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riding-the-sunset-bird · 1 year ago

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Hi! Thank you~

By "assuming" I don't know if you mean GB Patch or me? :o Because actually all I did for this post was write up a script in-game to place characters beside each other at their "neutral" size and position (had to do some extra work because Step 2 Miranda for example actually doesn't have one - only a close up one - so I had to resize her manually with Cove's close up size+position as a guide).

I wasn't sure about Baxter's height at first because you meet him alone in the base game so there's no one to compare him to (so his "neutral" size/position could've been a close up), but if you play Derek's version of Soiree from his DLC and meet Baxter that way, you can see Baxter and Derek next to each other and directly compare that with a shot of Cove and Derek.

A character reference based on all four Steps of Our Life! It's only "sort of" a height reference as well since obviously they're not 100% accurate (the devs don't have specific heights for everyone to my knowledge).

I did dig into the code to try and get characters at their "normal" heights but there are other matters at play too (example: Nicolas is obviously "taller" than he should be because he needs to be pushed upwards to be visible enough above the game's text box; likewise with other very short characters).

Still, this should serve as either a nice reference guide for every character or a "height reference" in the sense of getting an idea of which characters are shorter/taller than others.

I'm also going to detail some extra notes below the break, including posts from GB Patch's Tumblr that reference any defined heights (with Cove being the obvious one) or general height things, as well as some more stuff about the MC's height in comparison to the three love interests depending on what you pick.

Cove's height is listed on GB Patch's FAQ as 4' 1" in Step 1 (also stated as "mostly average, perhaps a bit on the short side"), 5' 4" in Step 2 (in-game this is defined as "very tall" on the MC's potential height spectrum, as that is the only option considered on par with Cove's height), 6' 0" in Step 3, and 6' 4" in Step 4. A fun fact is that Cove's final height was originally 6' 3" (191cm) instead.

Derek in Step 2 is under five feet tall (this post also lists Cove as "around 5 and a half feet tall" which you could take as either close enough to 5' 4" as stated above or a potential original height he had that got changed). In-game, he's "short" but not "very short", as having your MC be "very short" will prompt narration telling you that you're shorter than Derek, whereas "short" only has you relate to him in smolness generally.

Step 4 Derek is "mostly average." He wouldn't be considered tall nor would he be considered short. His youngest brother Nicolas will "probably end up as a similar height to him" once he's more grown up.

Step 4 Baxter is "taller than average, but not especially tall."

I've been informed that, on the Our Life Patreon Discord, Step 4 Derek's height is listed as 5' 9" (175cm) whereas Step 4 Baxter's is listed as 5' 11" (180cm), so those are their defined heights. Before that, both of their heights had jumped around somewhat. A post from 2019 said that Derek was 5' 11", but a post from June 2021 said that Baxter was 5' 11" and Derek was 5' 9" (so consistent with the Discord). Then there's also another post from July 2021 (you'll have to scroll down for this one) that listed Baxter at around 5' 10" while Derek was 5' 8"/5' 9". If you're insane enough to try and use the character reference too, then Baxter would actually be around 6'1" at minimum since he's taller than Step 3 Cove (though you could also make the same argument that this means the mom trio of Pamela, Noelani, and Kyra must be decently tall as well since they're so close to Cove on the character reference).

I don't have any experience with GB Patch's other game, XOXO Droplets, so I don't know what ages the characters are in it, but since both Shiloh and Jeremy are characters seen visibly in Our Life, I thought I'd also mention that they're listed as 5' 10" and 5' 5" (or 5' 5 1/2") respectively in XOXO Droplets. Jeremy also apparently grows to 5' 8" in his 20s and he's 22 in the Our Life Cove Wedding DLC (I don't think this is spoken of in the game specifically but he's labeled as 22 in the code).

As for the MC and how their height plays into things, "tall" and "very tall" as well as "short" and "very short" tend to be considered the same for the most part in the game's code. It's not that there isn't a difference at all (I would say it's still notable), it's just that sometimes the game may be more vague about height differences. My post about Errands references this where you don't need more athletic points due to being "very short" instead of "short" to give Cove a piggyback ride.

A guesstimate I'd make is that about 5% of the time, the game will take note of whether you're "very tall" instead of "tall" or "very short" instead of "short." Otherwise, you're either "generally tall," "average," or "generally short." There are also other instances (usually with Cove) where the game might just check if you're either generally tall (around Cove's height) or not generally tall (i.e: definitely shorter than him).

This is actually relevant to the heights because, following all above information, one would assume that Step 4 Derek is average, Step 4 Baxter is tall, and Step 4 Cove is very tall going off the MC's potential "height spectrum" of very short, short, average, tall, and very tall, but it's not entirely the case.

A "tall" MC (generally tall) will look "down" at Step 4 Baxter just as he will look "up" at them or they'll look directly at each other if the MC is "average," same as Step 3 Baxter, but--

when the game has any instance of differentiating between "tall" and "very tall" (they never do this for Step 3 Baxter so the base assumption would have to be that he's just average height), things change.

During Baxter's apology in the wedding of his Step 4, Baxter dips his chin to look at the MC if they're "short"/"very short," levels his chin to look at the MC if they're "average"/"tall," and then lifts his chin to look at the MC if they're "very tall." A generally tall MC still has to lean down to kiss him if they choose to do so though.

Also, during the intimacy scene with Baxter (either in his office or his living room), if the MC is "very short," "short," or "average," it states that Baxter is taller than them. If they're "very tall," then Baxter is shorter than them, but a "tall" MC is "almost the exact same height" as him.

This is all a really long-winded way of saying that GB Patch referring to Step 4 Baxter being "taller than average but not especially tall" might mean that he's some infuriating middle ground between average and tall where he's not quite one but not quite the other either (which honestly is very Baxter of him so I can't even be mad).

#type: screenshots #((Regardless of whether it was directed at GB Patch's choice of size for him or me))#((still wanted to include this screenshot for clarification.))#((Baxter is 100% the enigma of this game.))#((This is spoilers for Baxter's Step 4 but--))#((I remember reading a GB Patch post back from like 2020))#((where they said that Baxter's hair is naturally black and he stopped dyeing his hair by Step 4))#((which isn't true because his natural hair color is dusty gray and he's still dyeing it in Step 4))#((so that was either the original plan or they were trying to keep Baxter's hair dyeing a secret at the time.))#((But who knows really. Step 2 Baxter has darker hair than him but that might just be a stylistic choice))#((and also if you compare baby bean Baxter's hair in OL2 to OL1 Step 4 Baxter then the hair color is so similar))#((that there wouldn't be that much point in dyeing it.))#((But that also might be the idea? Or it's a style thing?))#((*puts on tin foil hat* Or OL2 baby bean Baxter was made before they made the decision that Step 4 Baxter was still dyeing???))#((Not sure.))#((*waves to anyone who had the patience to read my ramble in the tags*))#long post

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bluebellhairpin · 11 months ago

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Romantic - cw; 141 + alejandro (bc those are all my boys <3) short sappy fluff, marriage mentions. Just me putting some daydream thoughts out to the void <333

Soap is romantic in that he draws you. He has a whole shelf full of old sketchbooks and half of them are filled with you. From mindless, messy doodles to works that took hours. Charcoal and graphite. With his hands he conveys to paper your beauty, and his love is seen in every stroke.

Gaz is romantic in that he always buys you flowers. From single roses to bouquets of carnations, barely three days go by without flowers in your home. Each one seems to speak volumes. He keeps them all, hanging them to dry in the garden shed. He's waiting for one bouquet in particular to join them.

Price is romantic in that he's always ready with a helping hand. You can do things on your own, sure, but he's always letting you know he's there. He always offers. Meals, cooking. cleaning, groceries. he's your shadow - because he cannot have you working yourself too hard.

Alejandro is romantic in that he plays you music. He hadn't touched a guitar in a long time until you moved in together, but he decided to play it once more before it would've gone back to a corner to collect dust. When he saw how your shoulders relaxed, and how you swayed when you recognized the song, that guitar never got dusty again.

