her piggy back rides when appropriate, and her heart is so full for him. 

They also end up going out to eat together quite a lot. Beel wants to introduce her to all of his fave Devildom foods, and Bean happily goes along with him.

If there’s ever a day where Bean’s self-image isn’t the best, Beel will make sure she doesn’t skip any meals. And if she expresses the want to change her diet, or start an easy exercise routine, he’ll be more than happy to help her out.

The two tend to go on evening walks together--since it’s exercise done in good company--and Bean appreciates him a lot.

Overall, the two are very affectionate and casual in their relationship with one another.

Belphie:

Low energy pals.

Literally will lay in bed next to each other on their DDD’s, sharing memes, and talking about random shit.

Bean quickly becomes Belphie’s new favorite pillow once the whole stuck-in-the-attic chapter is done with, and their relationship improves.

She’s a little shy about it, but Belphie honestly loves her squish. Perfect for napping.

If Belphie finds Beel and Bean cuddling, or hugging, he will absolutely add himself into the equation with zero hesitation. 

Bean is someone that he can talk to without feeling judged, or like she’ll rat out his negative feelings to his brothers. 

He really appreciates her willingness to accept him despite how he’d manipulated her, and hurt her in the past. In turn, Bean hopes that she can continue to be a light in Belphie’s life, and that she can help him continue to grow and change (despite him being thousands of years older than her).

The two tend to hang out in the planetarium together frequently.

Also, Bean will wake up to random messages/memes from Belphie that he sent at an ungodly hour while the rest of them were busy sleeping (and she loves it).

If anyone has any questions about Bean, her relationships with the brothers, or other characters, how she would react in certain situations, etc -- please feel free to send me an ask about it!! 👉👈

SFW or NSFW topics are okay!

[iamtheprotagoneil]

when i was writing my answer for the second part of this ask from alicia, i actually came up with a fic idea but since my schedule is pretty packed for a while to come, i probably won’t be able to turn this idea into an actual fic. so to keep this from fading away into the oblivion that is my awful memory, i’mma just do what ive made this blog for, which is rambling away:

there’s this hongkong tv show i watched ages ago, but one of the subplot really stuck with me. it follows one of the main characters on his journey to his eventual greatness. in this subplot, he’s stuck in an ice cage and, every night, he’d meet a girl (circumstances are a bit icky, but let’s digress). the ice cage is so dark and freezing that, to both of them, it feels more dreamlike than reality. they even prefer to each other as ‘mộng lang’ and ‘mộng cô’ which loosely translates to ‘dream man’ and ‘dream lady’.

later on, the girl (who turns out to be a princess) hosts an event to search for a consort (although, in honesty, she’s hoping to meet her dream man again). in the event, she hides behind some thick drapes that hide her identity, and asks her suitors questions that only her dream man would be able to answer – or answer correctly, anyway. the guy only comes to the event out of obligation, rather than any actual wish to be the prince consort. however, his intention changes as his turn to go ‘meet’ the princess comes, and then the questions, and then the realization that his dream lady is just behind those drapes.

i just find it so poetic that they only meet each other through bizarre circumstances, that they don’t even know of each other’s true identity, only falling in love with each other’s voice and wits. then, after a while apart, they find each other again, through sheer coincidence, and are able to reconcile on what they’d thought was only a lost connection.

which, ahh, makes me think of an AU, of sorts, for protagoneil. perhaps, they wouldn’t meet in an ice cage, but in a prison (idk, that’s just what my mind decided on), maybe in some place where they’re held captive in rooms next to each other, a place with rules so reclusive that they never get to see each other, only a voice as proof of the other’s existence. their situation – being locked up in a room with only a small window as indication that the outside world does exist, although distant – would make their interaction with each other so surreal, as if the other is nothing more than a figment of their imagination, another sign that they’ve gone mad in this captivity.

hell, we can make this even more tragic by setting in the tenet ‘verse, post-canon. perhaps a mission went awry, and the protagonist finds himself captured by some antagonists with greedy, self-serving purposes for tenet’s inversion technology. perhaps, the protagonist thinks neil’s voice – or whoever it is that sounds so much like the neil he once met – coming through the wall is just his mind coping to the loneliness and isolation. he’s never had problems with either before, but the circumstances are different now. now he’s got a ghost living up in his head, that he’s been missing and thinking about more than he’d ever admit to another soul.

i imagine their conversations can only be held in the night, spoken so quietly – barely above a whisper – so as to not alert the guards. the secrecy drown in complete darkness truly adds another layer of surrealism to it all. they never exchange names – the protagonist bc he doesn’t want to compromise himself, and neil bc well, if the protagonist doesn’t bother to offer name then why should he?

the things they talk about are simple, although unclear on whether what is true and what is warped into something not quite a lie, but close. they talk mostly to keep themselves sane (ironic, isn’t it?), to have a little distraction from the horrid things await them when morning comes.

i imagine the protagonist would wake up one day, call for neil, but get no answer in return. he tries more times, through many nights but still, no answer. neil’s just gone, so suddenly, and the protagonist can’t decide which sense of the word is worst. eventually, after a few more days of torture, of wondering and dreading, the protagonist finds his freedom.

it’s a joined effort, from himself and the tenet team sent to rescue him. i imagine the protagonist checking the room besides, finding it vacant of any furniture and living soul. he decides there that, yeah, perhaps the time in and out of inversion, paired with the isolation and torture he was put through, has really done a number on his mental state.

then, some months later, the protagonist would meet the voice in his head once again, but this time, with confirmation that it’s been real all along.

see, neil’s been moved to another holding facility. the antagonists have wanted him to work for them; have taken interests in the research he’s been doing on a particular field of physics and decided that he would be perfect to help them in their malicious plot for greed. neil... well, i wouldn’t say they broke through him, but he did agree eventually. the torture had been too much, and he was tired – he hated having to go back to the cell they were holding him in, facing this sickening dread as he questioned his sanity.

the voice in his cell had been a great reprieve from the undue punishments on his body, but not enough to completely elevate him from the pain of it. so he “broke”. he agreed to work with the antagonists, to save himself since it was obvious that no one ever would.

and that’s how the protagonist finds him again; when he breaks down the antagonists’ second location and discovers a compliant neil seemingly working for the people that was going to put a whole lot of lives in danger for their own greedy purposes. before they can say anything to each other, though, neil’s taken out by another agent – a sleeping dart placed carefully on his neck and pushed. the protagonist never did get the agents’ identity, having lost track of them in the midst of chaos going around him.

later, when neil is put in their medical care facility, the protagonist stands outside of his room, watching him sleep through the glass window and listening to a report about his conditions. it contains everything from the moment neil went missing from his london flat (presumed dead), to the time he’s spent under the antagonists’ captivity, to the point where they found him. then, the protagonist is shown a document, including various equations and graphs and terms that mostly went through his head.

he looks to the reporting agent, expecting a better explanation. the agent points out that the equations are wrong, but so delicately that she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t thought to take another, harder look.

“even if they’d gotten with it, their plan would’ve failed. that document you’re holding in your hand ensures that.” she turns to look at neil, regarding his sleeping figure. “he might’ve given into the idea of ever getting out of their claws, but he never gave in. he never truly gave them what they’d wanted from him.”

all of that winds down to one simple fact: neil’s passed the test, and the protagonist knows what that means. the protagonist has to wait a few hours for it, though; for neil to finally wake up and have his induction into tenet. in the meantime, he sits on the couch inside neil’s room, and waits, watching neil’s eyelids flutter in sleep, and feeling sorrow/rage/frustration grip tight to his being as he thinks about things that has and will happen to neil.

when neil wakes up, the protagonist is just right there to welcome him into the afterlife. he keeps his speech short, giving neil a brief overview of his situation, but neil isn’t really listening. the protagonist’s words blur together, not because of neil’s groggy mind, but because of a single, simple realization. it hits him so hard that he just can’t keep in the lone tear falling from his eyes. the protagonist sees this, and his heart aches – remembering how it’s felt when he was the one who was lying on the bed, getting told that his entire team had failed to make it out alive – and unlike his own recruited, the protagonist tries to comfort neil with, “listen, i know it’s hard—”

but neil just cuts him off entirely, reciting a phrase he’s said before, to the man he’s thought was just a dream his tired mind made up to keep him company at the late hours of the night. it stops the protagonist right in his tracks, staring down at neil, breathing harshly through his lips because he can’t believe it. he’s thought, also, but apparently, he’s thought wrong.

“i’m glad you’re real,” neil says, as he watches the same realization he’s experienced dawn on the protagonist’s face.

the protagonist takes a moment to respond, still a little bit stunned by neil’s words. then, he takes an easy breath, relaxing his tense shoulders, smiles down at neil - small and private, something just for the too of them - and says, “me too.”

because despite everything that had happened to them both during their time in that prison, they still had each other. they were there for each other, and the protagonist gets it now - the beautiful friendship that neil had alluded to. it is quite beautiful - poetic too, maybe - for them to have found each other in such a hopeless place, then lost that connect, then reconnecting it again because fate has willed it so.

the protagonist can’t help, even more so now that they are together again, looking forward to the things they will get up to - as promised. neil’s smile, sleepy yet sincere, tells him the very same thing.

[a-life-lesson-in-submission]

Inside a Submissives Soul

Dear Diary -

A third encounter, I'm almost certain we will hit double figures before we know it, triple and quadruple figures at the very least is something I very much want. This meet felt just as special as the first two, I got to spend the night and it was the best night I've had in a very long time, maybe ever, I can't think of anything that comes close.

Sir M, ever the gentleman, I sense the beast within him, I see glimpses in that he has yet to surface fully, the anticipation has my full attention. Taking our time with one another is the priority which is just as well, I am still ever so nervous even though I feel comfortable with him and my surroundings. My unconsciousness is clearly impacting my consciousness as she is being extremely stubborn as a result. I need to learn to relax quickly, I am what is holding myself back but I don't seem to be able to control certain aspects of myself as yet. He says it will come in time, it better had before I fall out with myself. I know, I'm just impatient, wanting everything all at once, good things will come to those who wait, so I'm told. The days leading to this day dragged heavily despite finding distractions to keep myself busy.

Finding a quiet area to spend the night came easy, the spot was more the ideal. As soon as we stopped, we came stood face to face, a hello greeting with a close embrace. This is where time stops, or it does for me in my reality. The fun began very soon after reinforcing our chemistry. My body instantaneously responds to him, I feel such attraction, such lust, such want and need. My mind is fixated on him without a doubt. I crave him immensely.

His hands wander almost immediately, caressing with gentle control, his soft yet firm voice, giving encouraging instruction and guidance. I am eager to follow through without hesitation. Coaxing the girls to play, feeling her quickly moisten, I am captured by how instinctively things come about. The tone in his voice, his hands, lips, breath, closeness, touch and the look in his eyes, my body receives strong electric like pulses, rippling through me consistently with me trying to take every single moment to absorb everything about him into me.

With him sat, me side on stood infront of him, half in and half out of my clothing, the spanking commences. The power of his strikes brings my excitement forward, noticeably so, a grin on my face, the heat from her. I'm 'a bad gurly', yes, yes I am and I cannot wait to find the confidence within me to release it all ten fold. He talks to me, soothingly, firmly, my insides go crazy, my mind is blown, wanting more and more. Between the sounds of my groans, his hands making contact with my cheeks, his fingers soon enter me. I can't resist, I push back, sending them deep, every so often it becomes lighter, slower, this gets me even more, the tease and taunting. As much as I love a quick, hard, deep pounding, the more sensual approach triggers something within me I cannot control, body and mind becomes lost within myself.

I am given permission for a release, his grip around me more than just firm, there is something incredibly satisfying when a man shows his strength. I so wish I could on his command, that one word as an instruction, I want to so badly, it's there. If I didn't by the time he counted to 10 he would stop. I was close but it wouldn't release, damn it! I know there will always plenty of opportunities to come. Quite literally.

All clothing from myself has been dropped, position 1 he tells me, which has already escaped me, tut tut, and positon 2, I'm almost certain is hands on my head, again, tut tut. Before long I feel something new over me, Sir M brings the rope out to play. Comfortably placing it around my upper body, I know I can take it tighter but small steps are a must. I really loved this moment and the others that followed. He gently pulls here and there, I feel my body tense and flex bringing the rope in to hug my body. I am in a free daze, a sense of belonging. His tweaks and touches drive me to a place in my mind that is also new and feels beyond amazing. With my back to him, pressing my peach against his area, I feel some satisfaction in that I can still tease him even if I am under his control. He removes the rope after a short time.

The intimacy of this encounter never stopped and I'd never want it to. I can't recall the exact order of events as my mind blurs massively with the sheer intensity of how good, how great everything feels.

I had brought a 'body massage wand' to play, along with a smaller item. Onto the bed, I laid back, Sir M quickly working away on me, my body stuck itself to the mattress but I didn't know how long it would be till I would need to be peeled off the ceiling. My body was experiencing such severity from the energy I could feel myself shake, I could only breathe in an attempt to reclaim my body in some way. I am usually very quick to respond to the wand but that is when it is under my control, under his control I couldn't contain the sensitivity when he placed it in certain areas, it sent me past the point where I have body control. I have continous waves throughout my body which builds the release more so. A few times I could feel my hands approach him to adjust the power, he said no, all I could do was clench my fists, tense my body and breathe, at times my breath was lost. My body can become so tense when I do finally relax it is a form of acceptance taking place, I have adjusted to his control. With this, he would say 'good girl', 'that's it', I completely melt when I hear him. I got to the point of release, it felt as though it lasted a lifetime, it was drawn out, I couldn't breathe, I didn't want to incase I lost it, I couldn't think, I didn't want to, all I could do was feel, that's all I wanted. Returning to what was happening, what he was doing, brought back awareness to how sensitive I am more so after I release. This didn't stop him, he kept going, how I didn't pass out I do not know. My come downs are soothing, blissful, I am somewhere I feel content. My world has stopped, time is just an illusion here until it becomes apparent and begins to move forward once again.

When I came to, once he had stopped, and I was able to function again, I sat up, him close stood infront of me. I came down off the bed with his guidance and sat on the seat, he stood infront of me reaching to undo the button on his jeans... my mind began to race, thinking this is it, I finally get to have the piece of him that is just more than a reward, 'he' is coming out to play too. I was impressed to say the least, my mouth reached him so quick you can blink slower and my my, how tasty, how filling, how quite simply, marvellous. I feel such satisfaction, such enjoyment from giving, I didn't want to stop. He pushed as deep as he could based on my position, he wasn't forceful, he didn't need to be, I wanted this and it could take it, I took it all, I would have had his toes curl if I had my own way. I found a sweet spot that made him twitch the same way he does me, I could do nothing but grin with a muffled satisfied giggle. He can make me feel incredible, I want him to feel the same way in return.

