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starwarsgirl10884 · 5 years ago

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A Suprise, to be Sure, But A Welcome One!

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader x Obi Wan Kenobi

Warnings: Slight sexism, Make-up sex, Dom!Anakin, Sub!Obi Wan, Switch!Reader, Mommy kink

Word count: 2,251

You were chilling in Tatooine and your boyfriend of five months, Obi Wan, had brought you here. He told you this is where he picked up his padawan Anakin, but you don't really care about you and anakin don't get along that well. (You think Anakin has a thing for Obi Wan). But while you're chilling in Tatooine you see your future husband Obi Wan(Authors note, isn't Obi Wan so handsome *drool*). Anyways Obi Wan enters the room and you greet him with a kiss, but then Anakin walks in and also gives Obi Wan a peck on the Cheek.

“Anakin stop it! My girlfriend is here!” Obi Wan giggled

“Well I have to express my brotherly love Obi Wan!” Anakin replied pouting. I rolled my eyes.

“ANYWAYS, I made dinner Obi, your favorite stewed cuisine. (What do people in star wars eat :d). As I said that I started walking towards the kitchen to get him a bowl. He works so hard its the least I could do.

As the two men began to sit down Anakin yelled, “That's where you belong y/n in the KITCHEN HAHA”. I was shocked at how he could have said that.

"H.. how dare you say that Anakin!? You know how sexist that remark was?" I looked over to Obi and he was too enveloped in TV to have paid attention to what Anakin said(are there TV's in Star Wars? O.o). I wanted to see how Obi would react to his padawan's sexism.

"Obi did you hear what Anakin said, it was really rude and uncalled for" I said in a sad tone.

"Ah he's just joking y/n, don't take it to heart. It was just a little jab." And with that I left with a huff. How could Obi side with Anakin and not me. I think there is something more between those two, I'm going to spy on them to see if they're doing something fishy. And see if my sweet Obi is really cheating on me.

Later that night I followed Obi and Anakin to some weird hotel. Anakin and Obi ordered a room and went to it. I had to figure out a plan to get in, and in being so smart I did. I walked into the hotel and told the man at the desk to give me a key to the room. He asked if I knew who was up there and I said my boyfriend Anakin. He asked for some identification of that being the case, and I showed him photos of me and Obi on Instagram.(Oh btw you should follow me on Instagram @starwarsgirl0884 :3). The man at the table said we looked cute together, which made me blush, and gave me a key.

Before I opened the door to their hotel room I listened to see if I could hear anything. And I did(😳😳😳).

I heard a lot of heavy breathing and semi loud moans, it made me kind of wet. But then I realized that it did confirm my fears, Obi Wan was cheating on me with Anakin!

Then there was another noise. Between the moaning. And what was uttered made my stomach plummet, "I hate y/n so much Anakin, I'm so glad I can be with you instead."

My head started to spin and my stomach hurt. I was so embarrassed I had to leave.

As I ran for the stairs I heard the room door open behind me. I was hopeful. I thought my lovely Obi Wan would run up and embrace me in his arms, telling me it was all a big joke. But as I turned around I saw Anakin. I was so mad with tears streaming down my face yelling at him, asking how he could take me Obi from me. I called him other abusive names like homewrecker, whore, slut, I had no filter.

I was about to hit him, but he grabbed my arm before he could. He then spun me around and held me tight to his body. I was oddly aroused. As he held me to his chest he said, "Hey y/n I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have fucked Obi Wan, I did it to spite you and frankly I'm really sorry." I was shocked at this answer, I didn't know how to reply, but he continued. "I knew you loved Obi Wan and I knew how much that would upset you, but now that I've seen you cry it really hurts me and really made me start to acknowledge your beauty…" I didn't know how to react, was Anakin flirting with me, was he actually apologizing, I didn't know what to think or how to feel. He then interjected, "also, those were some very hurtful names you called me, could you apologise for that and maybe suck my cock?” I was shocked by how abrasive the question was. Where the hell did that come from. I thought he hated me?

"S… suck your… cock??" I stuttered. Anakin started to grin and put his hand on my ass; it made me wet. Before I could say anything else Obi Wan came out of the room and asked Anakin what happened.

"What's all this then?" Inquired Obi Wan. "Why is your hand on my girlfriend's ass?" Anakin looked between me and Obi Wan, neither of us knew how to reply.

"Uhm, I was just catching y/n she tripped and almost fell haha." Anakin continued, "We don't like eachother but I couldn't just sit here and watch her embarrass herself!" He started laughing awkwardly.

"Well y/n what are you even doing here in the first place?" He said even more inquisitively, "Didn't you say you were gonna stay home?" I could feel Obi's eyes burn a hole through mine, I know he knows that this was no accident. As I went to come up with a false story Anakin jumped in.

"I invited y/n over, I didn't like the thought of her being lonely in Tatooine, I spent too many nights the same way, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone!" Quite frankly I was shocked at Anakin's thoughtfulness and generosity towards my situation seeing as how we had been at odds with each other ever since we first met.

"Well why didn't you tell me you invited her Anakin?"

"I wanted to surprise you, y/n is your girlfriend after all I'd assume you'd be excited if I secretly invited her!" With that Obi Wan had nothing more to say and told both me and Anakin to join him in his room.

Not gonna lie, having heard both Anakin and Obi Wan moan loudly and having Anakin grab my ass, I was very horny. Not to mention when we entered the room the men made me sit sandwiched between them. Not that I'm complaining but let's just say, you could waterboard someone with my underwear.

As I sit in-between the two men I felt a hand rub against my thigh, I was quite delirious still after hearing what Obi Wan said about me, but I think he said that in passion but his post but clarity made him realize he still likes me. So I wasn't sure about whose hand it was caressing my thigh. I looked at both of their faces to see if I could tell who it was by their reaction, but it was to no avail.

While I was lost in thought, I failed to realize that the hand was now further up my leg and right below my crotch. Before I could inquire the two men about whose hand it was, the aforementioned hand began to rub my crotch! I didn't know what to say or ask, but I knew it would feel good so I let the hand do its thing.

I felt the hand slide up my thigh, closer to my dripping core. I won’t lie, I wanted them to both fuck me sensless against the bed frame, using their jedi powers to hold me down.

“Mnnn” I moaned, a blush dusting my cheeks. Obi looked at me quizzically, then inquires, “Anakin, are you doing the egg drop thing?”I glance at Anakin and see his chest heave, he was definitely enjoying the thrill of this situation.

“Yes haha” he replied, his voice hoarse.

“Oh okay, hehe. It’s so funny when you do that! It tickles!” He said while giggling like a schoolgirl.

I look at Anakin out of the corner of my eye, grinning. “We can continue now.” I whispered, throwing him a cheeky wink.

He then proceeded, moving his hand further up my thigh, grazing a digit on my aching bundle of nerves. I try my best not to moan as Obi was watching Friends, however his laughing was distracting me from the real task at hand. It was the Episode in which Ross says Rachel’s name instead of Emily’s. Ironic. It seems that Ani and I are the Ross and Rachel of this sitcom (Wonk Owo).

Anyway, I could feel an unknown force push against my clit. It didn’t surprise me that Ani would use dirty{;)} tricks while touching me. I stifled another moan, this was so wrong, but so right!

Suddenly, I felt empty. Anakin had retracted himself from my dripping core, grinning like a maniac. I glared at him angrily. Cheeky Bastard I thought.

It was silent as the Friends episode had stopped and Obi Wan wasn’t laughing anymore, he sat staring at us. Anakin chuckled darkly and glared back.

“Dutch Oven” He cooed as he pulled the blankets over our heads. Obi Wan giggled playfully as the scent overwhelmed us.

“You cheeky bastard” He cried, tears of laughter clouding his vision.

I was still wet under the covers, praying he wouldn't notice the smell. I don't know what Anakin thought this would achieve. As I went to look at Anakin I heard Obi Wan pipe up.

"This was quite funny Anakin, but I don't smell a fart? It smells more fishy and I know you don't eat fish?"

I glared at Anakin, now Obi Wan knows how fishy I smell and I didn't want him to find that out.

Before I could explain away the smell Obi connected the dots, the moans he heard, the shuffling under the sheets, and the smell. He stared at both me and Anakin a small glint in his eyes.

"Would I be able to join you two?" He said coily as he ran his hand up and down my leg.

"I'm fine with it!" Anakin beamed, he then looked at me with hope in his eyes.

I nodded “I always wondered what it would feel like to be double penetrated.”

They both grinned and pounced. Both men started to kiss my neck sloppily, their eyes filled with hunger. I moaned freely, relishing in the fact that I had two men at my will. Anakin was slightly more dominant than Obi as he sucked on the nape of my neck and pulled my hair. The latter was currently kissing the crest of my ear and whispering about how long he has wanted this.

Anakin looked at me darkly

“You wanna suck my cock now?” He questioned, out of breath.

“Actually, I had something else in mind.” I cooed into his ear. I stood up and made my way to the bed, splaying myself across its cumstained sheets.

Both men sauntered toward me, it was so hot(😩😩😩). We all undressed, exposing ourselves to one another. Oh my force, Anakin is so big! I could see the precum slick on his throbbing cock, it made me hungy.

Shortly after, Obi Wan's erection sprang out of his undergarments, it was surprisingly small. (omg obi is such a bottom bitch O///O) Nonetheless I wanted both of them inside of my sopping core. They both stood in front of me, their hands on their hips as if they were inviting me toward their meat.

“Well then” Anakin teased, “get on with it.”

I kneeled in front of the men and grasped their veiny hardons. Obi let out a small whimper, I could tell he wasn’t going to last long. I started to stroke both of them at the same pace, but only maintained eye contact with Anakin, for he was clearly the most dominant of us. His hips rocked with the rhythm of my strokes, a smirk on his face.

“Hey stop that, naughty boy.” I chided with a wink.

Anakin begrudgingly complied, “Yes mommy.”

I grinned and went back to work.

As this conversation went on, Obi looked between us and my hand that was wrapped around his leaking member.

“Keep going, then.” He urged, trying not to sound impatient. I glared at him playfully and squeezed his cock. Obi yelped and nodded his head.

“I want you both to fuck me.” I said “At the same time.”

They both nodded obediently, though Obi Wan was slightly more eager to please, which made me laugh.

Obi Wan positioned himself in front on me, his erect cock glistening with precum. I felt Anakin’s hands on my hips, positioning long ani with my tight ass.

I continued to stroke their cocks for a few minutes, not letting them cum and completely overstimulating them both.