And Ghost. The unreadable enigma. Ghost is romantic in that he writes about you. A single notebook stashed away in some dark corner holds his deepest secrets - poems that are all about his love for you. They're sweet, gentle, and they're passionate. Someday he'll read them to you, when he finally write one he thinks is good enough. In reality the first you hear isn't a poem at all. They're vows.

Remember to support your favourite writers! If you liked reading it, reblog it <3

#cod headcanons #john mactavish headcanons #kyle garrick headcanon #john price headcanons #alejandro vargas headcanons #simon riley headcanons #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #alejandro x reader #ghost x reader

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angelofthenight01 · 11 days ago

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A dog accident

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

genre: flufy || warnings: none

Summary: On an ordinary afternoon, your girlfriend's crazy friend turns you into a furry four-legged being

You're dating Wanda Maximoff, which in itself is already pretty fantastical. You, a self-proclaimed dork who still gets excited about new socks, are going out with a genuine superhero. It's a love story for the ages, or at least one that you’re constantly trying not to overthink.

And then there’s Agatha Harkness. The woman is an enigma wrapped in a slightly dusty velvet cloak. She's Wanda's sort-of-mentor, sort-of-friend, and a full-time chaos generator. You’ve learned to accept her as a permanent fixture in your life, mostly because Wanda adores her, and partially because you suspect refusing would end with you inexplicably speaking only in limericks.

It's a quiet Saturday. You're sprawled on the couch, a book about the migratory patterns of garden snails open in your lap, but your mind is decidedly elsewhere. You’re replaying a particularly smooth move Wanda pulled in the kitchen last night while making pancakes. It was the way she flicked her wrist, sending the pancake soaring and landing perfectly on the plate. You’ve been practicing it for hours but the closest you've gotten has been flicking butter across the room. You’re shaken out of your reverie by Agatha bursting through the front door with the subtlety of a rhinoceros in a tutu.

“Wanda darling! I need… a thing!” she declares, holding up a glass jar filled with something that looks suspiciously like glowing pond scum. “For… research!”

Wanda, looking as serene and beautiful as ever, emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Agatha, what is that?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Oh, just a few… essential ingredients for a spell. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.” Agatha’s smile is a little too wide, a little too manic. You’ve learned that this is her default I’m about to do something incredibly stupid expression.

You, meanwhile, have retreated further into the cushions, trying to become one with the couch. You’re pretty sure you’re invisible, like a well-camouflaged houseplant.

“And you,” Agatha says, pointing a crooked finger directly at you. “You’ll be the perfect… subject!”

Your heart does a little tap dance in your chest. “Subject?” you squeak, your voice cracking like a teenage boy going through puberty.

Wanda looks at you with a mixture of concern and fondness. “Agatha, put the pond scum down. You know you can’t just experiment on random people.” She glares at Agatha with a look that could melt steel.

“Nonsense!” Agatha waves her hand dismissively, which is a mistake because the jar of pond scum slips from her grasp, the green liquid splashing all over you. "Whoops!"

Before you can even register what happened, a peculiar tingling sensation washes over you. Your vision blurs, your limbs feel weirdly heavy, and you feel an uncontrollable urge to scratch behind your ear with your foot.

You blink, and the world suddenly looks a whole lot larger. The couch now looms like a terrifying mountain range, and Wanda, the woman you love, is towering over you looking like an adorable giant. You let out a curious bark.

“Oh. My.” Wanda says slowly, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Agatha stares at you with a mixture of horror and fascination. “Well, that is… unexpected.”

You wag your tail tentatively. Yep, you definitely had a tail. You try to speak. What comes out is a series of yips and woofs. Your hands, or rather, paws, twitch as you try to grasp at the situation. You’re a dog. A fluffy, medium-sized, caramel colored something with comically large ears and a rapidly wagging tail.

“Agatha!” Wanda hisses, her voice low and dangerous. “You turned my girlfriend into a dog!”

“Well, yes, but it was an accident!” Agatha protests, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I was aiming for a newt, I swear!”

You tilt your head, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You want to ask if they have any treats, but you can only manage a happy bark.

“Okay, okay, no need to get dramatic,” Agatha says, pacing back and forth. “We just need to figure out how to change you back. I think I might have reversed that spell. Or maybe not, it depends on if I used a pinch of salamander eyes or bat wings. They're kinda similar.”

Wanda lets out a frustrated groan. "Agatha, you absolute menace."

The next few hours are an absolute blur. Wanda and Agatha are now trying to solve the mystery of your transformation. You, being a dog, are mostly just enjoying the abundance of belly rubs and the fact that you can now lick your own foot. You tried to help by bringing them your favorite squeaky toy, but the two witches seem to be too preoccupied with their spell books to appreciate your contribution.

You watch as Wanda and Agatha argue, occasionally throwing out phrases like “counter-curse,” “elemental transference,” and “what did you mean by using the left hind leg of a frog?” You realize this is probably more chaotic than your average Saturday.

At one point, Agatha tries a spell that makes your fur turn bright pink for a few minutes, this was quickly reversed by Wanda as she glared at Agatha. You were actually rather fond of the pink fur, and you make a mental note to ask Wanda to do that again.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of chanting and potion-mixing, Agatha exclaims, “I think… I think I’ve got it! This final ingredient should do the trick!” She holds up a small, suspiciously sparkly vial.

Wanda looks at you, her eyes full of anxious hope. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You bark excitedly, your tail wagging so hard your whole body wiggles. Anything to be human again.

Agatha pours the contents of the vial over your head. This time, the tingling sensation is different, accompanied by a whooshing sound and a strong smell of lavender. You blink, and you're back in your human form. You’re no longer covered in fur, and your paws are, once again, hands. Your heart nearly jumps out your chest in relief.

“Am I… me again?” you ask, your voice still a little shaky.

Wanda rushes forward, pulling you into a tight hug, her face buried in your hair. “You’re back,” she whispers, her voice thick with relief. “You’re really back.”

Agatha, meanwhile, is beaming at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “See? I told you I’d fix it. Just another Saturday for the amazing Agatha Harkness!”

You look at her, then back at Wanda, a smile spreading across your face. This is your life now. A chaotic, wonderful, and utterly bizarre life, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

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joonieskinks · 1 year ago

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i got my red dress on tonight

simon ghost riley x reader | fluff, some swearing. just a nice, sweet confession <3 | 3.7k

Hair freshly cut, make up done, red dress adorned and high heels slipped on.

You felt and certainly looked like a new woman. It was however a necessary effort tonight as this was no casual event. You, the 141, everyone in the unit was invited to a rather fancy gala. A reward of sorts for your efforts in taking down Makarov, a thank you. Your appearance tonight was certainly something you weren't used to anymore. Not when it came down to 5 minutes to get ready in the morning when the Sergeant calls at 4 AM. But this time was different, and no one could deny that you didn’t look elegant, enticing and beautiful. Maybe it was the outfit and your appearance this evening giving you the confidence, or maybe it was your desire for a certain Lieutenant.

Perhaps both. Both in the sense that you wanted to see what he would think of you.

Nothing big has really ever happened between the two of you, besides the longing stares, lingering touches and laughs in private occasionally. You two were friends, you stitched him back together when he needed it, you were a confidant. You trusted Simon, and he trusted you. Enough to even tell you his name overtime, it was a memory you treasured deeply…

One year prior…

Simon had a blow to his back, grazing by his shoulder, it was truly a miracle the bullet didn’t rupture deeper with lasting damage. He was fortunate, and trusted you to take care of him. You plopped him on a bed and got to work, carefully extracting what you could without hurting him. It was in these moments of exposure, his back bare to you, trusting in you, that Simon would talk. He would thank you, compliment your skills, ask you about your day. It softened you right up, and you would smile, enjoying his voice. Seeing him so relaxed, it was refreshing and certainly endeared you to him. Yes, he presented a tough exterior, but underneath the mask, he really was just a man.