After the taste test, his clothing came off and phwoar... everything I could ever want in a man was infront of me, I could finally feel him skin on skin. I couldn't keep my hands off him. Making our way back to the bed, joining me by my side, it was time for Sir M to sample me and my her with his him. There is nothing as sweet as the initial first push, the first entry, I was more than ready for him, our eye contact, two souls meeting in more ways than just a physical engagement. He filled my tightness, I wrapped my legs around his, keeping him in me even though we both know he could easily overpower me at any time. He would change his rhythm, change his pace and my gawd, I was buckling, I was building closer and closer. His words echoed through me, I wish I could release on every command, demand and instruction. He watched, feeding on my enjoyment. It felt that good I don't even recall a climax, that in itself is a rare joy.

He does not need to release himself to enjoy such delights, nor I, the release is the ultimate bonus, when his came I very nearly did in return, soon enough I'm sure I will be able to too. Give me it all, every last drop and don't ever stop, just... wow...

Again, spent yet functional. The pull away physical but unseparated mentally, once again I sat infront of him on the bed, him stood before me. He went rummaging, more rope! Yes! Though we were talking, which we do alot but it's filled with affection and fondness. Things he talks to me about, shares with me, I am fascinated by him, his experiences and most of all, our journey. He had bound my wrists, only losely, for a feel, a taste test. I kept it there a short while before he removed it, he inspects my wrists. I was to come off from the bed, to stand facing away. Rope was still in the equation, arms behind my back, he was performing a dragonfly sleeve. I am instantly moist, when the rope hugs my skin, again, not tight but enough when I twitch and flex I fill it completely. I felt elegant and I am by no means a classy lady. I felt safe in my vulnerability, oddly empowered too, yet mainly I felt calm, I felt peaceful.

We are face to face once more, skin to skin, mine corded, his bare, kiss stealing close. He tauntingly tugged the rope he had pulled down between my legs, oh my, yes please, what a pleasantly surprising feeling. He had spoken to me before, quite often, about his visits to clubs, these places sound wonderous. He teaches even with indulging, I find this honourable and intriguing. Almost pressed against him, his breath against my neck and mine against his, incredibly sensual, incredibly intimate. Teasing me with almost whispered words, teasing me with his fingers, playing one sweet melody, my head had gone, I was lost but not in a way where I need to be found, he kept his rhythm whilst filling and feeding my imagination. What he could do if he took me with him, the possibilities. Sir M sent me to a place in my mind, within my soul I have only ever dreamt and fantasised about, the fact he was with me sent me further still. Sometimes I get so tired of being tied up in my thoughts, he made it stop, all of it, I finally found what I believe to have experienced, internal peace.

Naturally I am one that can't be with just anyone, to touch me and not have a connection emotionally somehow is something I am unsure I could ever do but his tones, his play and the thought, the experience gripped me. To please him I would do anything, I want to be a good girl for him. I want to be HIS good girl for as long as he will allow.

Issuing permission, command and instruction, everytime he said 'cum', I wanted to, I need to yet she is stubborn, constantly on the brink but unable to perform, I am eagerly impatient. Being bound, being close, being consistently teased, I feel a sense of freedom, security and the burning within has become less of smoke and embers and more of fire that is building into an oxygenated rage.

From here, everything else is just as intimate, close and more than just simple pleasures. From affection to spanks, sensual and lustful play with small doses of pleasurable pain. The stimulation I received from him, my mind is lit up, epileptic inducing, my body is on fire and he is well on the way to taming the inferno within. I am happier than I have felt in a long time, if this is the calling I have had in my distant in my hearing, (sometimes the volume is turned up so high if it was measured in decibels, my ears would bleed), and in my peripheral vision, (the kind when you look where it may be, it moves), for so long, I've finally found it and answered to it, I am home or on the way to it.

To spend this time with him, I am more than eternally grateful for. It was more than a dream, more than a fantasy, it was a reality and I relished every moment. To feel so true and pure to myself, no fear, no judgement, to be me, him accept every part of my being, to have a sense of purpose, it is a dream come true.

Early hours of the morning, both somewhat spent, our bodies came to the point of requiring rest. As he began to drift, I listened to his breathing change as he fell into the land of nod. I have not been much of a sleeper for some time, often light and disturbed, this didn't bother me tonight, I was soaking up every moment I had, we didn't need to be doing anything, just being, breathing was enough.

On awaking, not having long until our day was to begin, I reached out my hand to touch him, just to feel he was there, his back to me. He was awakening too, he rolled onto his back, made space for me to tuck under his arm. These moments I feel deeply connected, my world stops in another sense, this is where time stops mentally, emotionally. Soaking everything I have for him up into a place no other has ever stepped.

He moves my hand down, I caress his 'him', he feels so good between my fingers, feeling the growth, his excitement takes hold. My hand is soon replaced with my tongue, taking him once again, I am delighted that I can take him all the way, teasingly deep. I could have stayed there for an eternity without a doubt. He moved on to wanting her, I was more than ready to receive, I am instructed to be on top which led to a skin soaked workout. Her not willing to release, I am frustrated by the lack of cooperation, he noticed this.

We are unfortunately disturbed, restful for a small moment or two longer, it was clear our time had to come to a close, it was no longer standing still and everything else had to take priority. There was no sense of urgency although it had to be done. Normality was to return once again, I am still beaming from this encounter, I don't think I have come down from all three as yet, I hope I never have to. Although this journey has just begun, Sir M already has me indefinitely and unconditionally...

[fasterthanmydemons]

A Thunderous Initiation... || closed with murder-popsicle

@murder-popsicle​​

The twins were certainly nervous about going out on a mission, but Wanda showed it a lot more than Pietro. As usual, Pietro masked his fear and apprehension with overinflated bravado, while Wanda quietly hung back and observed the world through her brother’s lens. The mission was a simple one, but it required travel, time, and some minor risk. The twins were perfect for it, ability-wise, but they had very little experience with such things. So... they were given a chaperone of sorts...

There were few people the twins were comfortable enough around to let them watch them without protest, especially on Pietro’s end, but Bucky was one of those few. The twins both trusted her immensely, even though they had only gotten to know her over a few months. Some of that was the almost sisterly role Bucky had taken on with them, offering advice and help at times when they could really use it, but a big part of it was honestly her history. She knew, in a way few others besides maybe Natasha did, what they had been through... what it had been like. They shared a hatred of Hydra with her, and an understanding of what trauma can do to a person. That gave Bucky an automatic in with them that even they didn’t fully realize the scope of.

The ultimate idea was to get the twins out on separate missions eventually, since their skillsets and abilities were so very disparate from each other. Missions best suited to Pietro’s skills might not be the best for Wanda, and vice versa. For now, however, Steve had thought it best to keep them together... for a number of reasons. They had been through a lot, Pietro had nearly died, and both of them had needed time to eat right, sleep well, get some counseling, and generally improve their physical and mental health before serious training could even begin.

Once training had begun, their emotional co-dependence made itself stunningly apparent to the majority of people living at the compound. While some had thought it a pressing psychological issue that needed immediate attention, Steve thought it was best to leave well enough alone for the time being. Now was not the time to try and separate the twins or try to push for them to be more independent of each other when they absolutely viewed that as a threat and trust was tenuous between them and the Avengers. So... off the twins went together with Bucky to hopefully have an easy mission and be back in a week or so.

When they arrived at their safehouse, the wind outside was picking up, skies were gray, and it smelled like impending rain. Wanda was glad to get inside before the rain started, while Pietro was focused on other things, pushing his way into the house the moment the door was opened. “Okay, stand back. Let me check everything out first,” he said, immediately starting to search the place. Wanda stayed by the door, folding her arms across her chest now that she no longer had Pietro’s hand to hold. Pietro zipped from room to room, looking for people, cameras, suspicious things, threats. None of this seemed weird to Wanda, who simply waited quietly for her brother to satisfy his suspicions, calm down, and return to her side. But the storm had arrived outside, and the center of it must have been very close by, because the sky opened up outside and thunder suddenly crashed so loudly as to shake the whole house...

In seconds, Pietro was back with Wanda, one hand protectively thrown back as if to shield her, eyes wide. Wanda’s breathing became audible as she looked like she was going to start hyperventilating. Instinctively, she moved a little behind Pietro, taking his hand and interlacing her fingers with his, her other hand hooking onto his arm. They looked up at the ceiling, almost like they expected it to cave in, before turning to Bucky.

“What was that...?” Pietro asked Bucky finally. “Does someone know we’re here?” Because his mind had already moved to heavy fire, bombs, or other explosives as the reason for the loud noise. Thunder wasn’t even entering into the equation in either of the twins’ minds, even though Wanda had been pondering the potential for rain just moments earlier. Her cheeks were pink as she tried to stop herself from having a panic attack. Pietro, on the other hand, was not visibly afraid... unless one noticed the way he was clenching his right fist... or how white his knuckles were on the hand that was squeezing Wanda’s.

Wanda knew he had to be afraid, regardless of what he showed or not, and so her free hand began to rub his arm, just to let him know she was there and keep him grounded. Another startling crash of thunder made her yelp slightly and duck against him out of instinct, again as if expecting something to fall on her head. 

Pietro moved even closer to her, ready for anything as the soft sounds of things ratting on shelves around the room died down...

[dear-selena]

Sketchbook (Peter Parker x Stark!Reader): Chapter 1

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (Female) 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Summary: (Y/N) never understood science based subjects, despite putting all her efforts into studying them. Kids at school bullied her, her father, Tony Stark, was disappointed in her, and the Avengers looked the other way. Peter Parker, her best friend and secret crush for almost two years, was always there supporting you when you needed someone. However, since he became an Avenger and your dad’s ‘favorite kid’, you don’t know how much longer he’ll be around for you. 

You find yourself struggling to exist with everything working against you, and instead of asking others for help, you turn to your sketchbook. 

Warnings: angst, bullying, mentions of depression / suicide 

A/N: Hey everyone! This is a story idea I’ve had for a while, and I have to say this is the most intense writing I’ve ever done. Because of how massive I’m making the character development, and the fact that I’m going back to college in two days, my updates for this story will not be quick. I can guarantee that I will not drop this story, as I have already written half the chapters. All I’m asking from you, if you’d like to follow this story, is to be patient with me as I update. I was planning on creating a mood board and everything, so I really do have confidence I will complete this story XD. 

With that said, this story is going to have heavy themes of depression and suicide, especially in future chapters. If this is triggering to you in anyway, please feel free to skip this story. I will be tagging the triggers, and will warn of any serious themes throughout this story. If there is anything else I can do to be aware of safety for my readers, please reach out! 

Hope everyone is well! Enjoy the first chapter of Sketchbook! 

Chapter 1: Flashes and Shades

Words: 1962

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

Shaking your leg under the desk, you anxiously wait for your chemistry midterm to return to you. 

As your teacher, Mrs. Smith, slowly passes exam books back to each student, you couldn’t help but pray for a good grade. ‘Please, at least a B this time… at least a B’ repeats in your head over and over. You studied your butt off the past two weeks for this exam, yet nothing would click in your brain. For some reason, balancing equations, differentiating the elements on the periodic table, and identifying every single scientific law known to man never came easy to you. 

You hope the extra studying you did would finally pay off. 

Mrs. Smith eventually came up to you and hands your exam back to you face down. Not being able to hold in your anxiety, you flip the packet over immediately, only to be met with disappointment and a wish that you never got your exam back at all. 

Written and circled in a bright red marker, a D+ mockingly spat at you. 

Eyes going wide and heartbeat accelerating, you quickly hide your exam, making sure none of your classmates saw your poor grade. You look around at your classmates to see them showing off their grades to one another, most of them with A’s or B+’s. Before you could let the significance of your peers get to your head, the bell rang. You quickly shove your failure into your backpack, and make your way to your next class, English. 

English wasn’t a hard subject for you. In fact, you enjoy the readings that were assigned and always participate in discussions. However, that didn’t really matter at Midtown School of Science and Technology, one of the top college prep schools in New York. Subjects like physics, biology, and calculus truly matter to faculty and students. 

Too bad you practically failed those classes. At least in English you could breathe easy for 90 minutes. 

As you make your way to your next class, you feel eyes following your every move. When you would look up however, students quickly look down, as if they weren’t watching. You knew they were. You’re (Y/N) Stark for God’s sake, daughter of Tony Stark, certified genius and team leader of the Avengers. Even though you were a Stark, you were a certified idiot, and everyone at Midtown knew that. 

You absolutely hate it. 

Negative thoughts start to come into your head, ones you wish you could push away. You mostly thought about your existence, how it would be for everyone if you simply weren’t there. Before your thoughts could elaborate and get more intense, your phone vibrates in your pocket and you see that Peter Parker, your best friend for the past two years, has texted you. 

From: Peter

I hope you did well on your chem midterm! I can’t wait to see you at lunch :)

You smile at your phone, practically beaming at Peter’s kind words. Peter always knew how to cheer you up and snap you out of your bad thoughts. You have no idea how he does it, but nevertheless, you love that about him. You’ve loved Peter for a long time, ever since your father took him in as his successor. But you knew he was out of your league. One day though, you hope you can share your feelings with him. 

Before you could respond to your best friend, a booming voice calls out to you. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Stark herself.” You look up to see none other than Flash Thompson approaching you with a cocky grin, ultimately souring your mood. Flash likes to pick on Peter with dumb nicknames, but with you, he’s a bit more relentless. “How’d that chem test go?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Why does it matter to you?” 

“I’m just looking out for you sweetheart,” Flash leans in close to your ear, grabbing your shoulders firmly. “You know, so you don’t flunk chemistry again.” 

Quickly pulling away from Flash, you try to hide your face so he can’t see the tears starting to burn in your eyes. He’s right. You took chemistry last year with Flash, Peter, and many other students in your grade. Peter would try to help you in class, and that helped a lot. However you didn’t quite make a passing grade, and when you saw how disappointed your dad was, you knew you had to retake the class and get a better grade. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Flash coos in a mocking tone. “You don’t have to be ashamed around me. A pretty girl like you can always cry on my shoulder.” If you weren’t in school, and if you weren’t your father’s daughter, you’d have spat at him. 

“I have to get to class.” You quickly say, trying to walk away. However, Flash never made it easy. 

“You don’t have to run from me (Y/N),” Flash starts, and you reluctantly turn around. “So what that you aren’t at all smart? At least you can still go here with all the money your daddy’s paying for you to stay in. That’s some lucky wealth you have at your fingertips.” 