It made me wet thinking about the power that I held over them in these erotic moments.

TOO BE CONTINUED...

#reader insert #star wars #star wars x reader #anakin x you #anakin x obi wan #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #anakin x obi wan x reader #to be continued #x reader #nsft #nsft text #lemon #smut #bi smut #smutty

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kashimos-hajime · 6 years ago

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Pachelbel’s Canon in Disaster

Request: firstly I just want to say that your writing is insanely good & I love reading your stuff. secondly i wanted to know if I could send in a Kavinsky request if that's ok? you invite peter to a family function to meet your extended family & he's nervous because he's afraid that they wont like him because they kinda have a thing about dating within your race (I'm coloured/black btw) its always something i worry about sadly but if you don't feel comfortable writing this that's fine

A/N: That sucks that you have to deal with that anon. I hope your family opens up soon and you can love who you want to love. Unfortunately, I didn’t write it as a black reader because I am not black and I don’t want to offend anyone by using stereotypes. Therefore, I used people of my own race (Chinese) and went from there. Hopefully, it’s okay! I mostly wrote fluff for this because I don’t think I can bring myself to write such hate right now. Sorry for such a long wait.

As the usual, thank you to @teawithbucky for being the OG.

Masterlist and Taglist are in my bio!

Summary: When you’re invited to your cousin’s traditional Chinese wedding, your boyfriend’s feelings about meeting more of your family resurface and while you don’t want him uncomfortable, you do want him to go. So, it’s up to you to convince him.

Characters: Peter Kavinsky, Chinese!Reader

Wordcount: 1.8k

Rating: K+ (soft, sweet fluff)

You knead the back of your neck with your fingers as you wait for the water to boil. It’s nearly there and you just want to make some noodles. There’s a soft rhythmatic pad of footsteps and you turn around to see Peter coming down the stairs with the messiest bedhead you’ve ever seen. Your other housemates are either asleep or out so you have to house to yourselves as long as you’re quiet.

“Morning,” he calls sleepily, collapsing on the couch in the living room. “You’re home?”

“Because it’s noon,” you reply as you start seeing the bubbles you’ve been waiting for. Taking out a frozen slab of udon, you slip it into the water and cover the pot. “You want some lunch?”

“Yes, please,” he says, voice scraping hoarsely. You smile at him, shaking your head as he gets up and makes his way into the kitchen, sitting on one of the tall stools at the counter. Heading around to him, you press a kiss to the side of his head before pecking his lips. His arms wrap around you, pressing his face into your stomach. “Squishy,” he mumbles into your middle and you laugh, threading your fingers through his hair.

You and Peter have been dating since he saw you at the movie theatre. You two hit it off since he saw you at the release of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 at your local cinema and had argued profusely over who was your favorite (yours being Yondu, his being Gamora, which then led to an argument if Yondu even counted as a Guardian, which led to you winning and him asking you out and you saying if he ever had the luck to see you again). Over a few chance encounters, you found yourself becoming close friends and then falling head over heels in love, leading to you taking the initiative and asking him out.

The two of you now live in a house along with three others that go to a university with Peter. You yourself is an aspiring actor and have just landed a role in a TV show that’s meant to be a mid-season replacement. Hopefully it hits off.

“You don’t have work today?”

“I already finished my scenes,” you say. “I woke up at midnight, drove over, finished at ten this morning.” He raises his head, chin against your stomach and you grin hopelessly at his wide brown eyes and tangled brown hair that falls into his eyes.

“You didn’t wake me up?”

“You were binge-watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine again,” you say with a sigh. Brushing hair away from his forehead, you bend over and kiss his forehead. He smiles as you pull away and go to the pot to make sure it doesn’t burn. You take the chopsticks that are resting atop the bowl and stir around the noodles, separating them. As you do so, your phone rings and you glance over your shoulder to look at the ID. When you see it’s your mom, you look to Peter.

“Can you answer that? It’s my mom.” He takes the phone, swiping to accept the call.

“Hey, Mrs. (Y/L/N).” You turn back to your pot as Peter makes conversation with your mom. You know they get along fairly well since introducing them a few months ago and you like how they interact so you just continue cooking. Covering the pot again, you go to the freezer and pull out some dumplings you had bought before coming home this morning. Peter has a smile on his face as he talks and you use your chopsticks to transfer the noodles to a bowl and pour the pepper and green onion dressing you had prepared earlier, tossing it so it coats the noodles evenly before sticking the chopsticks into the bowl and placing it on the counter across Peter.

You slide the bowl over to him and he stops it with a hand before removing the phone from his ear.

“Your mom wants to talk to you,” he said, taking the bowl and starting to slurp on his noodles. Rolling your eyes playfully, you turn off the stove and go to sit beside Peter. The dumplings can wait.

“Hey, Mom,” you start in Chinese. “What’s going on?” Peter spares you a glance when you start speaking your native language, smiling and kissing your cheek. Turning your head, you ask silently for another on your lips and he obliges quickly before returning back to his noodles.

“Did you check your mail lately?”

“Yeah? Why, is there something important in there?” you ask, trying to think back to the contents you had quickly scanned before setting it on the small cabinet near the stairs. There were bills, ads, and magazines, nothing more but-

Oh, wait.

“Oh, the wedding invite! Yes, I got it, plus he emailed me yesterday to make sure.” Getting up, you go said cabinet and take out the white envelope with the card within. Bringing it back to the kitchen, you open it and slide out the card.

“Can you make it or do you have filming on that day?” Checking the calendar hanging on the wall with a quick look, you shake your head before remembering your mom couldn’t see you.

“No, it should be fine. Unless I’m pulled for reshoots, I should be done by March so I can make it,” you say and you hear your mom giggle on the other end.

“I can’t wait to see your cousin in a suit,” she says nefariously and you sigh, eyes resting on Peter who’s sipping on his soup. “You should bring Peter along, have him meet the family.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Bye, Mom.” Hanging up, you set your phone down and read over the invitation. Seeing as it’s January, you highly doubt the director would pull you in for reshoots when the weather is completely gone in March. The series is nearly in post production and you sigh, leaning forward on your elbows.

“What?” Peter asks, setting his now empty bowl in the sink. You sigh, coming around to stand by him near the sink as he begins to fill the bowl up with water so nothing will stain. He turns to you and you loop your arms around his neck, pulling him down. Kissing him multiple times, you just savour in his presence. There hasn’t been enough time between you lately and as the snow outside layered on the sill of the window, you just brush noses with him.

“I have to go to a wedding,” you mumble, lost in his scent, as his hands settle on your hips. He’s always had this effect on you. “My mom said I should bring you as my plus one.” He frowns and your eyes scan his face, not exactly confused. He’s always shied away from meeting your family, with your differences. In fact, he had made you make sure he learned everything he could about what was proper and what wasn’t, teach him how to make chopsticks, and even when he became a regular guest, Peter always helped with the dishes and tried to be almost overly helpful.

Now, his worry had faded away after a long stalemate in the war between you and your parents. They had hated that you brought some guy who seemed lazy, sleazy, and white, and you hated that they never saw past that. The only reason you are now on speaking terms is the fact that Peter proved them wrong and they let go of their prejudices. Still, clearly the confrontation lingers in Peter’s mind as much as it does in yours from time to time. You hate to see it resurface as a much bigger beast at the thought of meeting your extended family when the two of you had thought that part of the war was over.

“And?”

“Well, do you want to come?” you ask nervously. “You don’t have to but it’ll be nicer if you’re there.” You search his face, reading every inch of his hesitation.

“I’ll think about it.” You cup his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek and smile.

“Okay.” Pulling away, you sigh and he leans down to press his lips into your hair. Your hands trail down his neck and onto his arms, holding him there until you are ready to leave.

The topic becomes a dreaded subject. Every time one of you sees the calender with the red circle around the date of the wedding, either you or Peter leave the room. You hate how your relationship changed but you can’t help it. Especially because it’s a traditional chinese marriage, you know it just amps up the pressure on Peter to accept. If he says no, it may seem like he’s disrespecting your culture because he doesn’t think it’s worth his time. If he says yes, he may think or say or do something he thinks is wrong and therefore not have any fun at all.

When there are two weeks before the wedding, you and him are hanging out in your shared bed. You’re resting at the head of the bed, back against the headboard as you work on your newest resumé while he’s sprawled across the end of the bed on his back, scrolling through his phone and reading the textbook he downloaded onto his phone.

You sneak glances up at him, trying to approach the subject carefully. You don’t know how to say it, nor how to broach the subject but you want him to come. You want to show off your boyfriend like everyone else in your family does, and you want him to meet people you’ve grown up with all your life.

“So… it’s two weeks away,” he finally says, letting his phone and his hands drop to his sides. “I still don’t know whether or not I want to come. I’ve thought about it,” he adds, propping himself up on an elbow and turning to you. “Believe me, I have.”

“I know.” You close your laptop and set it aside as he crawls up between your legs and rests his head on your tummy. Threading your fingers through his hair, you sigh. “You’ve been using that brain more often than usual,” you tease, leaning over and pecking his forehead. He glares and scrunches up his face at you but you merely sigh, remembering the situation.

“I want to go, (Y/N). You know I do. I just can’t-”

“I can teach you. Everything I know about traditional weddings; everything from clothes to food to manners. We can start and if you feel ready by the date of the wedding, we can go together, okay?” A hopeful smile crosses his face and he sits up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. What do you think?” Leaning over, he kisses you hard against the lips and you laugh into it as the two of you roll over in bed. He gently moves your laptop to the nightstand as you land on top of him.

“I think it’s a fantastic plan.” Beaming, you lean down and your noses brush.

Two weeks later, Peter stands beside you at the wedding reception, your hand in his.

Your smiles can not be brighter.

TAGS: @teawithbucky @shadowsndaisies @itzyagirlrae

#to all the boys i've loved before #to all the boys i've loved before x reader #to all the boys i've loved before movie #to all the boys ive loved before #to all the boys ive loved before x reader #tatbilb #tatbilb x reader #tatbilb fanfic #tatbilb fanfiction #to all the boys ive loved before fanfiction #to all the boys ive loved before fanfic #to all the boys i've loved before fanfiction #to all the boys i've loved before fanfic #peter kavinsky #peter kavinsky imagine #peter kavinsky x reader #peter kavinsky fanfiction #my writing #peter kavinsky fanfic

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inopinion · 7 years ago

Note

“Is he/ she really just a friend?” & “is that really what you think of me?” (Marecal) please. You’re fics are amazing btw!!!