“Ghost, can you move a little to the left here, I need the angle to-”

“Simon.”

You paused at the sound of his deep voice.

“Sorry?”

“Simon, can you move a little left…” He muttered out, you could see his confidence rapidly dissolving before you. But you quickly realized and smiled. As he glanced back your way, shuffling to where you needed him to be, your eyes met briefly and you nodded encouragingly.

“Simon…” Trying the name out for the first time. You liked it. He liked you saying it too.

You wondered if it would suit his bareface... “Thank you for telling me.”

“I wanted you to know.” He admitted, feeling a rising blush settle upon his cheeks, and one on yours. It was moments like these where he was thankful for the mask.

...

Slowly but surely, you fell in love with the tall, broody Brit, you just didn’t know how he felt on his side of things. Apart from quite literally being unable to see his face, he was hard to read. But Simon did have his moments, it brewed hope deep within you. He could be soft, even in his most vulnerable moments where anxiety might overpower all- he was nothing but kind to you. He was an enigma, a blend of both steadfastness and sweetness but you loved it. It took some time to warm up to him, but now that you’ve seen the glimpses of Simon, you couldn’t help but want more.

So tonight felt huge for you. You felt good, your best, finally clean and put together. It certainly was a nice break from the dusty old uniform. You wanted to see his reaction to you, to see if maybe, just maybe, he would be interested too.

With one last nod in the mirror, you were out the door downstairs to the hotel ballroom. Perhaps a little late, you would at least make an entrance. Approaching the doors to the hall, they were opened up upon your arrival, revealing a marble, descending staircase to the floor.

One foot in front of the other, you started to make your way down, treading a little carefully in those heels…

Meanwhile the rest of the 141 were standing around their table, finally enjoying a night out and relaxing with one another.

“Do you think she’ll even show at this point?” Johnny asked, looking around the group for opinions, rolling up his sleeve to check his watch. John was barely engaging, more like surveying the room, Kyle was knocking back a drink, while Simon kept to himself, standing by his lonesome. Hands resting against the back of his chair, face and emotions hidden behind the mask. Events like this were a lot for him, but he was doing his best by just being here. He couldn’t quite get all dressed up without it tonight, just a little too vulnerable.

“I don’t know. But she’s usually quite punctual, ain't she?” Kyle returned, grabbing another glass of champagne from the waiter walking by.

“You know how gals are, hair and makeup, fashionably late.” Johnny teased, but Kyle just shook his head.

“Not our girl, mate. Have you met’er?” He laughed, hitting Johnny gently with his elbow. He could only roll his eyes, ready to knock one back himself. His eyes surveyed for a waiter, turning towards the stairs he spotted red.

A beautiful woman in red. One he actually recognized, one that-

Oh.

“Uh- Are you sure about that, boys?” Johnny chuckled into his glass, staring at a certain someone in particular to see what he’s seeing.

They all turned at once, glancing over in the direction where Johnny was currently nudging his head. Kyle was the first to produce a low whistle at the sight of you, while John was squinting his eyes, not quite clear yet.

But it was Simon that couldn’t stop gawping. It took him a second as well, thinking Johnny was just eyeing up another girl he could possibly take home tonight. But it really was you, looking like a goddess. Your hair was shorter than it used to be, your figure outlined beautifully in your dress. A waist he wanted to get his hands on immediately, claiming you as his. A smile of confidence on your face. You looked truly beautiful. Simon would argue that you’ve always been beautiful to him, but there’s a certain glow about you tonight. You made an effort, he hoped in part that it was all for him.

You approached the table smiling, all the boys still looking at you.

“Well well well, Charmer. Don’t you clean up nice.” Johnny said, eyes still wandering along your frame. Kyle could only pat his Scottish friend on the back in defeat. “Alright, alright. Maybe I owe you one”. Price was smiling too, almost like a proud father, happy to have all his kids together again.

That left you with Simon. You could feel his gaze on you, but you felt too embarrassed to look. It was suddenly like the weight of the world was on you, and you were almost scared.

What if he was staring in disappointment? You grandstanding like this to get a reaction. It was unlike you, maybe he wouldn’t like this. Fuck.

You pushed the thoughts to the side as you finally looked up, trying to be brave and smile. The boys were looking on as well, sipping and chatting quietly. They all knew what was going on here, all except the two of you, of course.

You met his eyes for a second before they left you and studied the ground. Your smile dropped when he excused himself, walking away abruptly, not bothering to look back for a second glance. You watched him as he walked away, his suit fitting him just right. He looked handsome, proper like this. Even when he walks away from you, you’re still thinking about how he affects you… Gosh.

His feet carry him up the stairs and out onto the balcony outside.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to choke back your own disappointment.

Did you look bad? Was he unimpressed? Was he not attracted to you? Was he embarrassed by you? Were you too much?

“Lass, listen. You look great,” Johnny started, taking you out of your thoughts. “He probably just needs a moment. You know how he is.”

You nodded with a defeated look, accepting the flute full of alcohol from John as he made his way to stand next you. He let you take a sip to calm your nerves a bit before he drew you into a small hug, whispering in your ear.

“I’ve been around him too long and seen you two enough times to know when he needs you. I think maybe you know it too. Go.” He encouraged, pulling back with a reassuring stare. John searched your eyes, hoping the message would sink in. You could only nod as the thoughts overwhelmed you, patting his shoulder as a thank you.

You raised your cup to the boys around you before taking a hefty swig.

“Gonna need this I reckon.” You quipped before you lifted up your dress to walk across the room, heading after Simon.

Your emotions are swirling. You’re still a little self-conscious, yet determined as you climb the stairs in your heels. Numb, but feeling absolutely alive at the prospect of Simon needing you too. You’ve always felt something there for him, of course. But with the way Price talked, it was like you too had an effect on the Lieutenant. Your heart swells at the thought and you pick up your pace to the door, hands resting against the cool, metal bar.

You move to open it slowly, catching a glimpse of Simon’s back turned to you, hands gripping the balcony railing tightly, clearly lost in his own head. You slowly make your way over to him, ready to turn if he decided he wanted to be alone instead.

“Simon?” You softly prod as you approach him. “Are you okay?”

He scrunches his shoulders up at the touch of your hand, your body threatening to lean against his at any moment. You’re trying to meet his eyes beneath the mask but he keeps staring straight on ahead at the gardens. You two stay like this for a couple moments, Simon still unable to answer, lost in his own mind on how to deal with this.

“Si, I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were alright.”

Your thumb brushes his jacket, moving soothingly back and forth. You’re trying to comfort him, show him you care, that you’re always going to be there for him. That you know him now, that you can read him even beyond Ghost’s persona. You’re trying to help. All he has to do is talk. Open up, his mind is racing. Say something, you fool. Say something.

You pull your touch away from him, flattening out your dress anxiously. Your gaze defeated and falls to the floor.

He doesn’t want you here, he just doesn’t know how to say it. Take a hint, Y/N. John was wrong.

“I’m sorry, Simon, if I’ve done anything to upset you. I didn't mean it, whatever it was.” You mutter, your chest growing heavy. “I’ll see you around, okay?” Biting your lips back, you remove yourself from his presence, his smell, him.

The tears start to prick at the sides of your eyes, you feel ridiculous and crushed and gutted and-

Simon turns to grab your arm, halting you from moving away from him any further. You turn your head at the feeling. His large, warm hand completing wrapping around your arm. He was so big, comforting. It made your heart leap into your throat.

You meet his eyes once more, and this time he holds it. Looking between yours, you can tell he’s thinking, he’s searching, he’s calculating. You understand, and move to stand in front of him. Your hand coming to rest on top of Simon’s, you smile. Nodding, reassuring him that you’re here, you’re patient, you’re willing. You squeeze his hand. All for him.