Before Flash continues, you turn and quickly walk to the nearest bathroom, tears already falling from your (E/C) eyes. You hate it when people brought your father’s name and wealth into the picture. Logically, someone that fails classes at Midtown, especially a science one, wouldn’t have a GPA high enough to stay enrolled. But despite your poor grades that never seemed to improve, you still roam the halls of Midtown. You knew your father has something to do with it, but you’re too ashamed of yourself to talk to him about those logistics. 

As you find your way into the bathroom and lock yourself into a stall, you let your frustrations come out, silently sobbing. Things Flash would say directly to you was ultimately what your peers would say behind your back. Almost everyone at school knew you were the dumbest kid there, and they made no efforts to hide their thoughts. No matter how hard you studied or how well you took notes in class, your efforts were never enough. 

It made you struggle to find a reason to stay around. 

------------- 

Lunch rolls around quickly, and after humiliatingly walking into English late, you want nothing more than to see Peter. You knew Peter always supported you, but you didn’t know how much longer he’d be there for you. Sure, you love Peter, and he likes you as a friend (at least you hope he does). But he’s been getting all your father’s attention for quite some time now, practically taking the spot on the Avengers team you’ve yearned to have for so long. You never know what your father says about you to Peter, and you really don’t know if he thinks you’re worth it anymore. 

You’d rather not think about that right now. 

You were also close to Ned and MJ, but you found yourself super cautious around them. They never brought up how you were a Stark or practically failing school, but you never knew what they truly thought of you, and that was scary. 

At lunch, Peter saw you gloomily walk into the cafeteria and immediately knew it meant bad news from your exam. Instead of asking you about it however, Peter compliments your outfit, a gesture that makes you blush. 

Peter and Ned were talking about their AP Physics assignment, you longingly listening into their conversation, when MJ comes over and sits next to you. 

“Hey (Y/N), small question.” MJ proceeds to take out her sketchbook and open it up. “I feel like something is off in this drawing but I can’t figure it out. Can you help me?” 

She slides the drawing over to you, and you start to admire her work. It looks like she started a portrait of someone, and you have to say it looked really good! The line work was already traced with pen and she started coloring the character in black and white. However, you did notice what was off about her work. 

“Oh! You didn’t highlight their face all the way.” You say simply. She raises her eyebrows curiously, but hands you her pencil so you can explain further. “You got the dark tones on their face just right, but there’s not really any white tones to balance it.” You start to lightly erase some of the pencil work. “I like to leave white sports around the nose and cheeks like this to give the face more depth.” You hand the pencil and sketchbook back to MJ. “You try it.” 

MJ takes the pencil back and starts erasing lightly, starting to see what you mean. “Oh! Thanks (Y/N). I tend to forget about that stuff.” 

“It’s all good. It comes with practice.” You say, going into your backpack and taking your own sketchbook out. Your sketchbook was practically a safe haven, filled with doodles, designs, and poems from over the years. Whenever you find yourself struggling with negative thoughts or even wishing you were gone, you turn to the moleskin covered book and just let your mind wander. Over time, the simple doodles and haikus turned into intricate drawings and full on hand-written stories. 

Opening your sketchbook up, you turn to one of your early doodles, a drawing of your father in his signature Iron-Man suit. “I drew this of my dad a few years ago, and you can tell I didn’t know what I was doing.” You laugh at yourself. 

MJ’s eyebrows furrow. “What are you talking about? This looks amazing!” You look back at the drawing in confusion. MJ just rolls her eyes. “I mean, it’s not shaded, but you got some really good detail on your father’s suit. It kind of looks like you can even see wiring in it.” 

Sending MJ a small smile, you can feel your cheeks turning red. “Thanks… I just think my more recent drawings are a little easier on the eyes.” With that, you turn to some drawings you worked on last week, ones you did after a typical scolding from your father about your grades. These drawings were more intricate, small shapes dancing across the pages in a contemporary pattern. 

MJ’s eyes pop out of her skull. “Whoa… Can I just look through these for a bit?” 

You nod, letting her know of some pages to avoid. You told her they were crummy sketches, but in reality, those pages were filled with words that… might cause some serious concern. 

As MJ intently looks through your most prized possession. You feel eyes on you again. At first you thought your classmates were pitifully staring at you again, but to your surprise, you see Peter looking at you, biting his lip in an attempt to hide a smirk. 

“What?” You ask innocently, unsure of why Peter would be staring at you that way. Was he trying not to laugh at you…?

Peter blinks, realizing he’s been caught. “Oh, n-nothing.” He sends you a sheepish smile. 

You simply smile back at the boy, a blush once again creeping onto your cheeks. Before he could see it though, MJ starts to ask you some questions about the drawings in your sketchbook. In moments like this, you were thankful that something distracted you from your crush. After all, you were nowhere in his league. He’s a superhero with crazy abilities, one of the smartest kids in school, and your father’s most cherished mentee. 

All you are is a dumb girl with a sketchbook.

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

-Peter Parker Tag List-

@sweetcoffeeblandtea // @house-arya // @jovialpeanut

-Permanent Tag List-  

@mindset-jupiter // @romance-geek // @imcharishope // @fakindob // @cutiekoa // @wowursofunny

[pixiegrl]

Somebody’s Gonna Love You

Luke's not ready for Ashton to spend the night and find out his secret but Ashton does anyway

A prequel of sorts for the Lingerie Luke series

Also on AU at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032632

The first time Ashton spends the night, Luke’s not expecting it. They’ve only been officially dating for a few months, tentatively taking their relationship from friends who occasionally kiss to boyfriends . It’s made Luke giddy, makes him feel like a teenager with a crush again, like the 15 year old kid who’s heart fluttered when Ashton walked into band practice, who stopped breathing when Ashton would casually brush against Luke during a show, not a 23 year old adult with a career and a boyfriend.

It still makes him smile, full of shock and awe that Ashton would pick Luke. Of all the people in the world, Ashton would choose Luke to be with. That apparently Ashton’s liked him for so long, since that first day at the movie theater and that he wants their relationship to be serious. Luke can picture a life with Ashton, is already imagining what it would be like to wake up next to Ashton, make coffee in the morning, whine until Ashton cooks him breakfast. Luke’s picturing being able to kiss Ashton whenever he wants, cuddling up next to him on the couch at night, listening to Ashton whine about how cold Luke’s feet are but making no move to change their positions. In the dark of the night, when Luke’s feeling his loneliest, Luke pictures their wedding, what it would be like to stand up in front of their family and friends, tell them all how much he loves Ashton. Luke knows it’s too soon, they’ve only been dating for so little time, but Luke’s known Ashton for years. He’s loved him for so long that it’s so easy to picture a full life with Ashton, a life where he gets to bask in Ashton’s love, gets to tell Ashton how much he loves him over and over again.

However, Luke and Ashton haven’t spent the night together since they started dating. They’ve managed to start their relationship during a break from tour, hanging in the limbo of coming off an album and starting to create new music and it’s allowed them the freedom to explore the change in their relationship and go on dates and spend time together. Luke’s enjoying it immensely, for getting to spend time with Ashton, with Petunia, having lazy days at home, dinner and coffee dates with Ashton. It’s been nice, getting to feel like a real person, being able to take the time to just breathe and enjoy having a boyfriend.

Luke doesn’t have a problem with Ashton spending the night. In fact, he’s thrilled by the idea of Ashton staying over, getting to cuddle up to him and wake up to kisses, sitting outside on Luke’s patio and drinking coffee with the sunrise. It’s just that...Luke needs time to prepare for Ashton to spend the night. Both physically and mentally.

Luke’s been wearing panties. There’s no easy way to put it. It had started years ago, sometime after they made Sounds Good Feels Good , when Luke had started to grow his hair out and was wearing makeup. Michael had dared him once, to put on the silky underwear and wear it during a show. Luke had taken the challenge but hadn’t expected just how right it had felt, standing there on stage, in front of millions of people wearing the panties and glittery eyeshadow. Luke had started buying his own pairs after that, going into whatever Target or Walmart they were near and buying whatever he could that looked soft and pretty and floral. He’s been doing it for years at this point, almost completely replacing all of his boxer briefs with the panties now, creating his own perfect collection.

The thing is though, none of the other guys know about it. Sure, there was the dare, but Luke hasn’t told them about what he’s done since then. Whenever they share hotel rooms, Luke always changes in the bathroom, making sure to keep it out of sight. It just feels right , looking at himself in the mirror, the lace and bows, framed in softness. There’s a feeling of being at home in his own body when he feels them, feeling like he can finally breathe .

Which, therein lies the whole problem for Luke really. Even now that they’re dating, Luke hasn’t told Ashton about it yet. Whenever they hook up, before they were dating and now that they are, Luke is very careful to not wear them. He doesn’t know how to talk to Ashton about it, isn’t sure how that conversation would go. What would he even say, “Oh by the way I like wearing women’s underwear because it makes me feel beautiful and at peace?” How would Ashton even take that? What if Ashton takes it the wrong way, thinks its something sexually charged for Luke when it’s only part of the equation? What if Ashton decides Luke’s too weird to date once he finds out?

Luke’s spent an agonizing amount of time thinking about how he’ll tell Ashton, but he never expected for him to just accidentally find out. They’re wrapped up a movie night with Michael and Calum, catching up on the Marvel movies they’ve missed while busy and it’s late. Calum’s half asleep already, head resting on Michael’s shoulder, unbothered by how Michael keeps jostling him whenever he points excitedly at the scene. Luke’s got his head in Ashton’s lap, dozing while Ashton plays with his hair. He’s content like this, Ashton’s fingers scratching at his scalp, warm and loved.

The movie wraps up and Ashton leans down to whisper to Luke. Michael’s arguing with a half asleep Calum about whether or not Civil War is a good enough lead in to the rest of the current MCU.

“Can I spend the night?” Ashton asks. He sounds worried and anxious, like he’s unsure if he can ask this of Luke. Luke wants nothing more than to have Ashton stay, to never have him leave. Luke can’t believe Ashton even has to ask, that he’s even unsure of Luke’s own desires.

“Of course you can,” Luke whispers back, turning to face Ashton. Ashton smiles, pressing a kiss to Luke’s temple and Luke’s shocked by the look of wonder on Ashton’s face. It surely can’t be for him. He’s just Luke, stupid silly Luke, baby of the band.

Ashton nudges Luke off his lap, clapping his hands and starting to shoo Michael and Calum off the couch, even as Michael is caught between half hearted protests and shooting them both a suggestive wiggling of his eyebrows.

Ashton finally manages to get them both out of the house with the promise of continuning another night, shutting and locking the door behind them.

“Aren’t you going to get up?” Ashton asks, lips quirked up in a smile when he sees Luke still curled up on the couch. Luke reaches out towards Ashton, smiling sleepily.

“Carry me? Too tired to stand,” Luke mumbles. He’s not expecting Ashton to oblige him, cross the room in a few strides and scooping Luke up into his arms. Luke lets out a squeak, flinging his arms around Ashton’s neck at the sudden movement. Ashton snorts, pressing a soft kiss to Luke’s cheeks, his forehead, his nose. Luke giggles, leaning forward to capture Ashton’s lips in a soft kiss.

Ashton stops on his way to the stairs, kissing back. Luke tilts his head, trying to deepen the kiss.

“If you keep distracting me, we’re never going to make it up the stairs,” Ashton mumbles against Luke’s lips. Luke laughs, pressing a kiss to Ashton’s jaw.

“Maybe that’s my goal.”

“Please, like you’d have sex in anything but a bed. And besides it’s late. You deserve a bed, someone who can take their time to worship you. I would just fall asleep on you.”

Luke giggles, kissing Ashton on the lips again, “How romantic of you sweetheart.”

“Don’t make fun of me. You’re dating me.”

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Luke says, pressing kisses to Ashton’s lips to try and placate him. Ashton only pouts for a few moments before finally pulling away and continuing up the stairs, letting Luke press kisses to his jaw and neck along the way.

It isn’t until Ashton’s laid him out on the bed, is tugging off Luke’s T-shirt and kissing down his chest that Luke even remembers that he’s wearing the cotton panties. They’re pink, covered in little flowers, bright and vibrant, edged in lace with a little bow in the center. They’re cute, Luke’s favorite pair, and he’d wanted to wear them for the extra boost of confidence for his date. It’s just that wearing the panties have become so natural to Luke, just part of who he is now, that he forgot in that moment that Ashton doesn’t know about them.

“Ashton, wait…” Luke starts to say, but it’s too late. Ashton’s already tugged Luke’s sweatpants down, getting an eyeful of the panties. Ashton pulls back, looking down at them. He’s running his fingers along the edge, just barely brushing against the lace.

Luke tries to prop himself up and out of Ashton’s touch. He’s afraid suddenly, filled with a sense of worry that Ashton won’t love him anymore. That Ashton will decide that he doesn’t like this part of Luke. Luke’s weird and different, he’s always known that, head in the clouds and unable to talk to people without shaking or stuttering some days, but this is out there , it’s more than just different and maybe it means that Ashton will decide Luke’s not worth it.

“Did you put these on for me?” Ashton asks, slipping his fingertips under the waistband. Luke whines, arching slightly into the touch. Ashton smiles softly, lips just barely turned up.

“No I...I wear them all the time.”  

“Since when?”

“Since Michael dared me to wear them on stage.”

Ashton looks up at Luke, head cocked to the side. He reaches out, grabbing a hold of Luke’s hand and kissing the back of it gently. Luke doesn’t realize he’s shaking until then.

“That’s been so long Lu. How didn’t we know?”

Luke shrugs, “I was careful about it. I didn’t want anyone to know. It felt like...too much. Too big of a part of me to share.”

Ashton makes a noise at the back of his throat. He leans down, pulling Luke into a soft, open mouth kiss. It’s warm, Ashton holding onto his face in both hands, and heated. Luke’s dizzy from the love he feels.

“Why?” Ashton asks, pulling back, still holding Luke’s face in his hands.

“Why what?”

“Why do you wear them? Why didn’t you tell me ?”

“I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Like it’s not something I can just mention and I was so careful on all our dates. I didn’t want you to know.”

“Luke, I’m your boyfriend. I love you.”

Luke’s eyes feel wet, “I just wasn’t ready. It’s not...it’s not a kink, it’s not like one of those porns Michael used to show us. I’m not wearing them to be hot or attractive, even if I do feel like that sometimes. They just feel right. I put them on and I see myself in the mirror and it feels...like coming home. Like I see myself and it all falls into place. I don’t feel like Luke Hemmings, the rockstar . I just feel like Luke . They make me feel...beautiful. I feel beautiful when I wear them. And I didn’t know how to tell you without it being weird.”

Luke sniffling now, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. He doesn’t know how to explain it, the feeling that wearing the panties gives him. Luke never feels perfect, always feels too clumsy and large and loud. He takes up too much space, too much time, too much energy from everyone, especially Ashton. He’s just too much. But the panties, they make him feel like he can breathe. It’s the first time in a long time he’s felt comfortable in his body. And somehow, even though it’s Ashton , it feels too personal to tell him that.