This ask (as are all of them that languish in my inbox) was sent in before I closed my asks, before War Storm, and I just didn’t get to it. So I hope, dear anon, that you’ll accept this post-War Storm piece.

@lilyharvord, @mareshmallow, @redqueenfandom, @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @tiberias-vii, @runexandra, @mom2reesie, @scarletguardsource, @adraxsteia, @redqueenfandom, @wrenskonos, @Maria-habs

I know I’m fogetting people - but some of you have changed your names. So shoot me a little message if you want to be on the list.

SPOILERS MAY FOLLOW, by clicking “read more” you are agreeing to see details contained in War Storm. Also it’s quite long.

Reblog to share with friends.

Delegations are arriving, just like mine. There’s a lot of formality around the anniversary of Lakeland surrender. Montfort has maintained its own borders but has been stretched thin guiding two countries through democracy. The Raiders haven’t been easy on us and Prairie recently attacked settlements on the plains.

My parting words from my mother: “You don’t have to go, you’ve done enough. More than enough.”

I laughed her off. “What? They don’t need me. I’ll be back in a week.”

But I don’t think she bought it. Truthfully, they’ve called me up twice since the ceasefire and it’s always possible that they could ask again. My mother can demonize Davidson and the Montfort War Council as much as she wants, but she knows they didn’t twist my arm. And if they ask again, I won’t think twice.

I am a thief. I am a weapon. I am not made for peace.

When the Lakelands came back for one last push, I went.

When the uprising of the Houses brought a contingent from the south, I went.

And with Piedmont restocked and as obstinate as always, or with Prairie escalating their attempts to claim Montfort farms, I’ll go again.

I wish I was more than what I am. But after a few years of more peace than war, I see exactly the toll of it. My ability to accept calm, to trust quiet, to work at anything other than destruction has been stilted. Ironically, I was raised to go to war, and to war I go. At least I have a choice. I am proud that I have made sure that all of us have a choice.

My mother leaves on the outbound train with Clara toddling along behind her. We miss so much of her life, but Farley stays in Ascendent when she’s not deployed. The fact that Clara is going home with my mother is signal enough, an offensive is brewing. The call is coming. They just haven’t asked yet.

“So, what am I walking into?” I ask Farley after she’s collected herself.

“Same old thing. Uprising in Graytown. Stubborn silvers still think they own the place.”

“And?”

She sighs and looks after the train as it curves around the mountain and out of sight.

“Piedmont?” I ask. She nods, her sigh is enough for me to know that Graytown isn’t my destination. “So we go to Piedmont. At least it shouldn’t be that hot this time of year. Who’s coming to this thing?”

“Most of the Tri-Territory War Council.” I suck in a breath and she adds quickly, “Cal should be staying in Norta. He volunteered to head the home front, per usual. Other generals will be arriving shortly.”

“Good to know. Davidson sent me an invite, how about you?” I quickly change the subject even though I know this isn’t an intimate affair. She leads me to her apartment to dress for a formal dinner with our old friends and a few dozen more.

Her statement about Cal brought relief, but also sadness. When we talked about what came next, Cal knew he wouldn’t be leaving Norta any time soon. I made sure he knew where to find me in Montfort. We’ve exchanged a few letters, two a piece. But he came and went from Montfort several times over nearly two years with no more than a footnote in the papers. Forgiveness, even for the unavoidable, is never guaranteed. Each time, I remind my self that he will come when he’s ready. If he’s ever ready. And then devolve into weeks of self reflection on if I’m ready. Generally, I conclude that if I can’t answer that question in seconds the answer must be no.

The papers started getting trashed before I could read them about two months ago. I found one in Gisa’s shop and figured out why. The former prince made the gossip sheets for a new relationship. I guess when you tell someone not to wait… It doesn’t matter. He’s in Norta.

Unlike Farley, I don’t hold a formal rank with either the Scarlet Guard nor the Montfort military. She’s in her dress uniform, tugging at her collar every time she thinks no one is listening. I have a gown of Gisa’s creation. It’s a plain cut with a modest neckline and covered shoulders. The sleeves are long for the winter and the waste has a bit of room with ruffled layers starting just under my bust so that I don’t have to worry about my posture all evening. Gisa is a life saver. I didn’t even have to ask her twice, she just got it. It’s a dress I can eat my self silly in, slouch, and still advertise her skills.

“Mare, you look lovely.” Carmadon welcomes me.

Davidson lets his husband do all the talking as each guest is greeted and ushered through the palace to a sitting room. Small tables hold tea and small glasses of wine or liquor.

Julian surprises me by noticing me first. His hand is firm but gentle all the warmth and affection as any uncle on my elbow.

“I didn’t expect you.” I gasp, embracing him.

I have not seen him since I last saw Cal. He’s healthy and vibrant in a fresh tunic. He holds a cup of tea and has ink stains on his hand. His eyes flash around at the small collection of books in the room. It’s nothing compared to the library where I imagine he’s spent his afternoon.

“I couldn’t resist an invitation to continue my study of Montfort’s archives. And to see some friendly faces as well. I will say, I’m surprised to see you. We were not informed of your invitation.”

“We?” Instinct casts my eyes around the room. And fate tugs them to a straight-backed man staring from the corner. “Cal wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“He made a last-minute decision. General Laris took ill.”

“I see.” With medics at their disposal, Generals didn’t get sick.

I don’t quite know what to do next and I don’t get a chance before a different hand wraps around my elbow and seeks my attention. Tyton’s slight smirk would be nothing for most, but from him to me, it’s a dozen nights of memories. I can’t help but blush, mortified. He has no reason to expect anything different than the last three times we found each other at Davidson’s dinners. But there’s no denying that things are very different with Cal in the room.

Or, maybe they aren’t.

Cal hasn’t stepped forward, he hasn’t made himself known. I haven’t reached out, either, but I left it all squarely between him and time to sort out. And then there’s the girl from the papers. No name given, but a snapped shot of him locked up in her lips outside a bar in Delphie. Why shouldn’t I relish the attention that Tyton so freely offers?

I let him step into me. My shoulder presses just under his and his hand sits comfortably on my waist.

“Excuse my interruption, but you weren’t on the list, Miss Barrow. Are you crashing this dinner?”

He’s mischievous and taunting and handsome when he lets his lips smile. Our connection hasn’t ever been deep. It’s hard to trust my instincts with men, with people. But it’s easier when you’ve bled for each other. I know Tyton’s intentions, his loyalties, and that’s enough for me. In a way, it’s a lot like the flings I had in the stilts. We don’t share details, plans, or anything a real couple might worry about. We are not together. Just together sometimes. And, as far as he knows, together now, for this week.

“Davidson opened the door and Carmadon let me in, so I suppose it’s at least okay,” I say.

I put my arm around his back, the width of him as familiar to me as Kilorn or my brothers. Or Cal. I retract a little, adding a touch of space. Tyton doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Julian, I’m pleased to see a strong contingent from Norta.” Tyton’s eyes flick to Cal’s direction, confirming he is well aware of what he’s doing.

I boil a little and send a spark into his side. If it registers above a tickle, he doesn’t show it. Our lightning can’t hurt each other. But our ability makes us hyper aware when we’re in contact with electricity.

Julian’s smile dims. Ever polite, he begins to excuse himself. “Yes, important discussions require the full participation. Please, enjoy your dinner. Mare, perhaps we can catch up later in the week?”

“Of course, I would love that.” And I would. I miss my teacher, learning, questions, almost as much as I miss action, movement, and having a purpose.

“You know where I’ll be.” He bows slightly as he slides back through the crowd towards his nephew.

I slough off Tyton’s grip.

“Are you trying to be difficult?” I ask.

He persists with both arms around me, holding me loosely. “Come on now, you’re not gonna bite, are you?” He murmurs in my ear. The reminder flushes me scarlet with anger.

“I’m not a toy for you boys to bat around at will.”

He gives me a little space. “Look, I know what we do is just for fun, but it doesn’t have to be.”

My mouth is dry, my lips can’t move. Tyton can’t hold my gaze and he seems nervous. I didn’t know it was in his emotional range. But he’s nervous about me, about telling me he wants a chance. And why shouldn’t he have one? And yet, why can’t I give him one? Indecision is not being ready, I tell myself.

“Maybe it does,” I try a small smile to keep in friendly, like I believe it to be just banter. But there’s a blow that falls and his eyes wince before he recovers.

“Let’s line up for dinner and see where things lead. At least we know there will be sparks!” he says, animated and compensating.

I hate that I hurt him. I hate that I didn’t think I could. I’m swarmed by guilt over him, and then, for the first time in months, for all the people that I’ve hurt. In the blur that is the path between the sitting room and the dinner table, I register little and feel everything while trying not to let the wave of emotion spill over my banks. Just as we sit, my eyes catch the burnt-ember irises. I know a surely as I know my name that I am unforgivable. Maybe this is what Jon meant, because I feel so very much alone.

The salad and soup courses are a fog. But Tyton’s well aimed sparks through my right hand help bring me around. I feel the lingering tingle in the space behind my right ear.

Dinner is exquisite. Fall vegetables stay light with citrus accents and pitch into deeply satisfying territory with added honey and roasted nuts. It’s the first time since my first dinner so long ago that they serve Bison. Having done battle with the beasts, I marvel at the tenderness with a different level of appreciation.

Tyton is on my right, he’s a Lieutenant Colonel with his own battalion of a thousand soldiers. He’s the lowest ranking officer at the dinner. I’ll get to spend much of the evening watching him salute and pay his respects as is required of him. It gives me a weird level of satisfaction watching him bend with formality. He’s present because he’s the highest ranking Electricon and can speak to the tactics that might make use of our skills. He’ll make the proposals regarding our distribution among the battalions.

The highest rank of each type of ability is present in the room, at least the abilities with more than just a handful. We only have one set of the triplets, no one else has shown their connection. All the other New Bloods and Ardents are at least colonels if not major generals. There are only eight generals, Cal being one of them, Farley being another. While I’m politely engaging with those directly around me–mostly strangers and administrators–Cal bends Farley’s ear as they sit side by side and among Command and the higher ranks.

They have Davidson at their side, but I am just a seat away from Carmadon. He breaks the stodgy discussion.

“Mare, I heard from my cousin that your brother has continued to expand his understanding of plants.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Basvin has been very kind towards my brother. Very generous in his knowledge.”

“He says your brother his been exceptional in moving all the heavy stuff.”