All for him and his stomach is flipping, his brain is haywire. He wants to pour his heart out to you, he wants to tell you how much you mean to him. He does, he adores you to pieces and wants you all to himself. The Charmer and the Ghost, he wants you, all of you and he needs to know you want all of him too. It just takes a bit to draw it out. But you’re worth it. You’re wonderfully you, you want him and you’re worth it.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He whispers, and his voice is music to your ears. Just at the sound, you’re smiling like a kid all over again. It causes a tear to escape down your cheeks, and he notices immediately, moving his hand to wipe it away.

“Don’t cry ‘cause of me, love.” You shake your head.

“I’m okay now. I’m here with you.” Leaning your head into his touch, he caresses your cheek. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. He’s warm, he’s comforting, he’s all you want, he thinks you’re beautiful and he’s finally touching you like you’ve longed for.

If this moment could last forever, you’d surely find a way to become immortal.

“Forgive me.” Simon whispers, his body moving closer to yours. “M’not any good at this.”

You brush his insecurity off without a second thought.

“I think you look beautiful tonight too, Simon.” You bite your bottom lip, shy under his gaze. But neither of you let up. His eyes flickering down to your mouth at your movement. Simon clears his throat at the sight, bringing up his other hand to cup your face. He opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it.

“I mean it. Very handsome to me.” You breathe out slowly, trying to focus on your thoughts as the proximity to him makes your head woozy.

“Ghost is handsome to me, and he looks very good this evening.” Your hands move to copy his around his face, touch gently colliding with the mask. “But I think Simon does too… Even if he’s hidden away.” Your thumbs are palming at the material, you move closer to him until your chests meet. A small intake of air can be heard from the soldier, and as you move your head closer to his. He then wraps his arms around your waist to keep you there, acting on impulse. At first he surprises himself, unsure if he made the right call, but your gorgeous smile is there to reassure him.

Simon lets his forehead rest against yours, the cool material against your skin, calming your aching fever for him, centering your world.

“I adore Simon. I want you to know that.” You look to his chest, his lips, then settling on the eyes you fell in love with.

“Even if I never get to see him, I choose him.” You remove your hand from his face, but only to make room for your lips. You gently touch them to the mask, lingering as you cherish this moment being so close to the man you love.

You pull back and his eyes are glued to yours, taking in your action, your kiss, your confession. It’s all he’s wanted and more for years, and now he finally has it right in front of him. But you all too quickly move. You release your hold on him, going to move away. You want to give him his space as you know this is a lot for one night. The last thing you want to do is overwhelm him. The fact that he knows how you feel for him, is enough for you. In time, he will let you know how he feels. And yes, maybe that can be enough for now.

You give him a polite, small smile before going to move away from his grasp again. But he holds you still to him, refusing to let you go. You two remain in each other's embrace for a moment, trying to read one another’s eyes.

“Simon?” You whisper. Asking him, urging him, encouraging him. He’s trusted you for a long time, he adores you, fuck- he loves you. This is honestly a long time coming at this point.

Hands move to his head, pulling off the mask hiding his face. You can only watch him as he drops his guard before you, the trust evident. The gesture is a shock to your system, but only love and adoration for his bravery flows after.

It slips off into his hands and it takes Simon a minute before he can look you in the eyes. He’s both afraid and he’s over the moon. He’s happier than ever but also feels like his heart could stop, he’s everywhere and in between. His soft eyes finally land on your face, your own scanning him for the first time, drinking him in. His heart races a mile a minute, ever waiting for your reaction.

“Simon…” You whisper. Your hands coming up to finally unite with his bare skin. You hesitate at first, hovering above briefly, silently asking for permission. He nods slowly, eyes still scanning yours for any sign of rejection.

But you don’t have any. In fact, you think he’s rather gorgeous under the mask. Your thumbs caress his cheeks, whisk delicately over his scars, adorning his soft lips. You’re in his hair, tracing his jaw…

“You really are beautiful.” Another tear slips down your face as the smile erupts. The gesture, his trust in you, his gorgeous face. Your Simon.

He lets the breath he was holding slip from his lungs, relieved.

“Thank you for trusting me with this, Si.” You whisper once more, eyes moving between his and his lips. At just the sight, you feel a fire starting to burn in your stomach. And he feels the same. The girl he loves isn’t repulsed by his scars, by the man behind the Ghost. Of course he’s overwhelmed at the rush of emotion and support and love he feels from you. He doesn’t waste a second more and brings his hand to the back of your head, bringing your lips to his.

He’s soft, he’s hot, he’s everywhere. On your mouth, your waist, your head, his chest against yours. It makes your head spin and your body ache for him, more and more. Simon attempts to pull you closer to him, tight, reassuring you he won’t let go. Fuck, and he feels good against you, your nails slightly digging into his shoulders. He’s palming at your waist, fingers slipping down to just above your ass. He can barely resist.

Simon breathlessly releases you, bringing his forehead back down to touch yours. You hum contently, staring up at the gorgeous man you’ve come to know and love. He refuses to let you go, enraptured by this moment.

“Si,” You start, still catching your breath. “I want you. All of you. I have for quite some time now.” You laugh a little at your school girl confession, finally admitting your feelings for him.

“You have me. You’ve always had me, m’just shit at showing it.” You bring him in for another kiss, unable to resist as you watch that gorgeous face produce that deep, deep voice for the first time. It could bring you to your knees, you’re so wrapped up in your love for him and he is too.

“What do you think the boys will say?” You jokingly inquire. Simon just huffs and smirks.

“They’ve known for a long time. If anything, I reckon they’ll be relieved, love.” Your eyebrows shoot up and he chuckles, kissing your shocked expression.

“Wait- this whole time?” He nods in confirmation.

“Since you showed up on base and charmed your way into the 141. Sarcastic but persuasive one, you are.” Simon’s staring down at you, lovingly. Reminiscing, but also thankful for the road walked to get to where you two are now.

“Charmer… Is it you who gave me that? I never figured it out.”

“Yes, mam. That’s what you are.”

“My, Simon Riley. Are you flirting with me?” You teased, propping up an eyebrow. Your confidence, your beauty, your love for him- it makes a man do wild things. He didn’t even know he could dip a girl until he tried.

“Si!” You grasp your hands around his neck, clinging to him for support. But he’s not wavering in the slightest, just gazing at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“I love you.” He confesses, touching his nose to yours. He’s waiting, patiently. He hopes you’ll say it too.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears again because finally. The man you’ve longed for after all these years…

“Simon, I love you too.” His gorgeous smile cracks onto his face once again, and you bring your lips to his. He may not be much of an expressive man, but he certainly is with you, here with his hands all over you and kissing you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s the happiest he thinks he’s ever been, and it’s all thanks to you.

His Charmer in that gorgeous, gorgeous red dress.

“Where the fuck did they get off to?” Kyle asks the boys, utterly perplexed. You two missed the whole gala and for what? Price just chuckles.

“Don’t you think you two already know?” Johnny just rolls his eyes at Price’s comment, motioning for Kyle to follow as he gets up from the table.

They make their way up to the balcony, spotting your red figure through the glass, stopping as they see you pulled horizontal. The boys take a second and look to see that a man has indeed dipped you, and is indeed kissing you.

“Who the fuck is that?” Johnny asks menacingly, squinting through the glass. But Kyle just smiles, nudging his friend to glance at the floor.

The mask.

“Well, fuck me- He did tell us he was a handsome fella, huh? Sneaky bastard…”

#joonieskinks #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon Riley smut #mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2

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sirenedeslily · 2 months ago

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VIDEO OBSESSION〻ᯇ # matthew sturniolo

✦ SEARCHING FOR PROFILES… two results found !

result ONE out of TWO — @FallenAngels

Y/N GREENBLATT, streamer known for her gaming skills and pretty visuals. seven stars cigarette. moon during a snowstorm. mtl › nyc. thé matcha 26. nyx cold brew lip liner. ‘03 stargirl. coy. cinephile. back tattoos. vanilla vodka infused. alluring. chrome heart uggs. silver jewelry. white orchid. dazed. tangled & wired headphones. black cat. sirene gaze. sullen girl by fiona apple. sweet talker. guarded. shows care in subtle ways. handwritten letters. sensitive. classic black eyeliner, smudged like a memory. mushishi. overpriced coffee. blue velvet (1986). her dream collab? a limited-edition hoodie with cibo matto album art, designed by a tumblr artist she once reblogged. midnight ‘silent hill 2’ streams.