“Oh Luke. Sunshine,” Ashton says, pulling Luke up and into his chest. Luke starts crying then, tears spilling onto Ashton’s shirt as he clings to it. Ashton keeps whispering into Luke’s ear, soft encouragement and praise, rubbing at Luke’s back.

“It’s so stupid I don’t know why I’m crying. You just wanted to do something fun and sexy and I had to be me. ”

“Luke, honey, I love you. There’s nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you. You are truly so wonderful and golden. You’re the light of my day, the light of my life . I love you in whatever form you are and this is simply just one of them. If it makes you happy, if it makes you feel good, then what’s the harm in it,” Ashton says, cupping Luke’s face in his hands to press a kiss to his lips again. Luke whines slightly into it. He’s so overwhelmed, by how exposed he feels, by the love Ashton feels for him. He can’t even find the words to explain how he feels, instead pulling Ashton into another hug, wishing I love you , over and over into Ashton.

Ashton presses another kiss to Luke’s temple, stifling a yawn. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Luke frowns, “But I thought you wanted to have sex.”

“I just wanted to spend the night with you. I want to cuddle you and deal with your cold feet and spend breakfast with you. Sex is nice, but getting to just sleep next to you, wake up to you? Even better.”

Luke snorts, “How domestic of you.”

“Isn’t that what everyone wants?” Ashton says. The sincerity in his voice throws Luke off guard. The idea that maybe he and Ashton are on the same page, that they’ve both been dreaming about the future and the what if’s, thrills Luke. He wants forever with Ashton and the concept that Ashton wants that too is just too much.

“You can’t say sappy stuff right before sleeping.”

“How about this? We go to bed and in the morning, we discuss the concept of moving in together or getting a new place or something.”

Luke’s breath catches. The look of utter love and devotion in Ashton’s face is just too much.

“Ashton, I love you,” Luke whispers. Ashton grins, kissing him again.

“I love you too. Now, bedtime. You’re cranky if you don’t get enough sleep.”  

Luke huffs, but allows Ashton to pull off his sweatpants, give him another kiss. He tugs his own shirt off, handing it to Luke without asking and tugs off his jeans. Luke realizes that Ashton wants Luke to wear his shirt. Luke blushes, tugging it over his head before he can rethink it. Ashton grins when he sees it, snagging Luke’s sweatpants and pulling them up. He flips the light off, crawling on the bed next to Luke and manhandling him into the perfect position for cuddling.

“Yes.”

“To what?”

“Moving in. I want to move in with you.”

“Good. I already have places picked out that would be perfect for us. We can start hunting in the morning,” Ashton mumbles, sleep tired, as he presses a kiss to Luke’s shoulder. Luke kisses Ashton’s hand in return. He loves Ashton so much it’s overwhelming. It feels like coming home .

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 30: All That Knowledge And No Experience

[As y’all can probably tell from the lack of original posts, I’ve been pretty blocked with this chapter. There’s other parts of the story that I have planned out and really want to get to already, so this just feels like writing filler even though I love focusing on Anaïs’ interactions with all the residents. Sorry if it’s not as interesting T_T but good, juicy shit is coming soon, I promise!]

“Anaïs, wait.” Before I can follow Napoleon off the carriage, Isaac grips my wrist to stop me. I turn to him, confused, and he silently reaches up to adjust the velvet choker around my neck. “That’s better,” he says, blushing slightly. “The bruise was showing.”

“Oh. Thank you,” I smile.

Napoleon offers his hand to help me step down onto the cobbled street. I quickly let go and light myself a cigarillo before taking hold of his arm again, letting him guide me down the road, Isaac close behind us.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” I remind them, earning a chuckle from Napoleon.

“You’ll see.”

I become absorbed by a patient silence, quietly smoking as we walk. By the time we come to a stop in the middle of a square, I have already put out my cigarillo. A group of children are gathered by the fountain. I wonder what they’re playing.

To my surprise, Isaac approaches them. A little girl’s face lights up as she rushes to hug him, causing a shy smile to grow on his face, and the rest of the children quickly stop what they are doing and focus their attention on my companions.

“Bonjour, everyone!” Napoleon announces, only for the children to greet him in unison. “Let’s see, who’s missing... Has anyone seen Mathieu?”

“He fell off a tree and sprained his ankle!” a boy yells his reply from the back of the group. Most of them have sat down on the floor, facing towards us, expectantly.

“Oh, no! If you visit him, André, tell him I hope he gets better soon,” Napoleon sighs. He then claps once, indicating the start of what I now think is a lesson of some sort. “Alright, gamins, before we start, I would like to introduce you to our friend. Say hello to Anaïs, everyone!” The children oblige, yelling out a poorly coordinated chorus of ‘bonjours’ as Napoleon gently nudges me in front of him. I wave my hand at them with a chuckle. “She is a scientist, like Isaac.”

I open my mouth to correct him, but Isaac is already ahead of me.

“Physics and chemistry are two entirely different disciplines, you should know that by now,” he lightly scolds the soldier before turning to the ‘audience’. “So yes, she is a scientist, but we focus on separate fields. Any questions?”

“Me! Me!” The little girl that hugged Napoleon waves her hand in the air enthusiastically, and Isaac nods, signalling her to speak. “Hello mademoiselle Anaïs, my name is Marie and I would like to know what is ‘chimistry’,” she rambles quickly, causing me to laugh at her cuteness.

“Well, Marie...” I begin to answer, smiling. I make sure to talk louder so the rest of the group can hear. “Chemistry is like... a recipe for the world. Everything around us is made of tiny little particles that are too small for us to see. There are different types of them, and they combine to make... well, everything. Including ourselves,” I explain, gesturing vaguely at my surroundings. “I study how those different particles react with each other to make new things, and try to find combinations that work well together, that are stable. Does that make sense?” I ask. The students nod.

“What is ‘stable’?” an older boy, about 12 or so, chimes in. I look at Napoleon, and he smiles at me approvingly.

“That’s a very good question... What’s your name?”

“Pierre,” he answers.

“Alright, Pierre. Imagine I’m baking a cake. What would happen if I forgot to put eggs in the batter?” I start, gaining confidence. This is easy.

“It would... fall apart?”

“Correct! The ingredients don’t work well without the egg to keep it all together. The egg makes it stable, so it stays as it is instead of all the different parts of the cake trying to separate. Now, what if I got the eggs right, but I used sand instead of flour?” I continue, chuckling at the disgusted noises from the younger kids. “That would be... I don’t know what that would be, but certainly not a cake!” They laugh along with me. I am not exactly comfortable with teaching, but at least they think I’m funny. “Do you all see what I mean? If I changed one ingredient in the mix, the result would be a completely different thing. If I stirred them in the wrong order, or if I baked it all at the wrong temperature for the wrong amount of time, the result would no longer be a cake. Maybe something resembling a cake, but it would not have all the qualities of one.”

I observe the crowd of children for a few seconds, but no further questions seem to pop up, so I let Napoleon take over as I go sit on the edge of the fountain. It’s taller than the one in the mansion’s garden, and I struggle a little to climb on the stone surface while keeping my dress out of the water. I wobble briefly, convinced that I am about to fall, but ultimately manage to find my balance and get comfortable.

As Isaac and Napoleon begin to divide the students in two groups, he turns to me, questioningly. I think he wants me to join them.

“Oh, I don’t have anything prepared, Napo,” I say, flustered. “Can’t teach if I’m not ready. Besides, I want to watch you two,” I smile from my seat. “What you’re doing with these kids is great... I’m sure they’ll thank you for it in the future.”

Although neither of them really explained the situation, then did not have to. Judging by the children’s clothes, they were probably not privileged enough to afford an education. And then, there’s the fact that we’ve bee teaching class in the town square, as opposed to, you know, an actual school. It’s rewarding charity work, and I can see why they do it. I, however, have no idea how to teach, and I don’t want to ruin the lessons they had planned for the day.

Napoleon teaches history to his half of the group. He tells it like a tale, his charm and flair inevitably captivating the attention of the children. They will surely remember every word he says if he keeps making it that interesting. Meanwhile, Isaac slowly makes his way through each individual student, correcting their equations and taking his time to explain everything they have trouble with. He works patiently, aware of each child’s capacity, and gently guides them towards the correct answer without giving it away. It’s actually quite sweet.

I enjoy watching them until the bell of a nearby church tolls, and I count the chimes. Time to go. I approach Isaac to tell him, as he is the one closest to me, and he excuses himself to the children, pulling me aside. Napoleon sees and does the same before joining us.

“Thank you for today, it was lovely to see this side of you two,” I explain with a smile. “But I have to leave now. Don’t wanna be late for the play.”

“Be careful, nunuche,” Napoleon tells me, growing serious. I wave him off, rolling my eyes.

“Seriously, I’ll be fine!” I protest, annoyed, before turning to Isaac. “All good?” I tilt my head up so he can see my neck and point at the velvet ribbon tied around the bruises. He takes a look.

“All good,” he repeats. “Have fun at the theatre.”

“Thanks.”

I stand on my toes to kiss both their cheeks, like I usually do, and wave at the children as I walk away from the group. I make my way into a narrow street, following the map I brought with me. This time, le Comte gave me a purse along with the dress and choker, and it has proven to be very useful. No more storing items in my stockings, at least. 

A carriage passes by me and abruptly stops. Speak of the devil, it is le Comte’s voice I hear calling out to me from inside.

“Need a ride, ma chérie?” he offers, opening the door.

“Thanks, comte, but I prefer to walk. I haven’t really done much since, you know,” I explain, pointing at my neck, “so I appreciate the exercise.”

He retreats back to say something to the driver, but he speaks to quickly for me to catch it. He then proceeds to step out of the carriage fully before it drives off without him.

“Allow me to accompany you, Anaïs,” he smiles, offering his arm. “I, too, was invited to the opening.” 

“Great, we get to actually spend time together this time,” I reply, returning the smile, and hold on to his arm. He chuckles.

The conversation continues where we left off three days ago in his study. Le Comte is extremely charming, almost supernaturally so. I had forgotten that he is supernatural, but it no longer bothers me. I think it never really did.

We are about halfway to the theatre when he leans down and whispers in my ear without stopping.

“We’re being followed.” 

I turn around to shoot a discreet glance behind me, and sure enough, a man I saw near the square is walking a few paces behind us. I barely noticed him then, but now that I am paying attention, I recognize him from the coffee house. Shit.

We are crossing the same part of the city. That’s probably how he found me. Regardless, I know this neighbourhood already, and I can take advantage of that. I pull le Comte into an alleyway and press myself against the wall. For a moment I think we’ve lost the man, but my breath of relief gets stuck in my throat when I hear his footsteps approaching once again.

“Kiss me,” I command, pulling on le Comte’s lapel to force him closer.

“Pardon?”

“No time to explain, just do it.” He stares at me, confusion glimmering in the gold of his eyes. “Dude, just kiss me, quickly!” I whisper urgently. He hesitantly meets my lips with his and puts his arms on either side of me to lean on the wall as I push him against me, my hand on the back of his neck.

The kiss is chaste, a fact obscured by the deceivingly passionate position we are in. I keep my eyes open throughout, enough to see the man from the coffee house peek into the alleyway and then leave, uttering a curse at the prospect of having lost sight of me. It isn’t until his footsteps fade away completely that I turn my face away from le Comte, a sigh of relief managing to escape my lips this time.

“Sorry about that,” I breathe out. “I’m the one he was after.”

“Is he the man Sebastian told me about? Is he giving you any more trouble?” he asks, worried.

“You mean with the coffee? Yeah, that’s him.” I thought he would have forgotten me after a few weeks, but it turns out that man is as bitter as the drinks he scams people into paying.

“You do know I could have fought him, don’t you? He is no match for a pureblood vampire, after all,” le Comte says, looking in the direction of the main street. “Nobody threatens my guests. That scoundrel needs to be taught a lesson-”

“You will do no such thing,” I interrupt him, interlocking my fingers with his before he can get away. “Arthur already punched him in the face and it only made things worse. Besides, we have somewhere to be. Don’t want your shirt to get wringkled or something.”

“You are right,” he chuckles. “Ma chérie, always so thoughtful. Although if you see that man again, do not hesitate to let me know. I will handle it,” he assures me, regaining his serious expression. The look in his eyes is threatening, but not towards me. I have never seen him like that, even though he is certainly protective of me. That he has proven since the day we met.

“Okay,” I nod, making eye contact so he can see I understood. I begin walking out of the alleyway and gently pull him along, still grasping his hand. “Now let’s go, we’re going to be late.”

[bonnie-barstow-of-flag]

The Not So Lonesome Knight Part 16:

Parts 1 X, 2 X , 3 X , 4 X, 5 X , 6 X , 7 X, 8 X, 9 X 10 X, 11 X , 12 X, 13 X ,14 X, 15 X  

Michael’s azure hues dazzle, vibrant in their appearance, as he contemplates the idea of Bonnie being turned into a robot. The imaginings were largely inspired by Rc3′s earlier commentary. If he tried hard enough, he could picture the wires, cords, and computer chips strung expertly together to make up her perfect body. Maybe, Rc3 wasn’t that far off? What else could account for Dr. Barstow’s expansive intelligence? Knight humorously considers, lathering the motel’s conditioner through the dark coils of his hair.

Helios and the Foundation both knew that Bonnie possessed an elite mind. Unfortunately, the one particular section of Helios that had taken interest in her happened to be corrupt with criminals. That was entirely beside the point.  All Michael could do, was chalk the incident up to another time where he almost lost her. Internally, he was beginning to despise the word ‘almost’. It implied an inability to fully grasp what he so desired all-the-while, maintaining that she could still leave. If he waited too long, he could blink and she’d be gone again.  This thought alone causes his eyes to dull with hints of sadness.

Kitt was right to label him a coward. A coward who is constantly hiding his true feelings behind nearly impenetrable facades, Michael thinks to himself. He could blame it on the metal implant in his head, his time working in Intelligence, or even his life-times worth of trauma, and the number of losses he suffered. Heck, Michael could honestly apply just about a trillion more excuses but he doesn’t.

He lets a torrent of cold water followed by warm, rinse over all of his features, washing away his dour line of thinking. One day, he should free himself of the tethers of fear and dread that conspired to keep him and Bonnie apart forever.

Would he ever get a better opportunity to tell her than tonight? Michael ponders as he towels himself off and re-dresses. He can’t. He won’t! There has to be a better time, a better place than a motel, and a more convenient opportunity. He didn’t even have roses to assist his effort to woo her. Casting a wistful glance in the mirror, he reminds himself just how short he would always fall on the scale of measuring up to what Bonnie deserves.