I laugh, happy to brag on Tramy. “I bet he has. Before he started digging in the dirt, that was probably his best attribute. Mr. Basvin has been very encouraging. I think they both get quite a bit out of the arrangement.”

“Your brother is a greenie?” Colonel Skonos asks from across the table.

Sarah may have been on our side, but most of the skin healers weren’t. It’s a strange thing to see a Skonos sitting at the table. But Colonel Sherin Skonos runs the healer regiment, the hospitals, even trains red medics and field surgeons to fill out the ranks. She’s not as warm or as easy to accept as Sarah, but her eyes seem kind.

“No, his ability is in old fashioned size and strength. He is surprisingly good with flowers.”

“Oh, and what did he do before the cease fire?” she asks.

The distaste on her tongue is one that I hear from most of the silvers in the room. Many of them long for the system before, the system that put them at the top and reds in the trenches. It bothered me more when the memories were still fresh, when my heart was an open wound, when the guilt came in never-ending waves and not just inappropriately at state dinners.

I don’t flinch. I don’t look away. My family was their victims. They will never be allowed to forget. “He was conscripted for almost three years.”

“A blessing that he survived,” Tyton adds using the odd religion tinged words I’ve found common in Montfort.

It’s just an expression from him. It’s one of the few things we’ve discussed with our heads on the pillow–unlocking the secrets of Montfort from a native. He said that there are churches and a few groups that are reviving an older religion. And that they just always talked like that: God bless, bless your heart, bless you, blessings given. Bless, bless, bless. I wonder if they spoke so much about gods and blessings before their revolution. It is more than foreign on my tongue and aside from my questions, I’ve never used it. It’s too much like Iris and her gods.

The meal sits heavy in my stomach while I wait for the dismissal. Unlike other dinners, this one is a celebration, an anniversary, and as such, there will be dancing in the ballroom. I part myself from Tyton and find my favorite chair in the library. I could doze, comfortable, and full on four courses of delicious food. I select a volume and find the little napkin that marked my spot from last time. I can hear the music start up and there’s a speech followed by a cheer and clapping.

There’s only a handful of people in the ballroom that were on the ground during both the cease-fire and the Lakelander’s last attempt. Davidson, Farley, Tyton, Julian, three Montfort officers, all now Colonels and Generals. The rest, they can’t possibly know what it means to leave a battle victorious and with the promise of peace. If they did, they’d give us all a night of hot baths and sleep instead of liquor and dancing. But those at the top celebrate with wine and dancing and speeches that have no meaning.

I expect and anticipate Julian wondering into the Library. I don’t have anything specific to talk about, but I would like his thoughts on the Nortan system. They have chosen two houses - one of common, elected representatives, and one of twenty of the high house leaders - also elected by the former ruling class. All things must pass with a majority vote of the combined houses. With the high houses out-numbered five-to-one, they are almost figureheads in the discussions. But they have been building a coalition with the more conservative groups in the Commons, or so the papers say. I’d like the truth of it, and certainly Julian must be watching with fascination.

“I know this is excessively dull, but if you come and make an appearance, turn a few dances on the floor, we can get out of here early,” Farley cuts the quiet with her offer, stepping through the room without more than a tap of her shoes on the parquet floor.

“You know, I’ve been trying to finish this book for over a year?” I hold it up, my finger keeping my place.

“Then you won’t mind another year. Come on, I’ve been sent to fetch you by our hosts.”

I’m not afraid of dancing, or of idle conversation. I’m not really that interested in the book. But I am afraid of the guilt Cal’s look pushed over me.

“What did you and Cal talk about at dinner?”

Farley sighs. She’s not exasperated (as she so often is with me), but sad and careful, delaying while she thinks. I steel myself for the worst not knowing if I fear his hatred, his disgust, or his sadness the most.

She starts guarded, gauging my reaction. “We discussed the readiness of the Guard groups in Montfort. Why they haven’t officially signed up with the Montfort army. The usual General-talk.” She hesitates, but my face must be neutral enough because she continues, “And he asked about you: your health, your well being, our family. He always does.”

Always. Though she’s never mentioned it to me. I guess I should have assumed that they must interact regularly on the War Council. But still, she never said, so I assumed he kept his distance from more than just me. I don’t know if I should be offended that she didn’t tell me or to read it as a sisterly gesture.

She tongues her teeth, shrugs, and crinkles her nose slightly. “And then he asked about you and Tyton.”

If I weren’t already sitting, my knees would have made me. The sudden pace of my heart makes me dizzy. “And? What did you say?”

Please, please, don’t make him think… What do I want him to think? That I’ve moved on, that I’m strong without him? That I haven’t? If I haven’t is that more of a sign that I’m not ready? No wonder I hide in the mountains, my stomach twists.

“And, I told him only what I know. That you and Tyton are at least friends. What else hasn’t been my business and I’m satisfied staying out of it.”

She’s left it to his imagination, or hopeful lack of one. I guess that’s the answer. I don’t want Cal to think I’m with Tyton.

Heart still beating rapidly, I murmur, “That’s fine. That’ll do.” Then I wonder what the next move is. It’s still his to make, right? Will he make it. Is he…”Is he okay?”

Farley quirks her features in momentary confusion. It’s a weird phrasing, and even stranger to be playing telephone through her. She morphs into an expression I’ve learned well in our years together, she’s waiting for me to stop being dumb and start seeing the bigger picture. But there’s too much pain and hurt between Cal and I for me to be sure.

“You could ask him,” is all she offers.

“If he wanted to talk to me, he would have by now. I have to respect that he doesn’t.”

“And hide so he can’t?” She grins a flick of a teeth when her words hit their mark.

I’m a coward. I have been a coward. I’ve been hiding and waiting and hoping that he’ll do something to bridge the gap, but without providing the opportunity. I at least owe myself an answer as to where he stands. Maybe then, maybe this time, I can figure out what I should do next.

I rustle up onto my feet and push the book back into its place. With our elbows locked I allow her to lead me to the ballroom where bodies swirl and people chat. She pulls a glass of wine off a tray as soon as we enter. I gulp it down in three steps and set the empty on another tray.

“Let it settle, Mare,” she warns, blocking my hand from getting another glass.

She guides me directly to friendly faces, easy conversation. Davidson, and Carmadon both grin and greet me, they introduce me to others, and I eventually get my second glass of wine. I’m flushed with warmth and bravado. With my head bubbling, I relax into the routines of socializing. Dancers swirl behind me and before I realize that I’ve agreed, Carmadon sweeps me into the current with smooth precision.

Carmadon is a great dancer. A breathless song later, I discover that Davidson is not nearly as coordinated. I find I’m leading him more than he leads me, and my feet are worse for it.

Tyton takes me around to an uptempo beat, the spark of his fingers pushing me one way and another keeping us in step despite my tiring legs and wine soaked brain. We slow to a stop. The tempo transitions. The music starts and it’s only three seconds before I recognize it. Even though Tyton pulls, I resist. I can’t, not to this song. No matter how in-sync I feel guided in Tyton’s arms, they just don’t fit this song. He pulls again, the other dancers have to move around us. And it’s just another two beats before I see a hand on Tyton’s shoulder.

Cal asks with his eyes and Tyton bows slightly and gives me up to a warm, familiar embrace. Cal smells like dreams and moves like memories. It both hurts me deep in my chest and grounds me firmly in the moment. The steps come as easily as my lightning and I’ve known them just as long.

“I was wondering if I’d get my chance,” Cal’s voice breaks and I see the flush of embarrassment lightly tinge his cheeks.

“What’s been stopping you?”

“Your never-ending line of admirers. It’s a shock I pulled you away unscathed.” He’s pleased with his turn of phrase, and I’m the one blushing and smiling.

“You afraid of me or Tyton?” I let him have a small snap on his upper arm. He winces and smiles.

I feel his hand slide on my back and the music pause in just the right place. I’m ready for it. He dips me back, a slight bend, he holds it the full beat then pulls me back into the next stanza.

“Well, rank might save me with Tyton, but you don’t have any oaths to Norta.”

“Is that what you think of me?” I’m actually enjoying the teasing as much as the dancing. The warmth of him in the already hot room is relaxing beyond words.

“Unpredictable.” He spins me one way. “Uncontrollable.” I spin back, wrapped in his arm. “Completely your own.” I spin back out and come back to position in his arms. “So much more than what’s on show.” The song comes slowly to it’s conclusion. It’s ending much sooner than it should, truncated by the band. I want them to play it all night long. His lips are next to my ear and so far from my lips that it hurts. “What I think of your? Oh, Mare, I have always thought you were incredible.” He bends me slightly then brings me back up. We’re frozen together, inches apart.

The gentle applause at the end of the song and the recording that takes over for the band’s break helps to clear the air between us. Cold air sweeps in as guests step out to get fresh air on the terrace. He watches my eyes follow a couple.

“I’ll let you get back to your date,” he says.

Cal’s hand leaving mine is like dipping my fingers in ice water. I’m at once refreshed and painfully shivering for lack of his heat. He steps back, folds his hands behind him and gives me a stilted bow, eyes lowered.

“Cal,” I call. He stops his retreat and looks up, face neutral. “The girl in the papers?”

“She was… she isn’t anymore. And Tyton? Is he really just a friend?”

I won’t complicate things with details. “Yes.”

Cal’s eyes drift from my eyes to my lips down to my shoulder where the “M” lies hidden. His eyes crease with remorse. It’s my turn to bow my head.

“Thank you for the dance, General.” I am a coward and I will run as far and as fast as I can from the sting of his pain.

He surprises me. Calls me back to the present and to his eyes. “Mare, do you think we could talk?”

Where as his voice cracked at the start of our dance, now it carries a rough edge. Even if there’s sadness in his expression, there’s enough hope there to push my hand out for his. Rough, work-worn palms hold my fingers just long enough to bring my hand to his arm, just above his wrist. He escorts me away from the eyes, the ears to face the fears I’ve collected waiting for him to take the first step. One step behind us, how many to follow? Together? Apart? Maybe it’s not an easy start, but I’m no longer waiting to heal.

If you like it, reblog it. :)

#Marecal #War Storm #War Storm Spoilers #Red Queen Fanfiction #Red Queen #Fanfiction #Spoilers #Mare Barrow #Cal Calore #Tiberius Calore #Long post #my writing #ask

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lokidokie16 · 7 years ago

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Love on the Battlefield

Warning: slight Black Panther spoilers, mention of nudity? FLUFF!!!