VICTORIA WALKER, cheetah print. manicured nails. dean blunt. monchhicci. started off streaming with y/n, now focusing on her music. tumblr girl gone global. fur boots. london › nyc. betty boop. tom ford vanilla sex. pocket-sized camcorder. ‘01 baby. rick owens. reclusive but magnetic. spider lily. ipod nano. minecraft. angels by a$ap rocky. paradise kiss. 11:11. chrome heart grills. dream collabs? yves tumor, peggy gou, and a track with a.g. cook that’s “still in the works.” mismatched tiffany bracelets. unreleased a$ap mob.

AERI UCHINAGA, pink-haired enigma. macbook photobooth. mean lesbian. twitch streamer turned cultural icon. cherry blossom. prettiestproblem on and offline. perfect blue (1997). harajuku streetwear. retired scene kid. björk. self-released ep titled “petal circuit”—a mix of shoegaze and hyperpop with haunting vocals. tokyo › nyc. widowmaker main. paranoia agent soundtrack. byredo’s blanche. ‘00 doll. two weeks by fka twigs. synth lab streams with modular glitches. dating ning yizhuo; model. domo.

HAMZAH SALEH, slush puppie. bone comics. vintage quiksilver tees. duct-taped backpack. messy. tony hawk fingerboards. his youtube history? “how to ollie without looking lame”. polar bears. co-runs slushy noobz; a youtube channel. created a subreddit called r/CherrySlushiesAnonymous. circa ‘02. napoleon dynamite (2004). cherry airheads. sega dreamcast he won’t shut up about. ck one. spider-man pez. xbox 360. unbrushed curls. owns a lego keychain of marah; his girlfriend. scrawny by wallows. steve lacy.

MARAH ADEL, doll eyes. celestial paradox. possession (1981). iced lavender lattes, leaves the last sip untouched “for the spirits”. heaven by marc jacobs. medieval angelology. ethel cain. ‘03 angel. tattoo artist of the hidden soul, her studio, melancholie, drips in velvet, candied amethyst light, and the faint hum of dusty jazz vinyl. etruscan art. dario argento films. night drives to nowhere. secretly hid a chipped rose quartz under hamzah’s bed. antique heart lockets. soft leather boots. faded polaroids. sparse. mtl › nyc. messy bangs. labdanum no. 3. seperpentskirt by cocteau twins.

back to masterlist! - profile two @ChromeHearts

🖥️𓈒ིུ✧꫶᳜᳝͟ᰭ✿⃨ TRENDING NOW ! matt sturniolo was known for many things: his striking looks, his dominance in the gaming world, and his complete inability to keep his cool around beautiful women. so it’s almost poetic—almost—that his fiery temper explodes during an intense fortnite match, broadcasted live to thousands, only to discover later that the player who completely shattered his pride was y/n greenblatt, one of the most beloved streamers in the community—and undeniably beautiful.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ plsplsplspls send asks about these characters !!!

TAGLIST ( open ) ; @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @waitforyrlove @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @secretlocket @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia @tastesousweet @strnilolover @xoxo4chrisss @ifwdominicfike @emely9274 @maggot3647 @fratbrochrisgf @2augustsago @sturn777

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cera-writes · 8 months ago

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First Impressions - A Kurt Wagner x gn!reader one-shot

Summary: You first met Kurt at the Herr Getmann's Traveling Menagerie. The first time you laid eyes on the blue elf, you were smitten. Fast forward to the 90s and you and Kurt meet again under much different circumstances. tags: fluff, coming of age, mutual pining

The Bavarian sun, a pale orb veiled by a dusty scrim, cast a sickly yellow glow upon Herr Getmann's Traveling Menagerie. The peeling paint on the rickety wooden sign promised wonders, but the air itself held a different story. It reeked of damp straw and the acrid tang of manure, a far cry from the anticipated scent of popcorn and sugared treats. Disappointment gnawed at you, a shadow settling over your heart despite your parents' enthusiastic promises.

Your parents had dragged you along on this trip. It was your summer vacation and apparently you were there to also stay with distant relatives. But you knew your parents were in it just for the free stay and a vacation away from the States. Out of all the touristy things your parents could have picked for you to do, they chose a musty, worn down circus. Honestly, you were ready to be back in America with your friends at the arcade or skating rink. This wasn't how you imagined you'd spend your summer at all.

"C'mon darling. The show is about to start!" Your mother ushered you inside the tent as the ticket master tore your ticket stubs in half as your father followed close behind.

Inside, the spectacle was every bit as underwhelming as the exterior. The big cats, once proud denizens of the savanna, paced restlessly in cramped cages, their magnificent coats dull with neglect. Their amber eyes, once fierce and watchful, were now clouded with resignation. The stench of their confinement hung heavy in the air, a stark counterpoint to the vibrant posters plastered precariously on the weathered orange and red canvas walls. You took a seat in the rafters for the best view, if you even could call it that.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled to life, the announcer's voice a tired rasp battling with static. "Presenting," he declared, his voice tinged with a hint of forced excitement, "our opening act of the night, the Mystifying Nightcrawler!" A spotlight pierced the gloom, bathing the center ring in a harsh white light. From the shadows emerged a figure unlike any you had ever seen. Your eyes widened. Was he- was he really a mutant? You had never seen one in person. He was absolutely beautiful.

"It's him..." you mother sneered. Your parents however, held gazes of contempt and disgust towards Nightcrawler, and any other mutant for that matter. You tuned out their nasty whispers and just focused on the boy standing at the platform.

He was clad in a costume that shimmered with an otherworldly sheen, a deep cobalt blue that seemed to drink in the stark light. A mask, sculpted from some unknown material, obscured his face, but a shock of blue black hair, as vibrant as a summer sky after a downpour, peeked out from beneath it. It was a stark contrast to the peeling paint and sun-bleached canvas that surrounded him.

Then, he moved. There was an effortless grace to his every action, as if defying the earth's very pull. He launched himself from a platform hidden in the shadows, his form a blur of blue and black against the harsh white backdrop. He wasn't just swinging; he was dancing, his body twisting and turning with an impossible fluidity. Every leap, every flip spoke volumes of preternatural strength and agility. He was a silent symphony in motion, an enigma wrapped in cobalt and shadow.

But it was more than just his skill that captivated you. There was an aura about him, an undeniable magnetism that drew you in like a moth to a flame. It was a mystery that whispered promises of adventure and a world hidden just beyond the confines of the dusty circus tent. With each breathtaking leap, with every impossible maneuver, a spark ignited within you, a yearning for something more, something extraordinary.

For a fleeting moment, his gaze seemed to find yours through the harsh glare of the spotlight. A jolt of electricity shot through you, a connection forged in that shared glance. Then, with a flourish that echoed the fading magic of the moment, he vanished back into the shadows, leaving behind a trail of shimmering blue and the lingering echo of wonder in your heart.

The rest of the night was a blur. The other acts faded into oblivion, their performances mere afterimages compared to the spectacle you had just witnessed. Your mind replayed the image of the Nightcrawler, his impossible agility, and the enigmatic smile hidden beneath the mask. The program, clutched tightly in your hand, became a talisman against the fading magic, a tangible reminder of the night that had stolen your breath and ignited a latent flame deep within your very core.

As the applause dwindled and the spotlight dimmed, you felt a frantic energy surge through you. You couldn't just let this incredible encounter end. You had to meet the Mystifying Nightcrawler, to thank him for his amazing performance. It totally didn't have anything to do with your newfound crush. Nope.

Despite your parents' apathy towards mutants, their dismissal fueled a rebellious spark. Seeing the way they interacted with the worn-out animals solidified your resolve. This wasn't a place of wonder, but a place where the extraordinary was exploited. But Nightcrawler, he was different. He brought a touch of magic to the dreary spectacle.