In his departure of the bathroom, he finds himself greeted by the hums of the television which, was now turned on and casting it’s ethereal glow throughout the darkened room. Michael finds himself staring at Bonnie again. He can’t help it. She looked spectacular bathed in the luminosity radiating from the tv. Every one of her features seemed infinitely softened to the point of angelic glory under it’s careless caress. Even the look of determination she sported upon her countenance melted. From his observations, Michael gathers that she was multi-tasking, the way she always did when there were too many things burdening her mind.

Michael slings his towel around his neck like a decorative scarf, though neither end meets or crosses, as he strides across the room. After several minutes of silent observation, curiosity gets the better of him. “Whattacha workin’ on there, Bons?”

Turquoise hues begrudgingly lift upwards, departing from the pages of her splayed open notebook. The pages are jammed full of fresh equations, side-notes, and scribbled addendums. Bonnie had been working on adding more when he interrupted. Michael looked as shiny as a brand new penny with his damp mop of curls. The smile that accompanies his inquiry encourages her to answer. “I was...” Bonnie starts, praying he didn’t find her too nerdy to be attractive, “working on the coding mechanisms for the Foundation. Since some of the systems have been compromised, I’m working on making security-related improvements. I can’t really do too much without the computer physically in front of me, but this will give me ideas on what to try first.” She invitingly pats the opposite side of the mattress for him to sit down.

Michael can’t help but be impressed and his eyebrows elevate as he listens to her. “Ya mean all that jibberish is the code that will protect the Foundation?” He can hardly mask the surprise in his own inquiry as he seats himself beside her.

The brunette cocks her head casually to the side, stifling a soft laugh. Her eyes can’t help but dance with light as they focus on him.“Well, it is really a prototype of the code.” She should have known, that to his untrained eye, it would be interpreted as the equivalent of a foreign language filled with indiscernible hieroglyphics. Never one to excessively flaunt her intelligence, Bonnie slid the notebook closed and placed it and her pencil on the nightstand beside the bed.

Chewing the corner of her lip briefly, she adds, “and I was watching this show. I hate to say it, but they’re doing the repairs on that truck wrong.” Her gaze flashes towards the motion on the screen. Realizing that this made her sound overly critical, she tacks on, “not even terrible modifications are done that way. It is not only a fire hazard, but it is a good way to lose mechanical control on the road when you hit anything above fifty miles-per-hour.” She would have delved further into the complicated explanation but she really didn’t want to right now. “Feel free to change the channel to something better. I really stopped watching it intently about ten minutes ago when he started to cross the wrong wires.” She confides, slumping back against the pillows behind her.

Normally, Michael would hazard a guess at where the show’s mechanic went wrong but he doesn’t want to appear dim-witted, in her eyes, should his assumption be incorrect. So he willingly lets her remark evaporate into the air around him. He follows her lead, flopping back against pillows that rested against the bed’s headboard. He gleefully takes up the remote as he makes himself comfortable beside her. “What do ya wanna watch?”

“Anything but that last show and the news,” she answers with a half scrunched up nose.

Those requests were easy enough to abide by. He settles for something that appears to be a romantic comedy. It was hard to tell for certain if that was exactly what he landed upon because the movie was half-way through. Most women loved the silly Hallmark romances, right? Where could he go wrong? However, Bonnie wasn’t just any woman, so he studies her in order to gauge her reaction to his selection. To his pleasant surprise, she not only smiles, she hands him the champagne bottle.

“We might as well enjoy it since it’s free,” Bonnie offers. The way she said it, felt lame as it steamrolls passed her lips. The statement felt duller than she intended. Bonnie wanted to say something more meaningful, more intimate but that would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? He remains forbidden fruit.

Michael doesn’t even seem to notice the lackluster capacity of her suggestion. He cheerfully opens the bottle and pours them both a glass. They were certainly responsible adults. “So, what are we toastin’ to?” After a thoughtful pause, he jokingly adds, “and please don’t say this room or Devon.”

As strange as it might sound when Bonnie passed him the bottle, she hadn’t considered the idea that there would be a toast worth giving. At least, not one that should be shared between co-workers. She runs her pointer-finger slowly across her lower-lip giving herself time to think of something. Work. It was the safest of all of their options given their present predicament. Although, in her heart, she would prefer toasting to this night together. “How about a toast to us?” She eagerly proposes, her turquoise orbs hesitantly floating over to examine him.

Michael chokes in astonishment.“To us?” He parrots. He isn’t going to lie, he really enjoys the sound of that. It leaves so many wonderful possibilities and it swung open far too many doors.

Shifting in her place, she affirms. “Yeah. To us.” A proud smile steals across her lips. Bonnie pauses to untangle her thoughts before finally clarifying, “to us making a great team and resolving this case together.”

Leaning in, he smoothly returns, “I think I can drink to that.”

Lifting her glass the brunette breathes, “here is to us getting Kent back and rescuing the Foundation.” Of course, they hadn’t resolved the case just yet but what harm could a premature celebration be?

Setting aside their empty glasses, the two FLAG agents snuggle on top of the blankets to catch the remainder of the movie. While there are heaps of pillows around them, Bonnie opts to rest her head against Michael’s nearest shoulder. Every so often, the brunette would sneak glances up at him through the tangles of her long dark lashes. He is so close. Almost too close but she doesn’t pull away and to her surprise neither does he.

“Look at them, Michael! How do they not see it?! They are so in love and they are so perfect for each other.” She dreamily exclaims, pointing in the direction of the movie.

Michael’s azure hues snapped towards the screen the very instant she pointed. He had only been half watching the movie, the rest of his attention had been on her. He chuckles a little too loudly at her remark but the sound is edged with unusual jitters. “I don’t know.” His large hand massages the back of his neck because he is well aware that he is holding back just like the unfortunate man in the fictitious premise of the movie. “You’re right, though. It is glaringly obvious that they do belong together.” Maybe, this hadn’t been the right channel selection?

“Bonnie?” He asks, her name departing his lips in an adoring sotto voce. His gaze slowly flutters back down to her.

“Yeah?” She prompts in reply, cheating and focusing half of her attention on Michael and the other half on the movie.

He angles his head downwards and to the side slightly to get a better view of her. Swallowing sharply, he knows that this wasn’t going to be easy. There was a strong likelihood that what he is about to say will have him spending the night on the floor. Yet, he feels compelled to speak. “There is somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to tell you.” Michael starts, his brow glistening with sweat as he dares to meet her gaze.

Captivated, Bonnie concentrates fully upon him and she giddily prompts.“Oh? What is it?” Without giving him much time to impart his next statement she interjects “wait. Let me guess?” Her lips twist into a jovial grin as she speculates, “you want to tell me that your shirt is too big on me? Or I wouldn’t like a pair of your shorts because it’s got that funny hole in them?” She hardly finishes her assumptions before she falls into a fit of giggling.

“Well, yes... and no.” He starts, laughing till his chest hurt. His shirt was a little big for her. Still, Bonnie was practically killing him with the mental picture of her in more than just his shirt. However, it was ridiculous to imagine her wearing any of his pants, his shorts especially. His legs were at least a foot longer than her’s. Shaking off the useless imaginings, he tries to regain control of the more serious conversation he hoped to start. “First of all, my shirt looks it’s best when you wear it, over-sized or not. It has never looked better.” He almost suggests that she keep it, but he wonders if that is taking things a bit too far and too fast. “And unless I’m missin’ my mark here, you’ve already tried on my shorts. Haven’t you?” An air of playful accusation colors his tone. What had given away the fact she had tampered with his shorts, was the fact that they were folded differently than the way he had done them and then they were left on the bathroom sink for him when he went to take his shower.

His laughter feels like the presence of sunshine, balmy and wholly welcomed. She hadn’t been expecting his compliments and as a result, her face slowly stained red. The hilarious accusation, though it was spot-on, deepened the color to a lovely shade of plum. “Okay. So, I’m a little guilty. I was afraid you’d see too much of my legs. You don’t think I’m showing too much skin. Do you?”

Lord. Who suddenly turned the room’s temperature up a hundred degrees? So this was how it felt to be a cake in the nearly 400-degree oven. Michael’s gaze swiftly sweeps up the exposed expanse of her legs. “No.” He sharply swallows the lump of lust rising in his throat. “No, I don’t think there is too much showin’...” Heaven help him if he continued to vocalize the rest of that thought! “And I really have to tell you this or I think I just might burst.” This time his statement is firmer than he actually intended. “I...” He delicately uses his free hand to sweep some of Bonnie’s straying dark strands from her eyes before tucking them back behind her ear. He leans himself nearer until his lips are scantly a breath away from her’s. He can do this. Kitt was right! The whole fear thing was plain silly!!! He just has to rip the bandage off no matter the cost. His heart fiercely bellows out for mercy with every beat. “I....”

Bonnie smiles as he tucks her hair behind her ear, a corner of her lower-lip catches between her teeth. She has a sneaking suspicion that she knows just where this conversation is going and it terrifies her so greatly, she can feel the harsh throbbing of her heart all the way up in the hollows of her ears. The brunette can sense the lingering of his eyes upon her lips and her own gaze ventures briefly to his. If ever there were a silent, touch-less exchange of a kiss, there was one now looming in the air between them.

“I think I... lov...” He starts, his voice is huskier than he desired it to be. He was about to finish that statement when Kitt interrupts with a series of beeps.

“Michael?” Kitt innocently starts.

There is a mild explosion of exasperation in Michael’s tone when he answers, “Kitt? Can it wait? I’m in the middle of somethin’ important?!” Kitt’s timing couldn’t have been any worse not even on a bad day.

The Bostonian voice that answers holds an apologetic air, “I’m sorry, Michael. It can’t. A group of vicious-looking men are headed your way armed with guns and an battery-operated saw.”

Bonnie’s eyes round as she removes her head from Michael’s shoulder. The fact that these “armed” men were headed in their direction with guns and a saw couldn’t be a coincidence. Now could it?

The warning doesn’t come a moment too soon as a little less than a minute later their door comes crashing in, deadbolt and all.

[alphawave-writes]

Evil actions and good intentions Chapter 7: Giving in (Sigma x Harold)

Synopsis: Harold Winston is preparing himself for a life on the run after surviving an attack that nearly cost him his life, but Sigma does not want him to go. A mysterious stranger brings both a solution and a problem.

You guys can read it here or on AO3. If you like my stuff please do consider supporting me on ko-fi. 

-

Vishkar shows its true colours suddenly, and almost violently. In the aftermath of the shootings, they campaigned for their continued presence in Oasis. They have highlighted security deficiencies, traffic congestion, and infrastructural issues as reasons their presence is necessary within the city. There are other points they bring up, but those are the important ones that the news bring to attention when Vishkar and the Ministries begin their talks in a private forum.

Protests are enacted all throughout the city, the ranks largely consisting of disgruntled University students. They argue that Vishkar’s presence ruins the fundamental rights of Oasis’s citizens, that it distorts the original purpose of the Ministries’. Having an outside company stay within the city, especially one with such a shady reputation, spells trouble.

All this is meaningless to Sigma. It’s just an extra annoyance he has to deal with.

He is sitting in a corner of Moira’s lab as she writes her notes. Another psych examination, he was told. Moira must have caught wind that Sigma was a participant in the attack, that’s why she’s checking up on him so soon. It’s the only logical explanation.

He can’t help but let his lips purse. He’s got so many questions now, especially with the protest running rampant about the university. Usually he dares not ask questions because he respects Dr O’Deorain’s privacy, but this is something he simply cannot ignore.

“How are the talks with Vishkar?” Sigma asks.

“Fine,” Moira replies curtly. She’s still writing on her pad, her face completely blank.

After a few seconds of silence, Sigma frowns. He knows Moira keeps to herself most of the time, but recently she has been unusually tight-lipped. For some reason, it doesn’t sit well with him. “I assume because you are friends with Mr Korpal,” he continues. “You must be campaigning for Vishkar’s presence in Oasis.”

“It’s a natural progression of events. The city has become stagnant. A bit of outside help would do it wonders.” Her eyes look up from her pad, narrowing on his face. “This session is supposed to be about you.”

“I know.” He sees the curl of her lips and soon, the melody of the universe plays. Danger, danger, it sings. He grits his teeth. He doesn’t know why, but every time he hears Moira’s name or sees Moira’s face, the whispers always croon their awful tune. There must be a reason, but he can’t imagine why. His eyes stare at Moira’s right hand, wrinkled and purple.

It looks so much like Harold’s skin when Dr. Williams attacked him. Harold was so fragile back then, lying there on the ground, weak and helpless and so very old. And then afterwards, when Sigma kept Dr Williams up in the air, Harold’s angry shouts shake him to the core, threatening to unravel him from the inside out. He’s become used to the moniker of ‘Sigma’, but from Harold’s lips it sounds like a demon in disguise, a twisted monster that knows only death and destruction. He never wants to hear Harold call him ‘Sigma’ again.

Sigma tries to calm himself down but it’s too late. The items on Moira’s desk begin to rattle for a second before stopping. It does not go unnoticed by Moira, who gives them a quick glance before turning her attention back to Sigma. Her gazes sharpens.

“How have you and Dr. Winston been?”

“Fine.” His throat feels so dry all of a sudden.

“You do not have to be shy around me. I understand he is very important to you.” Her lips quirk up. “It’s good to have a companion.”

Sigma cannot count the nights Harold’s spent in his bed. Even when Harold was allowed back to his own room, he continued to stay with Sigma, reading his books, using the shower, sleeping side by side in the bed. Every morning without fail, he curls up next to Sigma and smiles dreamily. Every morning without fail, Sigma contemplates kissing Harold on the lips and knowing for sure if the passion he feels is reciprocated. It’s too late, he tells himself time and time again. Even if they love each other, it’s not meant to be. Harold is going to leave soon, prepared to live a life on the run. Sooner or later, Harold will go away, and they will never see each other again.

A part of Sigma wants to stay in Oasis. As expected, he has acquired the position in the Ministry of Physics, and it will not reflect kindly on him if he just up and leaves, especially so soon after acquiring the position. But then there’s the other part of him that wants to throw caution to the wind and be by Harold’s side till the end of time. For a while he thought that Harold needed him. Now he knew that the opposite is true.

A small sigh escapes his lips, his only response to Moira. Her smile softens but her gaze is knowing.

“It’s something more,” she remarks. “Perhaps you would like to tell me about your feelings for Dr. Winston then, Sigma?”

When did his name sound so wrong? When did the name that he took from his captors start sounding so foul? What are those discordant notes in her voice that clash horribly in his ears? Why have the dark whispers returned when his mind is so clear?

Sigma suddenly stands up from his chair. He feels queasy and wrong. Something is so wrong. “I…I-I think that is enough, Dr. O’Deorain. I should get back to my research.”