A/N: so this is a Dad!Clint x reader as well as Peter x reader. I’m not completely sure about this one so let me know what you think! (Btw, Shuri is my fav badass Princess :))

You sat on your bed scrolling slowly through your phone, your music droning on in the background. Your start when a loud knock echoes through your room. Your visitor doesn’t wait for you to answer and stroll into the room and flopping some onto the bed.

“Oh my god Dad I could have been naked, you should wait for an invitation” you say boredly.

“If you were naked I would ground you. Your my little girl/boy, your not allowed to walk around with nothing on with anyone around”

“Ugh, why do you have to turn everything into a lecture. Seriously”

“You love it” he laughs and kisses you on top of your head. A loud ring suddenly comes from your computer and a photo of your best friend appears on the screen. I jump up and answer the Skype call.

“Heyyy Girl!”

“Heyyy! Mr Barton WHAT ARE THOSE!” Both of you burst out laughing and your dad just rolls his eyes and walks out.

“Behave your self Y/N” and he was gone.

“What’s Up Shuri?”

“Nothing. I was just bored and wanted to talk to my best friend”

“Awww.” You makes kissing faces to the screen and she laughs. “Brother is coming to your compound in a few weeks and I’m attempting to blackmail him into letting me come. Is been ages since we saw each other in person”

“I know I’m having Shuri withdraws!”you giggle.

“How are you going to blackmail T’Challa?” She grins and wordlessly pulls up a video on her tablet and shows you. It’s a video of T’Challa kicking his new suit, then when he hits it a second time he literally flies across the Shuri’s lab. You burst out laughing, tears escaping your eyes.

“Oh my god that is the best thing I’ve ever seen”

“ I know, I threatened to ‘accidentally’ post it on facebook” Both of you laugh again but were interrupted by my door opening again. “Dad. What did I say abou- Oh hey Peter, what’s up?“

“O-oh hey. Um Tony wants you to come out with us. He said it’s a team bonding exercise” He stands there awkwardly and I blush slightly, quickly turning back to my computer.

“Sorry Shuri, I’ve got to go. Talk soon love ya”

“See you Y/N love ya too” And with that I shit my computer picked up my phone and followed Peter out the door.

Happy slowed the car down and we all collectively looked out he darkened windows.

“What the hell is this Tony?” I ask the smirking billionaire.

“Team bonding.” I give him a playful glare and look back out to the building. It was completely boring, no windows, one door. There would be absolutely no light inside at all. We all cautiously open the limos doors and slide out. Peter hold his hand out for me which I take shyly.

“Thank you” I blush.

“S’okay” i swear I could see a blush in his face as well but it could have just been the light. Tony comes around from the back of the car, the boot closing automatically. He had a unusually large bag handing form his shoulder before he dropped it into the grass.

“Go on open it Y/N”. You suspiciously crouch near the bag and slowly open the zipper. Your squeal of excitement makes some of the others jump in alarm.

“Lazer tag! This is so cool Tony!”

“I know, I’m awesome”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Stark” Natasha smirks as Tony sends her a dirty look.

“Okay pick your teams! I’m making Y/N and Peter team captains” I grin and take a stand in front of the avengers, Peter at my side. “Y/N first” I grin at Tony and scan the group sceptically.

“Uhmm. I’m gonna have..... Buck” Bucky smiles and winks at you taking a stand slightly behind you. Your dad has a fake hurt expression on his face and you stick your tongue out at him.

“I’ve got to get the best one first” He just sticks his tongue out back at you. Peter chooses his first member to be Tony of course. The rest of your team consisted of Natasha, Wanda and Rhodey. Pete’s team was Tony, Clint, Cap and Sam. My team grabbed our guns and walked into the pitch black building first. We all stop and let our eyes adjust and slowly we all disperse, positioning ourselves into corners and on top or underneath old furniture. Then Peters team walked in and spread out as well. Then a hologram Tony must have put in before hand started counting down.

5..

4.. you shifted your position a tiny bit

3..

2.. you placed your gun on your shoulder

1..

the hologram turned into a green light and disappeared. Nothing moved. Suddenly I heard a yelp and could just make up the figure of my dad slamming into Natasha, her gun immediately going off and the red lazer shooting into his chest. FRIDAY’s voice echoed through the building ��Clint Barton is out” You see his murky figure walk out of the building. With the sliver of light that escaped into the room as your dad opened the door you saw Sam crouching next to the door. With a grin your silently crawl forward, the ‘sneakers’ Shuri sent you making your untraceable to the others. You were standing right next to Sam, gun inches from his chest, when you whispered his name quietly. He jumps turning to you shocked and then you pull the trigger and FRIDAY speaks again “Sam Wilson is out” Sam gives you the finger and walks out to join your dad. And the game continues.

The game lasted a whole 2 hours, everyone taking extra care after the fist two out’s. You, Peter and Bucky where the last ones left. You were confident you were going to win because Bucky could see better then he both of you and he was extremely quiet, being the amazing assassin he washout were currently stalking around the outside of the room, searching in corners top and bottom, knowing Peter could possibly be sticking to the roof. You hear a slight rustle behind you, but before you can shoot you are turned around and pushed into a wall. You gasp as someone’s lips press against yours gently. Then a green light flashes onto your chest and FRIDAY announces that your out. In the reflection of the light you see Peters smiling face. I grin and reach out snatching his shirt, pulling him in closer. I press my lips to his again and he eagerly kisses back. I feel weightless and I feel Peter smile into the kiss, as he could obviously feel my smile on his lips. The room was quiet, romantic even, until the lights switch on and I hear a high pitched scream.

We jerk away from each other and stare like deers caught in headlights at the team standing there dumbstruck, your Dads mouth open slightly, and he was obviously the one with the girly scream. “Y/N! Parker! Omigawd I’m gonna faint” Natasha laughs and starts to clap, the rest of he team breaking out in smiles and clapping as well. “That’s my boy!” Tony calls out and Clint gives him a dirty look.

“Dad?” You ask quietly.

“It’s okay Y/N I’m happy for you” he kisses the crown of my head and turns to Peter.

“Hurt her/him and I will impale you to your school desk with my arrow” I chuckle and pick dad away playfully. “He’s joking.. I think” you say with a confused face. Peter looks at you horrified and you burst out laughing. “I’m joking, you’ll be fine” You lean in again and kiss him lightly.

“Whoa! I can tolerate you guys dating but no kissing in front of us!” You dad yells but Natasha punches him in the shoulder. “Let them be. Don’t ruin my ship” I grin and bury my head in my new boyfriends shoulder.

#avengers x reader #clint x reader #peter x reader #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #peter parker #clint barton #dad!clint x reader #shuri #shuri x reader

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thegeekerynj · 4 years ago

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An Occasional Attempt to Read, Discuss and Review the Wonders of Comics

By: John Rafferty, cranky old man, and Fan of All Things Comics

Strange Adventures #3 Good Guys and Bad Guys

Writer: Tom King Artists: Evan ‘Doc’ Shaner & Mitch Gerads

‘Now I ask you, in the modern day, in your Modern Day America… is this how we treat our heroes?

———————————————————————————————————

So, this story is starting to get very strange indeed.

At first, Gentle Readers, I thought this was going to be a very twisted Kanjar Ro story, where Adam was being framed for war crimes which he not only did not commit, but crimes which did not exist. I mean, Rann is a Zeta Beam ride away, who exactly is going to to verify any of the accounts?

Then, with the introduction of Michael Holt in the second issue, the smartest, most fair minded individual on Earth, we have the Investigator. His job, as he has accepted, to determine whether there is any truth to the allegations too War Crimes having been committed by Adam Strange, and then to determine the extent of the crimes. His mission, after interviewing Adam and Alanna, to travel to Rann, and review all the records.

For Mr. Terrific, this will be a daunting task.

Issue Three tosses a Sliding Curve Ball through the plate glass window.

Alanna Strange, wife of Adam, seems to be leading a smear campaign against the investigators… Mr. Terrific, and the Justice League, and trying them in the court of Public Opinion.

Planting seeds of distrust in the media over the lines of questioning being followed, unsubstantiated offhand comments, one sided analysis by talking heads on ‘fair and balanced’ news programs, and finally, paparazzi style photos being taken, and broadcast, to show a hero’s wife being strong armed by the Bat of Gotham…

What the Hell is going on???

I’m Lost.

I really feel as if I’ve been thrust into the DC version of the ‘Geraldo Show’, with all the insanity inherent in the host, and his audience.

This is gonna be good.

With 9 issues to go, if I was sure I had a handle on where this was going with Issue 3, I’d skip to Issue 11, and ride it out ’til then, saving my COVID Bucks.

The way this story has me all twisted up like a Gordian Knot, I can’t wait for the next issue… I’m running through Instagram, looking for Doc Shaner and Mitch Gerads feeds, hoping for a clue, with a post of a panel or a page…. I want to know outcome of Terrific’s investigation off world, and By Jingo, nothing’s going to keep me from it… except for the store being closed, or the books being late, or any of a hundred other teeny, tiny , little issues which I will not enumerate here.

But, I digress.

Tom King was a SPOOK. Yes, with a Capital SPOOK. He ‘was’ an analyst for the CIA.

There are two thing to remember when you read those words. First, nobody ever ‘was’ a spook… as anyone who has `read a Tom Clancy novel can tell you, no one wvwe leaves the CIA. What’s the line from ‘West Side Story’?

‘When you’re a Jet,

You’re a Jet all the way!

From your first cigarette,

To your last dying day!’

Second, as an analyst, he has learned the art of finding the facts in a fabrication, and more importantly, how to hide the facts by creating a monstrous fabrication.

His creation is simply marvelous.

There is a line in this chapter which perfectly illustrates this point:

‘Not all stories are FICTION’

It is up to the Reader to determine the Demarcation Point, that place in the narrative where the Documentary becomes a Work of Fancy, or, the Tale becomes Testimony… Where is that, you ask?

Again, I am lost.

Which brings us to the team of Gerads and Shaner, illustrators to the gods.

These artists are at polar opposites, the stark angular backgrounds of the cityscapes, to the soft curves of the arena, the hard edginess of Earth, compared to the softer fluidity of Rann .The minutiae in the detail ( Law Firm of Gardner & Fox… I giggled, I remembered, a tear formed)the beauty of the completeness.

Gerads and Shaner Complement and Contrast, each adding nuance to the other’s work, merely by appearing side by side. The Reader can easily enjoy the two stories as they unfold, and as we move further into the narrative, watch as they appear to begin blending into one expansive, scary picture.