"Come on," your mother called, her voice laced with impatience, "Let's get some overpriced cotton candy and get out of here."

You mumbled an excuse, your heart hammering in your chest. Scanning the emptying stands, you spotted him – a flash of blue disappearing behind a faded red curtain. With a last furtive glance at your parents, now deep in conversation with a vendor, you sprinted towards the backstage area.

The worn canvas walls billowed in the evening breeze, and the air thrummed with a low murmur of voices. You navigated the maze of caravans, each one a peeling testament to the circus's nomadic life. Just as you were about to give up, a figure emerged from one of the larger caravans.

It was him. The Nightcrawler. But instead of his vibrant costume, he was clad in worn jeans and a simple white shirt. He held a red rose in his hand, its vibrant color stark against his stark blue fur. His mask was off, revealing kind golden eyes and a mischievous grin.

Your stomach did a nervous flip-flop. This wasn't the enigmatic performer you'd admired from afar. He had to have been around the same age as you. His vulnerability made him even more captivating. You hesitated, unsure of how to approach him.

Sensing your presence, he turned, his yellow eyes widening in surprise. Then, a smile spread across his face, as warm and genuine as the setting sun.

"“Hallo Schöne”," he said, his voice a melodic baritone. "Seems the Mystifying Nightcrawler has a little fan."

You stammered, cheeks burning. "I, uh… I just wanted to thank you. Your performance… it was incredible. Um, you're also the first mutant I've ever seen. Sorry, I'm not from around here. I'm from America." You played with the hem of your shirt, fidgeting nervously around him.

He chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound. "Thank you, frau. You make a kind audience. I hope I did not frighten you. I know I look a bit... ungewöhnlich."

He held out the rose. "Would you care for this?"

You hesitated for a moment, then reached out to take the flower, its soft petals cool against your fingertips. "It's beautiful," you breathed.

His gaze held yours, an unspoken question lingering in his eyes. "So," he said, his voice dropping a touch, "what's a junge Dame like you doing backstage at a traveling circus?"

You inhaled deeply, the scent of hay and diesel fuel filling your lungs. As you spoke, a strange tingling sensation crawled up your arm, making the hairs stand on end. It felt... electric, like a current running just beneath the surface of your skin. You flinched, dropping your gaze from Kurt's captivating golden eyes to the rose in your hand.

"I…" you started, your voice catching in your throat. The tingling intensified, spreading across your body in a wave. Panic surged through you, a primal fear of the unknown. Before you could apologize or explain the sudden tremor, your vision blurred at the edges. The world seemed to distort around you, the vibrant red rose in your hand pulsing with an otherworldly glow.

Kurt's demeanor shifted instantly. His playful smile vanished, replaced by a mask of concern. He reached out, his hand hovering a safe distance from yours. "Are you alright, Freund ?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You struggled to speak, your tongue thick and heavy. The strange energy within you crackled, yearning to be released. This wasn't the first time your body reacted this way. You feared the worst. You were starting to believe you were a mutant too. But you could never reveal that to your parents.

They'd disown you in a heartbeat. All those scholarships they made you apply for would never matter if they found out you were different. You knew you needed to get away, to disappear before you lost control and revealed your secret in front of the mysterious Nightcrawler.

"I… I don't feel well," you managed to force out, your voice shaky. Shame burned in your stomach for the abrupt change. "I should get back to my parents."

Kurt's eyes flickered with understanding. He nodded, a hint of sadness in his gaze. "Of course," he said gently. "Let me take you to them."

He moved with his trademark agility, guiding you through the maze of caravans with an ease that left you breathless. You stumbled slightly, your legs shaky under the weight of the unknown power coursing through you. Kurt offered you his arm for support, but before you could reach for it, your parents' voices cut through the air.

"There you are!" your mother exclaimed, her voice laced with annoyance. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

You turned to see them approaching, their faces etched with concern. When they spotted Kurt hovering beside you, their expressions hardened.

"Don't touch our child, freak!" your father barked, his voice thick with disgust.

Shame washed over you, hot and suffocating. Kurt's hand recoiled as if struck. His shoulders slumped, the joy that had previously emanated from him extinguished.

"I was just helping, Herr," he said, his voice mild yet firm. "They seemed unwell."

Your mother scoffed. "Don't need any help from your kind." She grabbed your arm possessively, dragging you away before you could even look back at Kurt.

"Wait!" you cried, struggling against her grip. But your voice was lost in the bustle of the crowd. You stole a final glance over your shoulder, only to see Kurt standing alone, with one hand rubbing subconsciously over his other right bicep.

His yellow eyes, once filled with warmth, now held a flicker of sadness as they looked off in the distance. He was the first of his kind that you had met and you finally felt like you resonated with him. But it was all too short lived. All you were left of him was the single red rose he'd given you as a memory of your encounter.

With a heavy heart, you were whisked away from the circus, your first encounter with the Mystifying Nightcrawler ending abruptly, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste and a burning question: would you ever see him again?

The 90s were a whirlwind of discovering and finally, somewhat, honing your mutant abilities. Mutants, now looked down upon more than ever, made you even more of an advocate for your kind. You got that scholarship but at the expense of your parents actually disowning you after a fight at the dinner table ended up with your mother's smashed fine China on the floor at the expense of your powers.

For some reason, they'd brought up Nightcrawler again and it sickened you to the point that you'd had enough. When they found out you were just another "freak" that was the last straw and they kicked you out and you never heard from them again. Good riddance you'd said.

The only thing that sucked about them kicking you out was that you had to quickly find a job and a place to live or you'd end up just another homeless mutant on the streets. All that trust fund money had long gone down the drain when they cut you off completely.

You were residing in New York now. You found a dingy little apartment to live in while you finished up your degree in Advanced Physics. You were finally set to graduate this month and after that, who knows.

You wanted to find a job and finally move out of the crappy little apartment you'd called home for a few years now. At least your neighbor next door, Peter Parker, was usually quiet and it gave you room to study without having to complain with a knock at his door, even if he did come and go at odd times of the night.

One particular day, you were sitting at your favorite little corner coffee shop, studying for your final exam, when all hell broke loose on the street. A piece of large shrapnel flew through the glass of the shop, eliciting screams and terrified shouts from pedestrians as people flew to take cover.

You dove for cover under the overturned coffee table, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The tremor that had rattled the windows had morphed into a full-blown city-rattling rampage. But it wasn't an earthquake. The tremors moved, a monstrous crimson figure stomping through the city streets, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Juggernaut. You recognized him from news reports – a mutant powerhouse the X-Men struggled to contain. And here he was, rampaging through your city like a bull in a china shop.

Panic threatened to consume you, but amidst the chaos, a voice in your head rose above the fear. You were no longer the scared kid, afraid of their powers, who watched Nightcrawler perform at the circus.

If this new era taught you anything, it was discovering your mutant abilities, the escalating anti-mutant sentiment, and the brutal fight with your parents that ended with disownment and shattered family heirlooms. The memory of them calling you a "freak" like Nightcrawler still stung, but it also ignited a fire within you. You wouldn't be another victim.

Squinting past the overturned table, you saw the X-Men, their familiar blue and gold uniforms standing resolute against the crimson giant. And there he was, Nightcrawler – older, even more handsome than you'd remembered, but with the same twinkle in his eyes. He fought with a desperate grace, teleporting in and out, trying to flank Juggernaut. But the red behemoth seemed unstoppable.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, you channeled the theoretical knowledge from years of studying advanced physics. The raw energy of the city pulsed around you, a live wire waiting to be tapped into. It felt almost like an extension of yourself, hungry for release. You stood, running from your sense of security, and joined the chaos outside.