But Moira stands in front of him now, sizing him up. Her tone almost sounds sympathetic. “Are you alright, Sigma?”

“Don’t call me that!” He snarls. A wave of gravity ripples through the lab, bottles and beakers suspended in the air.

Moira blinks slowly, the only one unaffected. Her polite smile fades away, daggers darting from her eyes. Danger, danger, the whispers say. The items slowly float back down to Earth.

“I-I’m sorry,” Sigma grimaces. He clutches his head in his hand. “I-I need to go.”

“Stay,” Moira’s blackened hand grips onto his wrist tightly.

But for once Sigma disobeys her, pulling his hand free and exiting her cool, dark lab for the sweltering middle eastern sun. The sweat that sticks on his skin is a reminder that he is alive, and he is breathing, and that this truly is reality. He does not dare gaze over his shoulder. If he did, he might have seen Moira’s lips twist into a scowl.

-

It’s late in the afternoon when Harold comes by Sigma’s lab in the Ministry of Physics. It’s easy to tell it’s him because of the soft glide to his gait, the walk of a dancer or a royal. He stands by the entrance, his smile as warm as the inner core of a star, and just as bright. In his right hand is a bag with three shawarmas. He takes one out for himself and drops the bag right in front of Sigma’s desk.

They’re delicious, Sigma knows from previous experience, and the scent drifts ever so delicately in the air, but for some reason he’s not hungry. He’s not in the mood. “Bedankt, Harold, but I’ll eat later.”

“You don’t want to eat shawarma? Who are you and what have you done to Siebren?” Harold teases.

Sigma stares at him meaningfully. Harold’s lips dip into a frown.

“Oh,” he mumbles. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet. “You want to talk about it?”

There’s a part of him that wants to tell Harold his fears. It niggles in the back of his mind, telling him something isn’t right, that something is very wrong. It speaks of ceaseless violence and unending sorrow and a harness that breaks its shackles. It scares him, and the fact that he’s scared makes it all the more unnerving. But there’s no math formula to help him here. No equation that can tell him why he feels this way. All he knows is that he feels safe with Harold. He’s the one thing anchoring Sigma to the Earth, preventing him from floating up to the stars.

“I’d rather not,” he says finally. “Some other time.”

“Fair enough,” Harold sighs, taking the seat right next to Sigma. He unwraps the shawarma and takes a bite. It’s hard for Sigma not to stare. When he eats, it’s like poetry in motion. Prim and proper, without a mess or spill to be seen. Symphonies could be written to the rhythm of Harold’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, lips smacking together in satisfaction. Only Harold Winston could make eating look like a fine art.

Harold suddenly glances up, gazing back into Sigma’s eyes. As of late, nebulae sparkle behind his dark irises, glittering in prismatic colours. Sigma’s seen it before, back when he was Siebren. Back when they were very much in love.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Sigma averts his gaze back to the scattered notes across his desk. “No,” he says. “Not a speck on you.”

Harold frowns. He looks almost disappointed. “Good…” he murmurs.

“Indeed…”

Sigma goes back to his whiteboard and stares at the equations. Or at least, he tries to, but not even math can hold his attention today. He’s done absolutely no work since the psych examination with Dr. O’Deorain earlier today. His thoughts are on Talon and Oasis and Vishkar and Lucheng Interstellar and Harold. They fight for dominance over his brain. He almost misses the voices that fight for control in his mind. Almost.

“You know, I’ve prepared my stuff, Siebren. Could go any day if I wanted to,” Harold says.

Sigma can’t help but frown. “So you will leave soon then.”

His eyes glance down at his barely-eaten shawarma. He nods slowly. “Just need to figure out where to go from here.” His lips dip microscopically. “Would be great if you came along.”

“You don’t need me to protect you. You are more than capable.” You’ve proven time and time again how strong you really are, Sigma thinks but never says.

“I’m not. You saw what happened that day, I nearly died if you didn’t save me. If Tempest has a device to jam my nanobots, there must be more of them out there. And she’s still alive to tell the tale.”

“You told me not to kill her,” Sigma says pointedly.

“I know,” Harold grimaces. Quieter, he says, “I know. It’s my decision. I knew the consequences and I still chose to spare her because I’m a coward who can’t kill people. And it’s because of my cowardice that I’m even in this predicament.”

Sigma doesn’t know what to say. He can’t comfort Harold, because they both know it’s true. It could have been so easy to disguise her death as a fatal accident. It could have been so easy for Sigma to make sure she feels the same pain and suffering that Harold has felt for years. He’s killed before, and he will do it again. For Harold, he could do just about anything.

Harold stares at Sigma with cold, sad eyes. He already knows what will come out of those lips before it’s even said. “Siebren, come with me. Please.”

He expects it, but it still hurts. His heart feels like it’ll leap out of his chest. “You know I can’t,” Sigma sighs.

“Why not?”

“I’ve finally found my calling here. Under the Ministry of Physics, I can make a difference once again. Harness the harness. Learn about the mysteries of gravity.” He summons the hyperspheres in his hand. “With my abilities and their connections, I might finally unveil the universe’s true melody to all.”

Harold frowns. “But will you be happy?”

With a wave of the hand, the hyperspheres disappear. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You haven’t thought about just…retiring?” Harold asks. “You’ve already been through so much pain.”

“And joining you on a life on the run won’t put me through pain?”

Harold’s lips dip low. “I’m just thinking about your happiness, Siebren.”

“What do you know about what makes me happy?” Sigma spits.

Harold stares at Sigma for the longest time. A lifetime of love and lost flickers through his eyes before he scowls to himself, leaving only the dark emptiness of space.

Sigma forces himself to turn away. He can’t bear to look at Harold. Not now, not when the memories of their romance still linger in his mind. Not now, when he knows all too well that he will never know happiness again the day Harold Winston leaves him for good. He’s already said his final goodbye once. He doesn’t want to say it again.

“We’re different people now, Harold,” Sigma says slowly. “We’re not lovers. Haven’t been for decades.”

Harold nods microscopically. “I know,” he whispers. “We’ve changed, but…not enough. I won’t have to go on a life on the run if I had.” Harold drops his food down on the desk and approaches Sigma. “You wouldn’t let me be this close if you did.”

Sigma freezes in place. There’s a hand reaching out for his cheek, running down his neck before lying on his chest. Harold’s so close now, two smoldering embers gazing at him with the intensity of a black hole. Sigma takes in a shuddery breath, a meteor shower crashing into his chest. He can’t push Harold away, not anymore. Every instinct of his body tells him to pull him closer and never let go. It’s only by the fractured shards of his mind that he doesn’t give in. He can’t give in.

Something buzzes loudly, interrupting the moment. It’s an opening, and Sigma takes it before he may commit to one final mistake. He scrambles to his desk, running his hand on the surface wildly before he finds the culprit: his beeping phone. A message has been sent to him from the Ministries. A warning to all Ministry of Physics staff that maintenance of one of the labs will be conducted at a specific time during the weekend. It’s utterly irrelevant to him, but it’s enough of a distraction for the music to fade away on a deceptive cadence.

Harold stands there for a few seconds before turning to his half-eaten shawarma. He picks it up, frowns, then drops it into the bin by Sigma’s desk.

“It’s getting late,” Harold says finally, sounding far less confident than normal. “Might as well eat the other two shawarma on the way back.”

Sigma does not dare say a word. His quivering throat is still full of emotion. If he speaks, Harold will know all about the pain and regret that he’s kept to himself. He might even lose himself again.

They walk in silence out of Sigma’s lab. To his relief, his shawarma is still warm in its paper, preserving its taste. Apart from the sounds of Sigma’s messy chewing, it’s oddly quiet in the university courtyard despite the time of day. There’s a side of him that fears that Lucheng has already made their move, or worse, that another fatal incident has occurred without his knowledge. But as they head to the main courtyard, he sees that it’s something far worse. There are protestors outside Dynasty Hall, where the Ministries and Vishkar are currently having their talks. Vishkar’s bodyguards stand in front, photon blasters holstered on their side, stoic amongst the frenetic chants of the protestors.. The tension is thick in the air, and it stinks of violence and hatred. One small act of aggression, and there will be a fight here.

“Let’s go around,” Harold says.

But Sigma doesn’t move. He hears the whispers in his mind talking to him. Go forth, they say, observe. Slave to the voices, he walks into the crowd, the people parting to let him through.

At the front of the crowd, Satya is flanked on both sides by bodyguards. She is conversing in furtive tones to someone in an aviator jacket over a sports jumpsuit. A strange device is over her chest.

Listen, the voices insist.

Sigma’s seen her face before. But where? Why are the whispers talking to him now? What do they know?

“You have no place here,” Satya declares.

“I’m just poppin’ round, love,” the stranger smiles.

“If you are here, the reports must be true. Overwatch wants to reform itself.” Satya murmurs to herself before catching herself. Her gaze sharpens on the stranger. “Why are you here?”

“Just on the lookout. Never said anything about Overwatch.”

“Do not play games with me.”

“Overwatch?” Harold whispers beside Sigma. “I thought they’re gone.”

The crowd is murmuring in Arabic, probably about the stranger’s appearance and the potential return of Overwatch. Many are eager. Most sound concerned. They’re all staring at Satya and the stranger.

“Your presence has already disrupted harmony.” Satya waves her hand toward the crowd. “How do I expect Overwatch to bring order amongst chaos? That is why it is Vishkar’s job to bring order. Not Overwatch.”

“Perhaps Overwatch’s time is over, but the world could always use more heroes.” From her person, the stranger takes something and clasps it into Satya’s hand. It’s too small to see what it is from this distance, but it’s enough to make Satya stiffen visibly. She gazes upon it, and a myriad of conflicting emotions bubble up to the surface.

It takes Satya a while to recover her voice. She grips his fist tight, obscuring the mysterious object from sight. “You did not answer me before. Why are you here?”

The stranger’s carefree smile falls. “Ever heard of an organization called Talon?”

Satya’s eyes are as wide as saucers. The stranger nods solemnly.

“You do,” she murmurs. “Then you know why I’m here, love.”

Satya still doesn’t speak. She cannot speak anymore. She makes a gesture at her bodyguards, who push forward, barricading her from the stranger’s sight.

The stranger takes a step back, momentarily startled before springing back with a smile. She turns around and gives a two-fingered salute to the crowd. “Cheers, love. The cavalry’s here.”

Most of the crowd cheers loudly. Some mutter in disconcert. Whispers about Overwatch’s return are everywhere, clogging the once-clear air, but all Sigma can think about is her strange words. What does she want with Talon? What does Talon have to do with Overwatch?

The stranger turns around, ready to join the crowd when she suddenly stops in her track. She stares wide-eyed in their direction. It’s then that Sigma recognizes where he saw her. She was in that newspaper clipping with Winston, hugging him tightly in a friendly manner. She had a name, but the newspaper called her ‘Tracer’.

She takes a step closer, and then another, her body in a complete trance. By his side, Sigma can feel Harold quiver. Tracer’s staring at Harold, taking in every detail, comparing him to a photograph in her mind.

“You’re…Winston’s dad?” Tracer whispers, barely audible above the dim of the crowd.

Harold grips onto Sigma’s wrist tightly, pulling him away as he takes a few steps back. Sigma barely has time to give one final glance behind his back at Tracer’s confused figure before he’s led away by Harold. He can’t concentrate on the swirling emotions that must plague Harold’s mind. His thoughts are all on the hand over his wrist, impossibly warm like the sun, heating him up from the inside out.

Harold doesn’t stop until they’re back in Sigma’s room. He paces circles around the floor, staring at a blank spot on the wall. His fists are clenched by his side. His expression is pained, conflicted. Sigma moves behind Harold, ready to surround him in a hug, but he stops himself before he can commit. The tension from earlier in the lab hasn’t completely dissipated. All he needs is one little push before he succumbs once more.

“She said Winston’s dad,” Harold whispers quietly. “Not Dr. Winston. Not Harold. Winston’s dad. That’s what she called me.”

Sigma approaches slowly, carefully monitoring the distance between their bodies. “You’re…crying.”

Harold blinks rapidly before harshly swiping his fist over his eyes. He forces a smile. “S-sorry. This must look so stupid to you. I shouldn’t be crying over such a little thing.”

Sigma quells the desire to wipe Harold’s tears away himself. He wants to place a kiss on Harold’s closed eyelids and make him smile. He wants to make Harold forget that sadness is an emotion, make him forget that pain and strife run rampant in the universe. He wants to hold Harold in his arms, but he can’t. He can’t give in, no matter how much it hurts. The pain he’ll feel if he commits will be far greater, he assures himself.

Harold takes a few moments to breathe in and out. “He told that young lady that I was his dad. And she’s trying to rebuild Overwatch?”

“Sombra told me that Winston is leading the charge. Rumours say he issued a recall to all former Overwatch agents, to band together in defiance of the law.”

“So a group of vigilantes, led by the gorilla that calls me his father, is looking for recruits?” Harold chuckles, shaking his head. “This sounds too good to be true.”

Sigma frowns. He knows what Harold will say if he asks, but he can’t stop himself. “So does that mean you will join them?”

“If they’ll let me. I mean, I’m not affiliated with Overwatch at all, but I am a scientist in my own right, with my own secrets about Lucheng. If they want to resurrect Overwatch, I’ve got valuable information. If they’re a group of vigilantes, they might be able to keep me safe at the very least. There’s no better place to hide. It all depends on if Winston will accept me or not.” Harold suddenly scowls. “It’s been so long though. What if he thinks I faked my death on purpose? What if…what if he hates me?”

“Harold, you’re overthinking it,” Sigma sighs. His eyes go cloudy as he recounts their shared past. Despite his best efforts, his lips curl up into a half-smile. ��I remember how much you cared for him all those years ago. You doted on him like he was your flesh and blood, like he was human. And if you tell him the truth about your disappearance, he should understand.”

A small smile peeks out from Harold’s lips. “I don’t know how to get in contact with him though. Or anyone from Overwatch.”

Sigma contemplates telling him about Sombra’s backdoor access to Winston. All he needs to do is send her a message and Harold will finally be able to talk to Winston. They will cry happy tears when they reunite. They will tell each other the story of their lives and Winston will tell Harold what to do so he’s safe. Soon after, Harold will leave Sigma’s side and they will never see each other again for the rest of their lives.

He wants to be possessive. He wants to keep Harold here. He wants to hold Harold close by his side and protect him till the end of their days. He wants Harold to stay with him so finally, finally, he might bask in the sunlight of their love once more and know happiness.

He wants Harold to be his. But more than that, he wants Harold to be happy.