Woe be to anyone unprepared for the coming crossfire.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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

Strange Adventures #4

Writer: Tom King Artists: Mitch Gerads and Evan Shaner

**guttural utterances**

*silence*

‘Let me translate. That’s ‘It ain’t that impossible. Now where are the damn documents?’ in Pykkt’

———————————————————————————————————

Things get decidedly real.

Michael Hold becomes an interplanetary persona non gratis, and a diplomatic nightmare.

Alanna Strange is showing her cards, and she’s playing with a fist full of aces. She has gone from Space Heroine to Jerri Springer in one hand…

Adam Strange seems to be showing all the signs of having psychotic breaks, if his story is true.

And, Gentle Readers, this is where we find ourselves at the end of Issue 4, with two-thirds of the story to go.

Michael Holt has taken a ship to Rann.

His intention, to review all the documentation he can get his hands on concerning the Pykkt Incursion, in order to assess the veracity of Adam’s account, and the claims of War Crimes levied against him.

When he arrives, he is greeted with open arms by Karnath, the assistant to the Chief of Staff for the Science and Political Council.

In other words, Sardath is ducking him.

Michael accepts this for what it is, and moves on to the Library of Historical Archives, where he asks for the Pykkt documents.

Rebuffed, because no one on Rann, or anywhere else can read or translate the Pykkt documents, Michael goes on to prove how he earned the name Mr. Terrific, much to the chagrin of the Archivist.

This, of course, leads to an attempted Secret Police style arrest that night.

Michael takes himself to the Council Building, sans guards (having dealt with them by T-Spheres), where he is rather ungraciously invited to remove himself from the planet, forthwith, fo;;owing an exchange of ‘extreme facial hand greetings” with Sardath,

Some people just do not understand the concept of ‘Fair Play’!

The B-story playing out is the part of the autobiography where Adam is angry that the Zeta Beam wore off just as he was leading the Hellotaat against the Pykkt, and more angry that his friends in the Justice League won’t help him to get back there, instead making him wait two weeks for the next Zeta Beam.

From this reader’s perspective, it seems like we are being set up for something here…

Adam braces both Hal Jordan and Superman to help him, to no avail. He finds, in this version of the story, the League is more concerned with their own issues, and the potential interstellar political fallout from stepping in on Adam’s behalf to help him..

This seems contrived, almost unbelievable, considering the players asked… neither has ever put politic ahead of doing the right thing.

But, I digress, and analyze…

This chapter appears to take place over the span of a very short period, possibly as short as two days. We don’t see Adam in current Time-Space, only in the story flashbacks. Alanna, however, is another story. She seems to be playing a political game of sorts, and Michael is simply upset, but he has gleaned more information and understanding than he would have, had they just let him access the Pykkt Archives.

With the conflict gearing up, King’s story is becoming both psychological thriller and action superhero tale. I can’t wait what direction it roll to next…

BTW, where IS Aleea Strange?

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

#dc comics #comics #strange adventures #tom king #mitch gerads #evan shaner

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bibliosexxual · 8 years ago

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“We both tried to grab at the last copy of that desired book at the same time and had a tug of war.” (from this post)

Sterek ficlet, T, ~1.6k words. Basically, I was going to just do a tiny little drabble as a warm-up for working on one of my WIPs, and then I was having too much fun with it to stop.

(Btw, if you couldn’t tell, I totally made up the book series in question. Any resemblance to any actual book is completely coincidental.)

It’s definitely some kind of torture that on the day the seventh and final Path of Wolves novel comes out, Stiles still has to go to school like it’s not the most important day of the year or anything.

And okay, so it’s not like anyone else in Beacon Hills has even heard of these books except Scott, and then only because Stiles can’t shut up about them, but still. Stiles spends the entire day practically vibrating out of his skin with the anticipation. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken in a word any of his teachers has said today. The only reason he doesn’t try to make a break for it during lunch is that he can’t afford another detention on his record, and even so, he’s still sorely, sorely tempted to risk it. In the end, he has to get Lydia to hide his car keys from him.

(He was going to ask Scott to do it, but Scott would have caved as soon as Stiles started begging, and Stiles is definitely not above begging, so Lydia it is.)

The instant the final bell rings, though, Stiles is out of there, flying across the parking lot and gunning the Jeep. The bookstore probably only ordered a few copies, and if Stiles isn’t holding one of them by the time he leaves, somebody’s about to get murdered.

Not that he actually expects any competition, but it’s better not to let these things go to chance. He already messed up once by procrastinating on pre-ordering until they were sold out; he didn’t think it was possible for a Path of Wolves novel to be sold out. He was wrong, and now he’s paying for it by having to physically go to the bookstore to get it.

Either Stiles vastly overestimated how many copies the store was going to order, or else he vastly underestimated how many people in Beacon Hills read these books, because when he skids to a stop in front of the New Releases shelf, there’s only one copy left. One beautiful, perfect hardcover copy.

Lucky for him, one copy is enough.

Except that when he grabs ahold of it, someone else does, too.

For a long second, Stiles can’t even believe what he’s seeing. Another hand, on his book. Another hand that’s not letting go, even though Stiles has already clearly and unambiguously grabbed it by the spine and isn’t letting go, either.

Stiles turns his head incredulously to get a look at this usurper, and it’s Derek Hale. As in, made-of-muscles, leather-wearing lacrosse captain Derek Hale.

Until this moment, Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek could read, and now he’s trying to steal Stiles’ obscure eight-hundred-page fantasy novel. What.

“This is the last copy,” Stiles says.

“I know,” Derek says. He doesn’t let go. Neither does Stiles.

“Look, you probably won’t even like this. It doesn’t have any sports in it.”

“It’s my favorite series,” Derek says, and Stiles just—gapes.

A light dusting of pink is starting to creep into Derek’s cheeks, but he doesn’t back down or take it back or say, “Just kidding!” or anything. He just stands there, staring at Stiles, waiting. And still holding onto Stiles’ book. That’s an important detail.

Finally Stiles’ brain kicks back online enough for him to get out, “Wait, hold up. You read Path of Wolves. You.”

“Yes. Me.”

“‘Read’ as in, you’ve read all six books, cover to cover?”

Derek shifts a little, looking away, and mutters, “I’ve read all of them so many times I practically have them memorized.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “So when Gwynneth shoots Serafin with the wolfsbane arrow at the end of the last book and then just leaves him there to die and it’s pretty much implied that no one’s going to find him in time…”

“I hid in a blanket burrito in my room all weekend and wouldn’t come out,” Derek nods solemnly. “After I threw the book against the wall.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes. “Marry me.”

Derek smirks. “Does that mean you’re going to let go now?” he asks, and Stiles abruptly remembers he’s still holding onto the book with a death grip.

“Oh. Um.” Stiles stares down at his fingers, willing them to uncurl, but… it’s just really difficult, okay? It’s right there. He is actually, physically touching this book, after two whole years of waiting, and now Derek wants him to just let go. Ha. Ha ha.

“I touched it first,” Derek adds, and Stiles scoffs because that is such a lie.

“I’ll pay you to let me have it,” Stiles says. “I’ve got like fifty bucks in my wallet.”

“I’ll pay you more.”

“I’ll pay you and I’ll wash your stupid flashy car for, like, a month.”

“It’s technically my sister’s car.”

“Whatever. I’ll still wash it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll—”

Someone to their left clears their throat, and Derek and Stiles both turn to look. It’s a store employee. His nametag says BOYD. “We have more copies of that one in the back, if you’re interested,” Boyd says blandly, but there’s a bit of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh,” Stiles says.

“That, um, sounds good,” Derek says, which is probably a bit more helpful for Boyd.

Boyd nods curtly and heads off to the back room.

Stiles finally lets go of the book. Derek does, too.

“Well,” Stiles says, “that was surprisingly anticlimactic.”

Is it weird that Stiles feels disappointed all of a sudden? Because now Derek is going to go up to the register and buy his copy and leave. And Stiles doesn’t want that. Well, he definitely wants to get home as fast as possible and start reading this book, but he’s also never met another real life Path of Wolves fan in the flesh before, and he’s bursting with questions, starting with how the hell Derek even knows about this series.

Only, Derek is kind of intimidating, just standing there all well-muscled and frowny, so Stiles keeps his mouth shut.

Derek checks out first. Stiles expects him to rush out immediately afterwards to go read his book, but instead he idles by one of the displays near the door, shopping bag hanging from his wrist, while Stiles buys his own copy. It's definitely an unexpected move, and Stiles decides to ignore it. He's probably reading too much into it, anyway. It probably has nothing to do with him.

He reconsiders that assumption when he finally heads for the door and Derek abruptly abandons whatever he was looking at in favor of falling into step beside him. He even holds the door for Stiles, looking away instead of meeting Stiles' incredulous look.

Outside, Stiles takes a right and Derek does, too, his bag from the bookstore bumping gently against Stiles' with the motion of their steps, and just like that, he and Derek are apparently taking a walk through the parking lot together. Okay then.

Stiles is parked near the side of the building, under a lamppost. On his way in, he hadn't been paying even a shred of attention to his surroundings, too focused on getting to Path of Wolves, but now he's calmed down enough to notice Derek's black Camaro parked just two cars down. (And yes, he does know what kind of car Derek drives. When a hot guy drives a hot car past him in the school parking lot, Stiles tends to pay attention.)

There's a woman in sunglasses and a crisp button-down leaning against it, obviously waiting for Derek. For a second Stiles assumes she must be Derek's girlfriend. She's certainly gorgeous enough, with shiny dark hair and cheekbones sharp enough to rival Derek's.

Then she slides the sunglasses off, and Stiles recognizes her: Laura Hale, Derek's big sister. She'd been a senior when Stiles was a freshman, not to mention the first ever girl to join the BHHS lacrosse team.

Before Stiles can quietly veer off to his Jeep, Laura waves him over. "Stiles, right?" she says when he hesitantly drifts closer, trailing in Derek's shadow. "Fancy seeing you here. I was wondering what was taking Derek so long, but that explains it."

There's something teasing in her tone, but Stiles gets the feeling it's not directed at him. She and Derek are having some kind of complex conversation with just their eyebrows. It's over in a few seconds. Laura breaks out in a smug, knowing grin, and Derek hunches his shoulders a little and shoots her a mutinous glare before opening the passenger side door and tossing his bag from the bookstore onto the seat.

Laura looks unfazed. "So," she says to Stiles, "got any plans for this afternoon?"

Stiles holds up his book. "You're looking at 'em."