With a surge of will, you unleashed it. A concentrated beam of pure energy, hotter than a thousand suns, erupted from your outstretched palms. It slammed into Juggernaut's side, the red giant staggering with a surprised grunt. The X-Men seized their chance, a flurry of attacks momentarily halting the crimson tide. Cyclops blasted an optic beam, Storm unleashed a swirling vortex of wind, and Wolverine harried Juggernaut with his adamantium claws.

Kurt, finally free from the relentless onslaught, materialized beside you, his yellow familiar eyes widening in disbelief. It was as if he'd seen a ghost. "It's you," he rasped, his voice barely audible over the din of the battle.

You offered a small smile, a mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion. "Helping hand, remember?" Your voice was hoarse, but it held a newfound strength. With another surge of energy, you deflected a stray blow from Juggernaut, allowing Storm to unleash another torrent of wind.

The X-Men, rejuvenated by your unexpected intervention, pressed their attack. Professor Xavier's telepathic voice boomed, urging Juggernaut to stand down. The fight raged on, but your power tip, the concentrated beam of pure energy, proved to be the turning point. Juggernaut, overwhelmed by the combined forces of the X-Men and your unique ability, faltered. His helmet had crumbled, rendering him vulnerable.

Finally, with a roar of frustration, Juggernaut surrendered, taken away by the NYPD as they forced his hefty frame into the back of a mutant prisoner containment vehicle. Exhausted but victorious, the X-Men regrouped. Kurt materialized beside you once more, his gaze still filled with awe and disbelief. "Freund," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "Is it really you?"

You met his gaze, no longer the scared kid from the dusty circus tent. The years of hardship and self-discovery had forged you into a new person. With a defiant smile, you nodded, ready to tell your story and finally find your place amongst the X-Men.

You wanted more than anything to catch up with the infamous Nightcrawler. But Professor Xavier was making his way over to you, clearly wanting a word. The look on his face was nothing short of astonishment. Kurt, sensing this, gave you a reassuring nod as he turned to join the others once more.

"Are you alright, young one?" he inquired, his voice warm and calming.

You nodded, finding your voice a little hoarse. "Yes, Professor. Just a bit… surprised, I guess." You couldn't believe you were talking to the Professor X.

"Surprised?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "I imagine so. But you were quite… extraordinary out there."

The compliment brought a shy smile to your face. You explained how you'd been studying advanced physics, how the energy in the city resonated with you, and how you'd finally been able to control it. You confessed your situation too, about the fight with your parents and being disowned. Shame burned in your stomach, but you held Professor Xavier's gaze.

"It seems you have much to learn, young one," he said, his voice filled with understanding. "But you also have much to teach. We've been looking for someone to help our young mutants hone their abilities, someone who understands the science behind them." His eyes twinkled. "Would you be interested in a position at the X-Mansion, once you graduate of course?"

A wave of emotions washed over you – relief, hope, and a flicker of something more. The X-Mansion. A place where you could belong, where you could use your abilities without fear. You looked at Kurt, who stood a few feet away, a wide grin plastered on his face. His saffron eyes held a spark of excitement, mirroring your own.

"I… I'd be honored sir," you stammered, a genuine smile blooming on your face.

Professor Xavier chuckled. "Excellent. Now, how about we get you cleaned up and settled in? The X-Mansion can be your home. In the meantime, we can work on your new alias." He chuckled lightly.

The mansion, a sprawling structure that seemed to rise organically from the wooded landscape, took your breath away. It was a world away from your cramped apartment, a sanctuary for those who were different. You settled in quickly, the warmth of the X-Men a stark contrast to the cold rejection you'd faced at home.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the lake behind the mansion in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself drawn to its peaceful serenity. As you sat on the edge of the dock, a sudden bamf! sound reverberated next to you as a scent of brimstone hung in the air. It was Nightcrawler.

Suddenly, you felt very conscious and shy all over gain. It was really him. There was no mistaking that sheen of blue fur that lined his skin.

"Quite the entrance you made today," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

You laughed, a nervous flutter in your chest. "I figured you could use some help."

Silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the water. You took a deep breath, finally ready to share your story.

"Remember what you said at the circus? About me being a kind audience?"

Kurt nodded, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features.

"Well," you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper, "I wasn't just kind. I was… smitten. You were the first mutant I ever saw, and it was like watching magic. The thought that for one second, I wasn't alone. That there was another similar to me."

You explained how your parents' reaction had fueled your fear, how you'd kept the rose all these years. You confessed how they'd called you a "freak" just like you'd mentioned, and how you'd ended up alone after they disowned you.

Kurt listened intently, his expression a mix of sympathy and something else you couldn't quite decipher. When you finished, he reached out, taking your hand gently in his. His blue fur felt surprisingly warm against your skin.

"My Freund," he said, his voice soft yet firm, "You are no freak. You are extraordinary. And your parents… well, they were wrong. Trust me, I've lived all my life thinking I was an abomination."

You felt a twist of pain at his words. He was so kind and sweet. Even just so as the night when you'd met him the first time back at that old, sketchy Bavarian circus.

He squeezed your hand, and a spark shot through you. You looked into his eyes, seeing a reflection of your own feelings there.

"The truth is," Kurt confessed, a hint of a blush creeping up his neck, "you've never left my mind either. There was something about you that day, a spark I couldn't ignore."

Your heart was hammering inside your chest. The thought of him feeling the same way all those years sent a warmth throughout your body. The thought that you'd somehow made an impression on him sent butterflies wildly dancing in your stomach.

The truth hung heavy in the air, a silent confession echoed in Kurt's blushing cheeks and your own hammering heart. The twilight sky, ablaze in fiery hues, seemed to witness the unspoken yearning that crackled between you.

His touch, a gentle pressure on your hand, sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You leaned in, drawn by a force stronger than gravity. The kiss, when it came, was a revelation – tentative at first, then deepening with a passion that mirrored the vibrant tapestry of the setting sun.

His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against yours, the sweet taste of berries lingering on his tongue. Your hand reached up, tracing the contours of his face, the velvety texture of his blue fur sending shivers down your spine. He reciprocated, his touch delicate yet firm, as if afraid to break the spell.

The kiss deepened, a silent conversation flowing through the press of your lips. He tasted of adventure, of something innocent but also skilled in the ways of romance. A gentle breeze rustled the nearby leaves, momentarily pulling you apart.

"It's Kurt... my name is Kurt Wagner," he'd finally told you his name.

You gazed into Kurt's eyes, a newfound understanding blooming there. The dam holding back your emotions seemed to break.

"Kurt," you whispered, your voice thick with a desire you could no longer deny.

He responded with a low rumble in his chest, his blue fur darkening with a blush. Without a word, he scooped you up in his arms, teleporting you both to a deserted corner of the mansion's rooftop.

The cool night air whipped around you, carrying with it the distant sound of laughter and music from the common room. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a glittering backdrop for the nascent intimacy unfolding between you.

His touch became bolder, exploring the exposed skin of your arms, sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers trailed down his back, tracing the ridges of his spine and the surprising strength hidden beneath his lithe frame. Clothes became an unwelcome barrier, discarded in a tangle of limbs and whispered promises.

The moonlight, a silent witness to your blossoming love, bathed your entwined forms in an ethereal glow. Passion flared like wildfire, fueled by the years of unspoken attraction and the shared trauma that had bound you together.

The night unfolded in a symphony of whispered endearments and stolen breaths. With each touch, each lingering kiss, the anxieties of your past faded, replaced by the promise of a future brighter than the city lights on the horizon. You'd found each other, and this time nothing would take Kurt away from you.

#xmen #x men 97 #cera writes #kurt wagner x you #kurt wagner x reader #kurt wagner fic #nightcrawler x reader #nightcrawler

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thepascalparadox · 2 months ago

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Chapter Seven: Princess of Nowhere

Word Count | 5.5k Pairing | General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader OC Chapter Warnings | none, more (a lot more) angst, switch pov an: I (unintentionally) am doing chapters bigger and bigger, I'm sorry! I'm loving to hear your thoughts, and for this one I'm even more excited! thank you to everyone reblogging and commenting, it makes me very happy and eager to keep telling this story!