Sigma lets out a shaky breath. “…Sombra told me there’s a way to contact him,” he says slowly. “She can set it all up for us, if we tell her. She can organize a video call so you can be in contact with Winston. You two will be able to talk to one another again.”

Harold’s eyes tear up once more, reflecting the world in the droplets, and suddenly Sigma is pulled into a passionate kiss. Arms wrap around his body, pulling him down so the distance between their bodies shorten. The time when their lips touch is short, but it feels so much longer.

When they separate, Sigma sees the lines of gravity connecting them together. It pulls and pulls, desperate for the distance between their bodies to close, desperate for the fatal collision that will change the course of his fate forever. The music has returned with a thunderous crescendo, but it’s still quiet compared to the breaths that leave Harold’s lungs, heavy with emotion.

Harold stares into his eyes, and Sigma sees nebulae and galaxies glittering amidst the dark backdrop of space. He can’t look away. He doesn’t want to look away.

Harold places a hand on Sigma’s cheek and rubs circles with his thumb. A crimson blush stains his cheeks, eyes flickering down to Sigma’s lips. Sigma can feel himself uncoil and unfurl, can feel gravity threaten to leave its shackles. His body is no longer his own. He’s gone beyond the event horizon, sucked in with no escape.

“Don’t,” Sigma whispers.

“You’re smart,” Harold says. “You know what I’m thinking. You know how I feel.”

“You’re smarter than me,” Sigma admits. It’s a truth he’s acknowledged a long time ago but he’s never said aloud before. To this day, he has yet to encounter a person smarter than Dr. Harold Winston. It’s his intelligence that earned Sigma’s respect. It’s also what earned Sigma’s affections.

“I’m not,” Harold insists. “I’m nowhere near as brilliant as you.”

His breathing is a sonata, his lungs and heart a concerto. He’s made of beautiful melodies and chords that piece together to create a heavenly song. Sigma’s heard this song before. It’s the dramatic violin vibrato before the crash of the cymbals, before the world shrinks down to the two of them. The moment before two heavenly bodies collide.

When Sigma takes the plunge and kisses Harold, he swears he can hear the angels sing their perfect choir song as the universe condenses into the space of this single-bedroom apartment. His body fizzles with electricity, and his heart is leaping out of his chest, and he hears the distinct rattle in the air when he knows his emotions have made him lose control of his abilities once again, but Harold is gliding in the air with him, smiling against his lips and kissing back with equal fervor.

With the last remnants of his willpower, he pulls them down so they are finally standing. They gaze upon each other for just a second before Harold gives Sigma another kiss, and another, and then another, and countless more after that, on his lips and cheeks and neck and everything in between. When he’s done, he rests his head onto Sigma’s shoulder, his fingers clinging onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Be with me,” Harold breathes, his words so quiet and fragile. “Stay with me. Please.”

Sigma cannot reply. His lungs don’t work like they used to. Even if he could, he doesn’t know what to say, what he wants. Instead, he leads Harold to the bed, traces his fingers over the tubes on Harold’s skin, and presses his lips onto Harold’s eyelids. With every second, he feels himself melt just a little bit more

As they lay in bed, caressing each other with the utmost reverence, Sigma feels the twinkling stars chime in unison within his body. They tell him that this is right, that this is where he belongs, by Harold’s side. That he can have this if he throws caution to the wind and speak the truths the universe can never say for him. He curls into Harold, taking in his melodies. Every gasp, every moan, every sweet nothing, they are all songs that Sigma’s heard before decades ago, but it still brings out the same emotions deep within his chest. Harold still sings so beautifully, he thinks, as his fingers glide over Harold’s stomach.

The choir chant his desires. The universe hums in his ears. Harold smiles as brightly as the sun. The fragments of his mind drift away into the dark void as he gives himself up completely to Harold. He gives in, whole-heartedly, eagerly, desperately.

Just for that night, the man known as Sigma is gone. In his place, Siebren de Kuiper returns, a phoenix rising from the ashes. For the brief moment he resides on Earth, his sole mission is to make up for all the years he spent without Harold Winston by his side.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 16

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

____________

The Argents will strike soon. Peter knows it in his blood, and says as much to John Stilinski when he coincidentally finds himself back at his house the next day. Well, it’s not so much a coincidence as the fact that Laura got tired of his pacing and growled at him to get the hell out of the loft for a while.

“They won’t,” John tells him, shoving a microwave meal across his kitchen table for Peter, and stabbing his own with a fork before setting it in the oven. His uniform shirt is unbuttoned, showing of his plain undershirt. He’s wearing socks but no boots. Peter might have knocked on his back door the moment he heard the key turn in the front. “That’s not how they operate. They don’t have the measure of you yet. For all they know you’ve spent the last six years rebuilding your pack. For all they know there could be dozens of you by now, and the Argents aren’t suicidal.”

Peter arches his brows. “And when they realise there’s only three of us?”

John shrugs. “When they realise that, then you’re in serious trouble.”

Peter growls under his breath and reaches for his fork. He can’t say this is his idea of a lunch date with a good-looking man. He can’t say anything, actually, because to draw attention to the fact that they’re eating dinner together will only highlight how fucking weird this situation is, and then Peter might not get the chance to enjoy it. If he’s going to die, and the chances are certainly high, then why not indulge in a few moments like this one? Moments where another man knows exactly who he is, and doesn’t fear him because of it. Moments where they occasionally stop talking about Argents and blood and war, and Peter thinks that he might actually like John Stilinski’s company. Crazy thoughts for crazy times.  

The plate in the microwave rattles as John’s dinner cooks.

“They only went after Scott because he was on their territory,” John says. “He was at Chris’s house. They thought it was an attack, not…” He frowns and shakes his head.

“Not a lovesick kid with a crush,” Peter finishes for him.

“Yeah, not a lovesick kid with a crush.” John exhales slowly. “At the moment they’re still trying to gather intelligence. They’re trying to figure out your strength and, more importantly, your location. You should move, by the way, until this is done. Don’t sleep in the same place twice. Routine is your enemy.”

“You try telling the alpha she should leave her territory,” Peter mutters, digging into whatever godawful excuse for food this is.

“I’m not saying you should tell her to leave her territory.” John gets his own dinner out of the microwave. He peels the plastic off, tosses it into the kitchen sink, and then sits down across from Peter. “I’m saying you should be more mobile within your territory for the time being.”

Peter stabs at something that might be a bean. “You really think they won’t come for us straight away?”

“I know they won’t,” John says.

Peter raises his eyebrows. “It’s difficult to trust someone who thinks this is food.”

“Fuck you,” John says, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he fights a smile. “It’s free food for you. Look, I was a hunter. Despite what you think, there are rules. At the moment the Argents are biding their time because they’re trying to gather intel. They’re also trying to force you into making a mistake. If you panic and attack first, that gives them all the justification they need.”

“Well, I’m not panicking,” Peter says, “but I amgoing to attack them before they get another chance at us.”

“Which is fine,” John says. “As long as you don’t leave any of them standing.”

“That’s the plan.”

John holds his gaze. “Apart from Stiles.”

“That’s also the plan.” Peter shrugs. “Also, not an Argent.”

John relaxes his posture a little at that. “Meanwhile though, the council expects due diligence from the Argents. They’re expecting a report into all the crimes of the Hale pack. The council wants evidence that the Argents are following the code. That means they can’t just come in and sweep a pack away over the course of a weekend, you know? They have to make it look like they’ve been here long enough to have completed an actual investigation.”

Peter huffs out a breath.

John’s brow creases. “What?”

“So cavalier,” Peter muses, “about killing innocents.”

“I told you, I never questioned anything until Claudia,” John says. “Until she told me everything she’d heard about hunters. As far as I knew, Chris and I weren’t killing innocents—we were killing the things that killed innocents. As far as I knew, when the heads of the hunter families said there was just cause, then there was just cause.”

“And Claudia changed your mind on that?”

John is silent for a moment before he answers. “Claudia made me see that I wasn’t being told the full story. She made me realise that trusting in the process is a fool’s game when the process is easily corrupted by people who will lie. But it was the attack on your family that really opened my eyes. I’d lived here for a decade by then, Peter. I knew the Hales hadn’t harmed anyone in that time, but I’m betting there’s a report to the council signed by Gerard Argent that says differently.”

Council politics and corruption. Peter wonders if Deaton’s trust in Araya Calavera is misplaced. Can they really expect any hunter to speak for them? That, he supposes, is a problem for future Peter, if future Peter is still breathing. And, if he’s not, then at least he doesn’t have to eat anymore microwave dinners.

He picks out another possible-bean. “Have you approached your inside man yet?”

“Not yet,” John says.

“You lied, of course,” Peter says,” about needing one to get to Kate and Gerard.”

John doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “We don’t not need one.”

“You want Stiles out of the way before we attack,” Peter says. “That’s what you want Chris for. He gets Stiles out of the way, and we’re free to go after Kate and Gerard.”

It makes sense, Peter supposes. John can’t remove Stiles from danger, and neither can Peter. If they tried, Stiles would only dig his heels in deeper. But if the boy was following the orders of an Argent? And if those orders just happened to have him out of the way at just the right time? That might just be the smartest and the safest way to remove Stiles from hard. From harm, and from being in a position where he can harm others.

He hums thoughtfully.

John pauses with his fork held halfway to his mouth. “Does that work for you?”

Peter tilts his head. “That depends. I have questions.”

“Of course you do.”

“I’m mostly curious as to if you’re still going to help us if your son’s no longer in the equation.”

“Are you fucking joking?” John sets his fork down. His expression hardens. “They stole my son from me. I want him safe, and I want him back, but I also want to make them pay. Do you need me to be any clearer than that?”

“No,” Peter says, his wolf stirring. “You want revenge. I understand that perfectly.”

***

There’s a corner of Beacon Hills that is crying out for gentrification. It’s old warehouses, mostly relics from the heyday of the lumber industry. It doesn’t take much for a werewolf to sniff out the places that haven’t been touched in years. Peter unrolls his sleeping bag and tries not to notice the sheer amount of dust he disturbs. Dust, and rat droppings, and-for some reason—feathers.

Laura perches on her backpack and unwraps a chocolate bar.

“You brought chocolate?” Derek asks archly from where he’s lurking by the grimy window.

“You’re just jealous,” Laura says with a grin.

Derek snorts. “Did you pack your hair dryer too, princess?”

Laura flips him the bird, and pointedly eats a square of chocolate.

There’s a strange sort of fragility in their levity, Peter thinks. Look at it too closely and it would shatter into a million pieces. They’ve lost a beta, they’re being hunted, and they’re currently holed up in a warehouse full of rat shit. If they want to bicker like two ordinary siblings on an ordinary day, Peter won’t stop them.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. It’s not quite eight at night, so he makes the call. It only rings for a moment before it’s answered.

“Uncle Peter?” Matty asks.

“Hello, pup,” Peter says, forcing a smile into his tone. “It’s not past your bedtime, is it?”

“No,” Matty says. “We had dinner and we’re watching a movie before bed.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” Peter closes his eyes briefly, and wishes he could hold Matty, scent him. It’s a physical ache in his chest. “What movie is it?”

“I miss you, Uncle Peter!” Matty says, sounding close to tears. “And Laura and Derek! When can I come home?”

Behind him, Peter’s aware that Derek and Laura have fallen into silence.

“Soon, pup,” he promises. Lies, maybe. “Very soon. I miss you too. Who else helps me keep your sister and bother in line, hmm?”

“Uncle Peter!” Matty exclaims, outraged. “Laura is the alpha! She’s in charge!”

“Hmm,” Peter says. “I thought that was just what we let her think?”

Matty giggles, and Peter smiles at having diverted him from his upset. After that it’s easy enough to prompt him into talking about his day, and how he played by the lake, and how he’s helping Asami build a diorama. Peter asks all the right questions and makes all the right interested noises and, if he keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend that Matty is right here with him now.

***

“Do you trust him?” Laura asks later, her voice quiet as she and Peter stare out the grimy window into the street below.

Peter watches as a police cruiser crawls slowly down the street, and wonders if it’s John.

“Yes,” he says at last. “Do you think I’m crazy?”  

Laura’s brow creases. “I don’t like being told to wait. By him especially.”

And there’s the rub, Peter thinks. A werewolf’s instincts, an alpha’s particularly, push towards action first. But John is telling them that would be a mistake, and that they need to wait. But John is also Janusz Stilinski, and Peter can more than understand Laura’s mistrust.

“He wants Stiles out of the way before we attack,” Peter says. He glances over to where Derek is watching them. “I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“It’s not unreasonable,” Laura says, “but it’s a variable. The sheriff is a variable, and he’s introducing even more variables. He’s asking us to compromise on our timetable, and he’s asking us to trust that he can bring Chris Argent in. We don’t have control over this situation, Peter, and that makes it dangerous.” She swallows. “It scaresme.”

“I know, Lulu,” he says. “It scares me too, but I don’t think we have a better option.”

Laura nods, and reaches out and squeezes his hand.

Peter looks over to Derek. “Get over here, pup.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but comes to join them by the window. Peter reaches up with his free hand and curls his fingers around the back of Derek’s neck. He wants to offer them reassurances that everything will turn out for the best, and make a million promises that they’ll all survive this and be safe and happy at last, but Laura and Derek aren’t Matty. They know exactly what promises of safety are worth.  

And so Peter says nothing, and together they watch the street below and wait for the night to end.

[nisaeiam]

TIMELESS - an ACOTAR fanfiction

After spending her entire life in Cretea, Zivia finds herself in the company of the Night Court, sent as an emissary to help after the war. As she navigates her way outside her once secluded life, she develops unlikely bonds with the people around her - especially with the one wreathed in shadows.

PROLOGUE, CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5

Also posted here on fanfiction.net

CHAPTER 6

The city of Velaris glowed under the afternoon sun as Zivia leaned over the balcony at the House of Wind. The others have left after their discussion earlier, except for Mor.

"Isn't it pretty?" she said as she stepped beside her on the railing.

The wind blew and Zivia closed her eyes, feeling the sweet caress on her face. "It is."

"Sorry about earlier."

She opened her eyes and turned toward Mor who appeared to be looking far into the city, but not really. Her gaze felt lost farther away.

"Do I really look that weak?" She meant it as a joke.

"No! Of course not, no." Mor snapped her attention to her and shook her head vigorously. "I don't doubt your abilities for a second. I know how you're completely capable of handling yourself on your own." She let out a soft chuckle. "The moment I saw how you effortlessly got under Rhys's skin I knew that then."

Zivia lifted her brows as a smile tugged at her lips. It was never her intention to annoy the High Lord, contrary to what her parents probably would have wanted her to do, but she didn't think that it would be so easy. Sure, she was told that the strongest Lord in Prythian's history isn't at all that bad and terrorizing as people perceives him to be but to actually see that soft albeit sensitive side of his, she couldn't help but tease him for it and that it wouldn't take that much effort on her part.