It seems to be the answer Laura's looking for, because she shoots him a shark-like grin. "Awesome. You know, Derek's probably going to be doing the same thing. He hasn't talked about anything else for a week. Maybe you guys could hang out together, have a little Path of Wolves nerd party or something. I'd be happy to give you a ride if you wanted to come over."

Stiles starts to say, "I'm sure Derek doesn't want—" and Laura, bizarrely, slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle a sharp laugh.

Derek flips her off over the roof of the car and turns to Stiles. "You can come over if you want. I mean. You're the only other person I know who likes these books, so..."

It's a pretty lukewarm invitation on the surface, but there's something about the way Derek says it, watching him almost shyly, that makes Stiles think he's more invested in Stiles' answer than he wants to let on.

And, well, Stiles certainly isn't about to pass up the chance to talk to an actual, in-the-flesh Path of Wolves fan. That's not an opportunity that comes up just every day.

"Okay, sure,” Stiles decides, because fuck it. “Sounds like fun."

(edit: added a part 2!)

#sterek fanfiction #GUESS HOW DEREK FOUND OUT ABOUT THESE BOOKS #and guess who is always talking about them very loudly at school #where people with werewolf ears can overhear him #that’s all i’ll say about that #my fic #i MIGHT continue this at a later date #but i’m probably going to work on my other WIPs first so no guarantees #so you should probably consider this fic finished just in case

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ghostbustermelanieking · 8 years ago

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xf fic write-in drabbles

so these are the things i came up with in last night’s fic write-in, hosted by @lepus-arcticus (thank you for hosting btw, i had a ton of fun!). there’s three drabbles under the cut, all based off of prompts that were part of the challenge. (more details at @txf-fic-write-in )

keep in mind that this stuff was written fast, is unedited, and was written while i was very tired. none of them make much sense, and #2 is pure crack and probably wildly ooc. it’s wildly scary and fun to post something i haven’t plotted, nor meticulously reread or edited.

prompt #1: one word prompt - diner (written in 15 minutes)

The lights of the diner wash out her face. She looks worn out, drawn with a stubbly pencil with smudged edges. Like she could easily disappear. He’s catching her at the end of a shift at the hospital, exhausted, hair slipping out of her ponytail.

“I ordered your coffee the way you like it,” he tells her.

“Thank you.” She rubs her eyes with two fingers as she sits down. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He pushes the mug across the table towards her. It’s grown cold in the waiting. They agreed on eight o’clock and it’s eight thirty. She takes a sip and winces at the temperature.

“I’ve missed you,” he says.

She fiddles with the box of Sweet’n’Lows. “Don’t.”

“I think I need to. It hasn’t been the same without you. I’ve been lonely.”

“I’ve been lonely, too. But you know it has to be this way.”

He huffs out a sigh, annoyed. “Because you needed space?”

“Because I was trapped in that house, Mulder, and there was no clear way out. I was suffocating. I needed to breathe.”

“Are you breathing now?” His voice is low. His fingers tap frantically on the plastic-y table top. It’s sticky with the remnants of a thousand breakfasts.

She breathes out. “I don’t know.”

The light catches her at an odd angle, and her hair falls across her face like filtered sunlight. Before he can stop himself, he reaches across the table and tucks the loose strands behind her ear. She stares into the coffee, unblinking.

“Come home,” he says. “One night. Just one.” What he doesn’t say is that he’s hoping that one night will be enough to get her to stay.

“Mulder, I can’t.” Her fingernails are gnawed to the quick. She hasn’t chewed her nails in years; or maybe he just hasn’t noticed.

“Scully,” he says. Her name tumbles out of his mouth, loose and tangled in the air.

There’s a pause of some sort between them. She opens her mouth, closes it. He slides his hand across the table to touch hers.

She stands, so fast that her knees hit the bottom of the table. “I can’t do this, Mulder. I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

“Scully.”

Her mug tips over, making a sharp clanking sound against the table, brown liquid sloshing like a flood towards the ketchup bottle. The old man at the end of the counter turns to look at them.

Scully blinks hard, looking at the ground. “I have to go,” she repeats. “I love you. I’ll see you later.”

“Scully…”

She cups his cheek, beard stubble under her hands, and kisses him. “I love you,” she repeats, before turning and leaving. Her car is parked out front; Mulder watches her leave from the giant window he is sitting by. He grabs a pile of napkins and mops up the coffee. He looks at the top of the table until it doesn’t look like anything anymore. He tries not to think of her, reply her I love you in his mind over and over again.

The waitress asks him if he wants anything else. He orders another coffee. It’s an all-night diner and there doesn’t seem to be much point in going home.

prompt #2: trope challenge - skinner ships it (written in 30 minutes)

Walter Skinner may or may not be slightly drunk. He’s also on a mission.

Another teamwork seminar, another wine and cheese reception. And there are Agents Mulder and Scully, sitting together just like he expected. Mulder’s leaned halfway back in his chair, tearing a slice of cheese into two, four, six, and sandwiching it between crackers like a wobbly skyscraper. Scully’s sipping politely at wine, ankles crossed, mouth moving like she’s saying something too softly for anyone to hear. Mulder grins like an idiot, his hand brushing her elbow. They think they’re so clever.

“Sir,” Scully says, startled, when he appears out of nowhere. Mulder’s chair legs hit the floor hard as he turns to look at Skinner.

“You two think you’re so clever,” he tells them.

Wary, Mulder mouths, What did I do now? to Scully. She looks just as confused as he does, mouth hanging slightly open. “Sir, I don’t know what you…”

“I can see right through you, you know.” He points at them. “You’re very obvious with your… looks. And every few weeks one of you shows up in my office whining about how the other has disappeared and is in mortal danger and you need me to hunt them down. You’re very obvious.”

Scully’s mouth is all the way open in astonishment. Mulder looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh or scream or one of the two. He also looks extraordinarily uncomfortable. Good.

“Sir…” Scully says cautiously. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I know that you two are lovers.”

Mulder chokes on a cracker. Scully’s face flushes. Skinner concludes that he is more than slightly drunk. But the mission still stands.

“Sir, I can assure we haven’t…” says Mulder, at the same time Scully says, “I have no idea what you’re getting this from!”

He’s almost disappointed. “You… you really haven’t?”

They’re both blushing and studiously not looking at each other. They both slowly shake their heads.

“Never a date or a-a kiss or anything?”

Scully is staring a hole in the ground. Mulder shakes his head again.

“Oh.” Skinner feels very disappointed. “You should, you know. That Bureau policy stuff is bullshit. And besides that, I’ve seen you two looking at each other.”

Scully is pressing her palms together so hard that her knuckles whiten. They both look like they’d rather be somewhere else. Slowly, Mulder says, “How we… look at each other?”

“Sure. Like you’re in love.” Skinner shrugs. “It’s kind of adorable, you know. You look like an old married couple. Like me and Sharon. And everyone calls you the Spookies.”

Scully coughs, tucking her chin so close to her chest that it makes it look like she’s about to disappear.

Skinner lowers his voice. “Agent Mulder? Will you make sure I get invited to the wedding?”

Mulder fiddles with a pen in his suit pocket. “Of course, sir. I’ll even make sure you give a speech.”

“Thank you, Agent.” He feels some fatherly impulse to pat their heads, so he does. “You two are my favorites, you know. Even though you’re both pains in the ass.”

“Thank you, sir,” Scully mumbles behind clenched teeth.

He pats their heads again before leaving.

---

Walter Skinner wakes up the next morning with a raging headache and enough embarrassment to fuel a small nation. His bosses are not happy. He’s relieved that the seminar doesn’t officially start until today.

He writes out a very dignified apology on his laptop and prints two copies of it to shove under Agent Mulder and Agent Scully’s doors. He’s almost too embarrassed to face them. Twenty minutes later, he receives a post-it note in Mulder’s handwriting that says, You’re paying for the wedding, sir.

prompt #3: msr from another character’s perspective - csm (written in 15 minutes)

He’s been watching them for years.

Since the moment Agent Scully came into Blevin’s office, looking nervous and eager on the other side of his cloud of cigarette smoke. Since he listened to their first meeting over the crackling wiretap. Since his son came to his home and pointed a gun at him, demanding to know why she’d been taken instead of him.

He knows that Agent Mulder loves her, has known since that night. He is protective, a charging bullet when she is gone. His men reported him spending his nights on Skyland Mountain, searching, waiting. He ordered that Agent Scully be brought back. He feels some kind of off-kilter sympathy for his son, his searching. And to his credit, he never believes that Agent Scully loves him back.

Sure, she follows him, but is it all in the name of duty? Diana loves him more visibly, in a clear and fierce way. She stays by his bedside during the surgery. But still, Scully comes for him afterwards, his spies inform him. Months later, and his spies are telling him that Agent Scully is sharing his son’s bed. He takes a long drag of the cigarette, unsure of how, exactly, to process this information. “It could be a useful match,” he says, finally.

He weaves, manipulates, makes sure everything falls into place. Alex Krycek dumps him down the stairs and someone picks him up and carries him away. A few days later, his loyal spies fill him in. Agent Scully is pregnant. Agent Mulder is gone. Good.

Like his father, Agent Mulder dies, and like his other father, Agent Mulder doesn’t stay dead. He is a wavering ghost, hovering by Scully’s side until the threat grows too great. More spies attend the birth of his grandchild. A healthy boy, William. More reports come: the boy has powers. Agent Mulder is gone. He smokes and he waits. He knows his only grandchild will come someday, seeking answers to questions he doesn’t know how to ask. His son comes instead, Agent Scully trailing behind him. Everything points to the fact that she does love him. One little ray of sunshine in his life.

His son leaves and missiles rain down. Someone else finds him, carries him away again. He cannot die. The plague is coming, and he will not die. And as one last punishment to his son, he will make sure that his beloved Scully can’t, either.

The plague will come. His grandson will come. And Agent Scully will not die. It feels like a fitting end, all things considered.

#xfficwritein #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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conorpmaynard · 8 years ago

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All Started With a Song Part 10 // Conor Maynard

Word Count- 2221

Summary- Conor sees your cover and contacts you

A/n- (feel free to change the friends name I was just too lazy to write y/f/n that may times) here it is! this is way longer than i thought it would be and i didn't get to half the stuff i thought i would. so i re-planned everything. there will most likely be 13 parts now! i hope you enjoy.

p.s. nothing crazy happens, this is mainly a filler chap. sorry if you were expecting drama!

You guys headed to bed rather early that night. With all that happened and your plans for tomorrow, you guys needed the beauty sleep.