Mor looked back over the balcony. Her golden locks catching the afternoon chill.

"It was a piss-poor attempt to get Azriel to volunteer accompanying you."

"Why?"

"Because I – " She took a deep breath as if trying to snatch her lost words from the air. "You see, my father will be coming here in a week."

The bite in her voice at the word 'father' told her something about their relationship. Her suspicions were confirmed when Mor told her the story of her past with her family and the events that led to him going to the city.

"Az and Cassian would be looking out for him the entire visit. By the cauldron, they've actually been planning security protocols for months now!"

"But you're still skeptical."

"Yes." Mor sighed. "I just have this feeling that it won't go well. I know Keir. He'll think my absence as a sign of weakness and he wouldn't pass an opportunity to mock me in their presence. Azriel, he'd – " She cut herself off and started shaking her head. "It won't end well."

"You care for him."

It was more of a question than a declaration. Zivia noticed the tension between the two every time they get into close proximity with each other. If not for the fact that either of them would intentionally avoid or ignore each other at some times, she'd actually think that they're together.

"It's not like that." Mor said. "I mean I do care for him, but not in that way. It's really complicated."

"Ah. But he cares for you in that way."

Mor paused, puckering her lips as she threw a side glance at her.

"He's really not that good in hiding that, is he? Not as much as he thinks he does, at least."

She shrugged her shoulders and gave her a tight-lipped smile in reply. Anyone would've discerned those occasional glances that the Illyrian sends her way, the way his shadows would disappear in her presence or how his aura changes at the sight of her. How his unreadable face becomes readable; muscles in his jaw relaxing, gaze softening ever so slightly, lips trembling a bit – "

She shook her head at the thought. She's paying too much attention.

"Well good thing you got him to go." She muttered as she scratched her nose, ignoring the heat that crept up her body.

"Good thing that Rhys allowed him to go. He probably knew what I was trying to do. He knew that that visit won't go as smoothly as he wants it to be if Azriel were to be included in the equation, given what happened the last time he and Eris met."

"No worries. I'll keep him occupied."

As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted saying them. The look on Mor's face told her enough how it all sounded so wrong. She should've used a different term. But before she could explain herself, Mor gave her a mischievous smile and said, "I know you would."

Then she left her at the balcony cursing at herself for being flustered.

===================

Stardusts

That's what Zivia thought as she looked at all the lights dancing off the waves of the river. It looked like an extension of the night sky above them – full of stars that are so close to the touch. They just finished eating dinner at a restaurant where the group clearly frequented as the owner blurted "Oh, a newcomer!" as soon as she saw her.

The food they had wasn't anything like she tasted before and as much as she'd like to gorge herself on it, she couldn't help feeling all nervous and awkward infront a large group of people. It was one thing to dine with the High Lord and his entourage at the House of Wind. Eating out with them at a public place like this was definitely out of her comfort zone. Not to mention the addition of two more people – one whose presence reminded her of Jude, her father's general and also the one who trained her. Despite the female's small stature, she looked threatening enough that she felt like standing in attention and ready to obey her every command. The other one made her lament her absolute lack of effort in making herself presentable. Not that it would make her any prettier than the lady who so effortlessly looked like a goddess. She later learned that she's actually the High Lady's older sister.

The Cauldron definitely didn't hold back when it created these beings.

She was deep in thought when Mor slung an arm over her shoulder and giggled in her ear.

"Want to come with us?"

Her cheeks were flushed with alcohol but she doesn't seem too drunk, yet.

"Where? We just ate."

"We're going to Rita's," said Cassian, appearing at their side. "Mor here likes to dance. Join us and we'll show you how great parties are here at the Night Court."

"I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself, thank you very much."

Cassian let out a snort but she ignored it. The thought of going for a dance at this hour wasn't exactly how she envisioned spending the rest of her night. Besides, she already reached the limit of her allotted social interactions for the day. She needed – wanted – to be alone for now.

And she couldn't dance.

"Come on. It'll be fun!" pleaded Mor. "Azriel's coming too."

Her head snapped to the shadowsinger who was lounging by the diner's entrance. He was having a conversation with the petite female while Rhysand was busy paying their tab, Feyre and her sister were saying their thanks to the shopowner.

He obviously didn't strike her as the reveller sort but perhaps broody guys also needed to let themselves loose once in a while. Squinting her eyes, she tried to imagine how is he actually going to do that. It seems odd – if not entirely weird and unlikely. He turned and met her eyes, eyebrows shooting up in question. She quickly averted and focused back on Mor.

"Uhh. No. I'm sorry but I'm feeling a bit tired already so I'll have to pass."

She flashed an awkward smile and hoped that they wouldn't press any further because she couldn't think of any more lousy excuses to give.

Thank the Mother they didn't.

They all exchanged farewells as they parted ways. Mor gave her a small wave as she walked up the street to where Cassian was already waiting. Azriel followed behind. The High Lady and her sister headed straight for the river-estate while the other female – Amren – went off on her own. She doesn't seem to be staying with them as she did not see her either at the house the time she went there.

"Don't tell me you're going dancing too?" she said when they were all out of sight and Rhysand remained standing across her at the riverside.

"I might," he chuckled. "But no, I need to retrieve something from the town house."

She considered for a moment before offering to walk with him there, saying something about helping in digestion. Rhys just cocked his head and started walking.

"How are Miraym and Drakon doing?" he asked as they strode over the bridge. Some of the people would pause to greet their lord whenever they passed by them. It still quite unnerves her whenever their attention would fall on her so she threw an illusion to hide her attention-seeking wings.

"They're doing fine now. They've been quite busy since after returning from the war creating various wards and spells to ensure that the Cauldron remains hidden – untouched and safe deep within the island."

"Sorry for putting that burden to your parents."

"I'm sure they don't mind. It wasn't much of an inconvenience for them as you might think. They don't seem to be bothered by anything, really."

"So you think they don't mind sending you here when they know how unstable the situation is and that you could be targeted for knowing where that thing is hidden?"

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not a youngling anymore uncle."

Rhysand winced at the title and she stifled a laugh at his reaction. It wasn't really his fault for not expecting her to be the one sent as Cretea's emissary.

"Besides," she continued. "I think they're more than willing to have me out of the palace for once. Honestly, it is a mystery how I haven't had any other sibling yet."

The High Lord burst out into laughter and she had to physically stop him to avoid more attention from around them.

"You know," he said in between breaths "I'd actually think that they had put that spell around the island for that sole purpose."

They passed along the street where the sweet shop she bought chocolates from before stood and was tempted to run straight to it. She already feels the weight of the meal she had settle down her stomach.

There's always room for a desert.

Later, she thought. She'd come back later.

She was busy contemplating what to buy that she forgot about what Rhys said.

"Oh that. That may have been because of me actually."

"What do you mean?"

"Three centuries ago, I wandered off the border and got caught in an accident that almost killed me."

All the amusement vanished from the high lord's face instantly. He turned towards her expecting more from her story.

"They had to set up the shield after that." She gave him a wide-toothed smile. "They had no idea that it would be so effective to even deter good-willing people; gave you a hard time calling out for us."

It was an effort to shrug it off like it didn't matter a bit – like it still doesn't affect her to this day. Rhysand, sensing her unease about the topic, was quiet for a moment. He just nodded in understanding and continued walking in silence until they reached the front porch of the town house.

"Don't go telling me now that I don't have to go," she demanded as he turned to face her. "I know the risks. You saved my mother back then, let me return the favour."

"That debt has already been paid. I don't want to endanger the daughter that my friends have done so much to keep safe."

She can see it in his eyes, the desire to protect people. She heard the story of what he did to spare his family from the clutches of Amarantha and of how he died to let them live. He's the kind of person who would rather lay down his life than let those close to him get hurt. It warmed her heart that that devotion extended to her even if they haven't been that close.

"You'd make a really good father."

That took him by surprise. His serious demeanor was gone in an instant and she coughed to cover the laugh rising up her throat. It was a priceless reaction he'd made but she was not going to tease him for that.

"I'll be fine," she insisted as Rhys blinked away any lingering surprise on his face. "I've got one of your famed Illyrian warriors on my side. We're going to be a force to reckon with."

She wiggled her eyebrows at him and a warm hearted smile was the only indication that she was able to sway him.

[deleriumofyou]

Dragon Age and Norse Mythos Parallels part 1

This section (part one, I hope to have more up in a week or so) deals primarily with the Inquisitor and Solas, and their parallels with Tyr and Fenrir. This is mostly just the parallels I’ve noticed since playing DA (including their various nods towards Norse mythology particularly in regards to Solas and the JOH DLC), and I’m sure these various comparisons have been made and discussed at length much better than what I’m offering below, but...I haven’t seen them, and wanted to get my opinion out of my system. 

Comparisons between the roles of the Inquisitor and Tyr, and Solas and Fenrir are under the cut below. (it’s long sorry not sorry)

Tyr is the god of War, Justice, and Law - similarly we see the Inquisitor in more or less the same light; the Inquisition is only brought about as a neutral enforcer against the chaos. The Inquisitor in game is involved in political matters spanning across countries (Tevinter, Orlais, and Ferelden primarily). The Inquisitor is also seen as the primary judge/arbiter - they sit in judgment, pass on punishment despite the fact that some prisoners could be (perhaps should be) given to the country they committed a crime in (which, yes, is done for RPG gameplay, and to show that the Inquisition is thought of as powerful, and an entirely separate entity from other countries).

While Tyr, like the role of the Inquisitor, is associated with war, he was not the only god of war, and he was not quite associated as a primary war god (although admittedly sources debate about this, it does boil down to the fact that he had other roles besides a god of war, and other gods shared that particular trait). He was associated first and foremost with upholding the law and justice (which at its core, the Inquisition was created for the first time as well as this time as is mentioned in DAI, and above).

The tale Tyr is most famous for is the Binding of Fenrir. Fenrir the “dreadful wolf” was growing rapidly, and due to a prophecy that had been relayed earlier, the gods sought to bind him because they feared their own destruction at his hands (er paws?). No one stepped up but Tyr himself - he offered to put his hand in Fenrir's jaws in a show of good faith. When Fenrir was bound - with a chain called gleipnir forged from the sound of a cat’s footsteps, the beard of a woman, the roots of mountains, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of a bird (things thought impossible and nonexistent, so it would be impossible to break the chains like Fenrir had done earlier) - he bit Tyr’s hand off.

With the sacrifice of Tyr’s hand, Fenrir’s rise to perform Ragnarok is postponed at least for a time, and the gods are safe.

However - if we’re looking at Solas filling the role of Fenrir (which I'm looking at rather flexibly), then we’re playing the game in the aftermath of Ragnarok. After all, Fen’Harel already brought about the fall of the “gods” (Evanuris) although he didn’t kill them he did lock them away thereby eliminating the presence of “gods” in Thedas (and possibly even making the Titans sleep with the creation of the Veil, as the last recorded event of them being awake was before the Fall of Arlathan). 

Technically speaking...Ragnarok has already happened; Fenrir brought about chaos due to the fallout, and some time has passed since “the undoing of creation” (which I equate to the fall of the Elvhen empire, the separation of spirits from the physical world, and the loss of immortality among elves). But even Ragnarok doesn’t continue on forever - in the tale, Baldur returns from the underworld (after he’d been murdered by Loki) and then the gods and humans are returned to a bright new world.

Technically, we haven’t and likely won’t see “Ragnarok” in the purest sense - we’ve seen the aftermath, and the people living in Dragon Age in realtime live in the “new world”. Here, I’m taking the easy route and just assuming Baldur, in Dragon Age, just represents life adapting and continuing after a cataclysmic event.

So there’s the most obvious setup for the parallels between the Inquisitor and Tyr, and Solas and Fenrir, respectively. I could assume that right now Ragnarok is happening because Solas has admitted he’s not sure if the current world will die, but will continue on with his plans. However, being that I liken Ragnarok to the fall of the gods and varying immortal, primordial forces, I’m assuming the Ragnarok event parallel is the fall of Arlathan and the fall of the titans. 

That isn’t all though; in the Binding of Fenrir, Tyr loses his hand to "the dreadful wolf”, and as I mentioned above, the sacrifice of his hand makes the binding honorable since he gave something in return for lying and binding him.

In DA the Inquisitor loses the hand to the anchor then to Solas (technically) - but the sacrifice of their hand gives everyone more time; from Corypheus, the Breach, and even Solas himself. Often in a lot of ancient cultures, it’s held as a universal belief that there’s a lot of power in sacrifice and this holds pretty tight in the DA-verse as well (blood magic, in DAO with the final choice against the archdemon, etc).

While the Inquisitor didn’t mean to bind Solas he's more or less stuck by your side because you hold his power (mimicking a binding - you hold all of his power in your hand and he says he’d thought it was impossible (re: see the ingredients for Fenrir’s binding above)). No matter how you play as the Inquisitor, there is at least some amount of honor and even selflessness to their character; they stay and try to fix things - necessary or not, the Inquisitor sticks around and tries to “put things back in order”, even functioning under the yoke of leadership when they really only need to be around for rifts and the Breach, but all Inquisitors undertake and enormous amount of responsibility. Meanwhile, the entire time the anchor gets stronger (during Inquisition) and then powerful but somewhat out of control (Trespasser), thereby following the evolution of Fenrir growing large enough to break even the “impossible” chains he was bound in. 

Then, Solas takes the Inquisitor’s hand, mimicking Fenrir biting off Tyr’s hand almost literally, and Fenrir/Solas is free of the “binding”, which could be interpreted as the power perhaps eventually returning to him somehow in the future, or perhaps it’s just the responsibility he felt towards the Inquisitor and their condition.  

So this also boils down to my theory that in DA, Ragnarok is being enacted, by Solas, in reverse (where: the gods die → undoing of all creation → “the green time”/life adapts and moves on/Spring) so we're going from the green time to the undoing of all creation where it could be mass chaos and death as Solas himself believes it's possible (and also the destruction/fall of the Veil) and perhaps the rise of the gods again.

So – yes, Solas does take quite a few cues from Loki (as a trickster and liar), I think that's essentially it. Loki (in Norse mythology don't come for me MCU fans) isn't as sympathetic or compassionate as Solas; he is closer to a consummate villain who does things because he's covetous, jealous, and basks in chaos. Like a lot of things in DA, Solas's character and motivations don't stem entirely from one inspiration – although I am certain his role is closer to Fenrir (and admittedly, perhaps a bit of inspiration from Baldur, thought of a compassionate god since Solas had good intentions although now they seem more muddled), the wolf god, than it is Loki.

Part two will be featuring Flemeth/Mythal and possible clues DA has left and her/their parallels (hopefully up next week.)