At 6 o’clock on Sunday morning, you three left the hotel and started your adventure. Alice had looked up a really nice café for you guys to have breakfast at. She got some pancakes, Olivia got an omelet and you settled for a bagel.

“So where are we headed to first?” you asked before taking a sip of your tea.

“I really really really want to go to the walk of fame.” Olivia pleaded. “Can we please go there?”

“Of course Liv!” you smiled. “We’ll head there right after we’re finished eating.”

She squealed and clapped her hands, causing Alice to snort.

“You are too awake,” she mumbles, taking a forkful of pancake.

“Hey, don’t judge me. I’m just excited,” Olivia frowned.

“Oh, you know I love you,” Alice laid her head on Olivia’s shoulder. You quickly opened the camera app and snapped a pic.

You posted it on your Instagram with that caption:

i have the cutest friends ever… btw expect lots of pic today and tomorrow #sorrynotsorry

“Awwww, Al look at what Y/n posted. She’s so cute!” Olivia gave Alice her phone.

“She’s so sweet, let’s post one of her.”

You laughed, “No, please don’t.”

“Aw c’mon. You’re adorable babe.”

“Fine, but I get to approve the picture and caption,” you emphasized the and.

“Deal! Make a pose!”

You rested your elbows on the table and your chin on your hands, flashing the camera a small smile.

After a few moments of intense typing Alice handed you her phone, “Is that okay?”

Cannot thank @y/i/n enough for this trip. Love you lots babe xx

“You’re so sweet Al,” you handed her phone back to her.

“Alright, here’s the bill. Are you ladies all finished up here?” the waiter asked as he handed you the receipt.

“Yep!” Olivia smiled.

“Do you think I could get a to-go cup for my tea?” you asked.

“Of course,” he turned to walk away when he stopped. “I’m sorry to bother you. But are you guys from the UK?”

You three started laughing, “Yes, we are,” Alice answered.

“Oh my gosh, really? Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?” he instantly took a seat next to you.

“Of course not, whatcha wanna know?” you smiled.

“Is it always rainy?”

This caused you three to erupt in laughter yet again, but stopped when he frowned.

“Oh love, we’re not making fun of you. It’s just cute,” Liv placed a hand on his and smiled.

“But to answer your question, no. Sometimes it’s really nice out. But most of the time yes, it’s rainy.”

“It’s not even always rainy, just really cold.” You added.

“I’ve always wanted to go to London,” he sighed. “Is it worth taking a trip to?”

“I can’t answer that without bias, but I think coming here was definitely worth the trip. If that helps.”

He stood up, “Well my name’s Clayton.” He pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling. “If you girls need anything, here’s my number. I’m free whenever after noon.”

“Well thank you Clayton. That means a lot,” you smiled.

After that cute little meet up you girls grabbed an Uber and went to the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It was so much fun. You girls had races to see who could find this person first or who could find a ‘James’ or ‘Amy’ first. You may have looked crazy to others but you three knew it was all in good fun.

You were only here once, why wouldn’t you make the most of it?

After the Walk of Fame you three headed to any and every shop that the London didn’t have; which was a lot. You hit lots of clothes shops, make up shops, and so so many candy shops.

You picked up something for Alex and a few gifts for your mom. Alice got something for Brandon, but insisted it was for her friend that ‘you don’t know that well’. And Olivia, of course, got something for Sean.

After what felt like a lifetime you guys finally found an In-N-Out. You all had been craving it ever since Sabrina took you guys to it your first day in LA.

While you three munched on your burgers, you just chatted about anything and everything.

“What time is it?” Alice asked.

“Just past 11,” you clicked your phone shut. “So what’s next?”

“Honestly? I want to go back to the hotel and take a power nap,” Alice sighed, Olivia vigorously shaking her head in agreement.

“Okay, I’m down for a nap. Then the beach?”

They both smiled signally they were okay with that.

“Wake me up at two,” Olivia sighed, falling onto her bed. You laughed and watched as Alice copied her movements.

You walked out to the balcony and sat up against the wall. You were tired, but you didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want to miss anything LA had to offer.

You knew you shouldn’t have, but you texted Anth. It was a low blow honestly. But you were bored and didn’t have any clue as to what to do. You opened SnapChat and clicked his name.

You sent a simple selfie with a caption:

any fun activates you know of in LA?

You scrolled through Instagram while waiting for a response. You noticed Conor posted a new picture.

You knew it would hurt, but you couldn’t not look.

It was of him sitting of the edge of a bench, it was nighttime. He was facing away from the camera.

He captioned it:

C’mon LA, you have yet to let me down. Please don’t change that.

There were hundreds of comments that ranged from ‘ARMS’ to ‘why are you sad :(’ to ‘i hate when he doesn’t tell us what’s going on’.

You were hesitant, but ended up liking the picture anyways.

SnapChat from anth.melo

He sent a picture of him in front of a mirror of what seemed like a gym. You could see Conor on the side, but it was only an arm. You cringed at the fact that you knew it was Conor simply by an arm.

His snap read:

sorry y/n, kinda busy rn.

You sent another selfie with a frown:

okay, but we NEED to hang out soon. i leave in two days :(

You closed your phone and went back inside. After sliding off your shoes and plugging in your phone, you slid into your shared bed with Alice.

A few minutes of shot eye wouldn’t hurt.

“Y/n!!!!” you heard someone shout.

You shot up from the pillow, “What?!” you shouted back, not having opened your eyes yet.

“Its 4:30!” a voice, you recognized as Alice sighed. “You had one job. One bloody job!”

“Oh, sorry. I fell asleep and forgot to set an alarm.”

“It’s okay, we can still go to the beach!” Olivia piped up from her spot in front of the mirror.

“I guess,” Alice sighed.

“Haven’t you always wanted to see a sunset on the beach?” you asked, getting out of the bed.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Let me check when sunset is.”

You bent down and grabbed your shoes.

“It’s at 6:04, should we invite anyone?” Alice asked.

“Like who?”

“Clayton!” Olivia jumped up. “Please invite him!”

You smiled, “Okay, I’ll invite him. But i can’t promise anything.”

You sent him a text that read:

Heading down to the beach to watch the sunset. Care to join us?

You sat your phone down and began braiding your hair.

“Did he text back?” Alice asked.

“Check my phone, I’m kind of busy.”

She stood up and walked over to where your phone was sat on the bed.

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing, but Anth texted snapped you.”

“You can open it up if you want,” you said, closing your eyes to focus on the pattern.

After a few seconds you heard a gasp, “What’s wrong?”

“Look! “Alice shoved your phone into your face. On the screen was a selfie of him and Conor and it read:

Okay, we’re free tomorrow

He was smiling and Conor was sporting his signature ‘kissy face/pout face’ look.

You stared until it disappeared, then you let out a sigh.

“What’d he mean by that?”

“I asked him if he wanted to hang out,” you said, sticking out your tongue as Alice snapped a picture.

“Oh, well.” She smiled, helping you up. “Looks like we got plans for tomorrow!”

You three changed into your swimsuits and packed a bag. You were going to go to the beach no matter what, Clayton being there was just a plus.

Your phone dinged and the girls sat, eyes wide; waiting for a response.

Of course! Meet me here in 10 minutes.

The link sent you to your Map app. There was a blue line from the hotel to a beach about 5 minutes away. Due to it being so close, you three decided to walk. As you left the hotel you sent him a quick text back.

see ya soon xx

As usual Anth and Conor stayed up late doing whatever they do. Most of it was just joking around. But part of it, a very small part, was very deep.

“Mate, I gotta ask,” Anth sighed.

“I can’t answer it. I know what you’re going to ask. And I honestly don’t know. I was jealous and upset. I just-” he sighed, looking at Anth. “I messed up.”

“Well do you like her?” Anth asked hesitantly.

“Of course I do! I liked her before I met her. But I overthought everything. I assumed she didn’t like me, so I wanted to make her feel how I felt.”

“Do you want to be with her?” Anth questioned again.

“That’s the thing. Like, I don’t know her. But I want to. And I want to see what it could become, but I don’t want to give us a chance and it be awful and I have to break her heart again.”

Anth remained silent as Conor poured his feelings.

“I’m just so angry. At myself. But also her. And I know I have no right to be mad at her. But she’s just so perfect. And I want to hate her and just forget about her. But I can’t, because whenever I see a girl, I notice that she isn’t Y/n. But I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. And I just want to punch myself, every time I remember what I did.”

Conor knew there was more to how he felt, he just wasn’t ready to admit it.

Anth stood up and put his hand on Conors shoulder, “Well, how about you sleep on it. And tomorrow we go to the gym; work out all the anger. Then afterwards, you can talk to Y/n.”

Conor and Anth didn’t make it to the gym until a little before noon. Conor woke up to Jack spamming him. Jack lost the keys to his apartment so he begged Conor to tell him where his extra set was.

Conor really didn’t want Jack to be at his flat alone. Who knew what the kid would get up to? But after a few minutes of Jack begging (and almost crying, almost. it doesn’t count if the tear didn’t fall) Conor told him to message Alex.

After that, they were about to leave but then Anth realized he forgot that he planned to Skype his grandparents. Knowing he couldn’t let his friend not call them, Conor sat in the guest room while Anth chatted with his grandma and grandpa about various things.

After Anth’s grandma finally said goodbye, they headed to the gym. On their way they stopped to get juices.

“Mate, the Strawberry Mango is way better than the Green Machine,” Conor dragged on as he walked aside Anth.

“Stop playing dude, the Green Machine is the best!”

“You’re mad, y’know that right?”

“Nah man, you’re just stubborn.”

When they arrived at the gym, they both popped in their headphones and got to work on their preferred workout equipment.

Within the first thirty minutes, Anth could tell Conor was more upset than last night. He was lifting way more than his body could handle, but every time Anth would bring it up Conor would brush him off.

“Mate, your calves don’t need that much weight,” Anth chuckled, pulling out a headphone.

“Why come to the gym if you’re not going to push yourself?” Conor asked, standing up.

“If you say so,” Anth said, grabbing his phone to change the song. He scrolled through his notifications. He went to close it, but then he noticed your name. Why were you snapping him?

He walked over to Conor, opening the snap.

“Hey, look at this.”

Conor looked at the screen then turned around.

“So do you want to?” Anth followed him

“Not really,” he muttered.

“Okay,” was all Anth said. He sent a picture of him in front of the mirror.

A few seconds later Conor said, “I don’t know what to say yet. But tell her we’re free tomorrow.”

Anth just smiled. Conor was head over heels for you and him trying to hide it was so cute.

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