It did not take long after leaving the General's lands for the red banner to appear on the horizon, its bold color cutting through the muted greens and browns of the countryside—a herald of the army camp that lay ahead. The sight filled you with a strange mixture of dread and resignation. The last three days with Acacius had been unexpectedly revealing, peeling back layers of the man whose presence once felt like an enigma. He had answered your endless questions, each reply tinged with a patience that surprised you. What once stirred a dangerous heat deep in your chest had softened into something steadier: admiration, perhaps even fondness.

He might not feel the same for you, and you had long stopped hoping for anything more. His friendship, for now, felt like enough. Yet, as the camp drew closer, the harsh reality of your situation loomed larger. Acacius had become the last familiar thread in a tapestry that was unraveling too quickly. Your home was gone. Your parents were gone. You were a princess of what? No land, no future, and no allies to call upon. The weight of it pressed heavily against your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

What will become of me once we reach the camp?

The thought turned over and over in your mind, each repetition sharper than the last. You imagined your aunt, your mother’s sister, whose letters had been scarce and formal at best. She lived in the distant lands of North Africa, across vast seas you would have to cross alone—an impossible task for someone in your fragile position. The mere idea made your pulse quicken with unease.

The silence between you and Acacius felt tangible now, broken only by the steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves on the dusty ground and the faint rustle of the wind through the sparse trees. It was not an oppressive silence but one that carried a bittersweet weight. You glanced sideways at him, wondering if you should ask another question to break the quiet. Yet something held you back. This moment, this quiet farewell to the intimacy you had shared over the past days, felt strangely sacred.

I think I’ll miss him.

As the first signs of the camp came into view—soldiers moving purposefully, their forms growing sharper against the backdrop of tents and banners—the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The men recognized Acacius immediately. Their gazes snapped to attention, shoulders straightening as they acknowledged his presence with murmured respect. Some stopped their tasks entirely, their voices carrying hushed words you barely caught: “The Princess…” The tone was laced with something unfamiliar—sympathy, perhaps.

They pity me.

“They respected your father above all else,” Acacius murmured, his voice low and steady as if he had read your thoughts. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his jaw tight with purpose. “They will help us. You have no reason to worry.”

You nodded, though his words offered little comfort. As the two of you dismounted, Acacius moved with practiced ease, first offering you his hand, then bracing your waist as you slid from the saddle. His touch was brief but grounding, a subtle reminder of his presence. Together, you walked toward the largest tent, its fabric swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. A soldier stepped forward to take the reins of the horse, nodding in deference as he led it away.

The whispers followed you, and with each step closer to the tent, your unease deepened. At the entrance, Acacius gestured for you to go first. You hesitated, turning toward him in search of reassurance. His eyes softened, the hardness of the soldier momentarily replaced by something warmer, quieter. His hand found the small of your back, guiding you forward with a touch that spoke of unspoken promises.

Inside, the air was thick, the heavy canvas walls trapping the warmth of the day. The room was dimly lit, streaks of light filtering through seams in the fabric. A central table dominated the space, its surface strewn with maps and figurines—an unmistakable strategy table. Three men stood around it, their gazes lifting as you entered. One of them, clad in armor as elaborate as Acacius’s, straightened immediately, his face breaking into an expression of palpable relief.

“Finally, my friend…” The man’s voice carried a weight that matched his stature, a breath exhaled after what felt like years of tension.

Before you could fully take in the scene, a figure emerged from the shadowed corner of the tent—a woman. She moved swiftly, her voice ringing with unmistakable warmth as she called Acacius’s name.

“Lena,” Acacius said, clearly caught off guard by her approach. She reached him in moments, her hands cupping his face with an intimacy that made your chest tighten.

“You’re alive,” she breathed, her eyes glistening with relief. “I was so scared... I thought we had lost you.”

His hands found her waist instinctively, steadying her as though she might collapse from the weight of her emotions. “You’re not rid of me yet,” he said, his voice lighter now, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

The tenderness in her gaze was undeniable, her fingers lingering as if reassuring herself that he was truly there. You looked away, suddenly acutely aware of how small you felt in this space. The warmth between them was palpable, a bond forged long before you had ever entered his life.

The other man approached Acacius with the familiarity of an old friend, pulling him into a firm embrace that spoke of years spent side by side in battles unseen and victories hard-won.

“Missed you, brother,” he said, his voice carrying the easy warmth of someone who had long grown comfortable in Acacius’s presence. “Your men arrived days ago and said you were just behind them. What kept you?”

It was then that you were noticed. Slowly, deliberately, the attention in the room shifted, settling on you like a weight pressing against your chest. Their eyes, sharp and questioning, lingered a moment too long, and despite the heat of the tent, an icy shiver ran down your spine.

You wished you could meet their gaze with the boldness of a woman who belonged here—a princess unshaken by the sudden shift in her life. You wished you could hold your chin high, your shoulders square, like the noblewoman you had been raised to be. But confidence felt like a distant dream, slipping further from your grasp with each passing second.

Instead, your eyes faltered, dropping instinctively to the ground as if the canvas beneath your feet could offer refuge. The voice in your head whispered cruel truths: you were out of place here, a fragile shadow of who you once were. A princess of nothing, nowhere, standing in a room of men who carried the weight of empires on their shoulders.

Acacius, perhaps sensing your discomfort, shifted subtly beside you. His presence, solid and steady, anchored you in a way you could not explain. You took a slow breath, trying to gather the fragments of your courage, willing yourself not to shrink beneath their scrutiny.

Be strong, you thought, the words a soft plea within the silence of your mind. You’re still standing. That must count for something.

"Princess..." The man bowed his head respectfully. "I am General Valerius, Commander of the Iron Legions, Loyal to your father, Antoninus Justus. I am deeply sorry for your loss." He extended his hand to you, and you placed yours in it — as any lady should. He was a strong man, his stature almost equal to that of Acacius, though younger in years. His shoulders were broad, yet there was a weariness in his eyes, a quiet burden carried beneath the weight of his armor.

"I appreciate your loyalty, General. My father is—" You faltered, the truth of his absence settling heavy in your chest. "My father would be most grateful for your services to the empire."

"He will be missed dearly." General Valerius’s voice softened, his gaze lingering for a moment on Acacius. "Sit down, Marcus, Lena will fetch you wine and bread. You must be hungry."

"Thank you, brother, but first, I would ask something of you." Acacius’s tone was low, measured. "Could you prepare a tent for the princess? She is weary and not quite... accustomed to such a life." His words, though respectful, carried a certain delicacy, as if speaking of a world you no longer belonged to.

"I'll see to it," Lena replied quickly, her voice calm and assured, as she brought a cup for both of you. Your cup held water, while the General’s contained wine. A subtle distinction, one you pondered as she drew nearer, noting the curve of her belly—her child. Who is this woman? She offered you a smile, kind yet unsettling, and for reasons you could not place, doubt lingered in your heart.

"It will be arranged, Acacius," The General continued, his voice carrying a hint of finality, "but first... I’m afraid we have some political matters to discuss."

The words hung in the air like a shadow, and as you prepared to rise and leave—so accustomed to doing so with your father’s matters—you were met with the soldiers’ expectant gazes. You hesitated.

"Do you... wish for me to stay?" Your voice faltered, barely above a whisper.

"You must, Princess. It all revolves around you," came his reply, almost too obvious, as if the weight of your presence could not be denied.

"We have received a letter from Rome," General Valerius continued, his tone now somber. "From one of the Senate’s men, Macrelius."

The words struck you like a blow. Fury flared inside your chest, a fire burning bright and hot. If the man stood before you now, you were certain you would strangle him with your bare hands.

"I’m sorry for reading it, Princess, but we weren't certain of your... survival. We thought it might contain important information."

"What did he say?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a rage you had not yet realized resided within you.

"Well..." General Valerius hesitated, his face tightening as he recounted the words. "He spent a great deal of time apologizing, claiming that the plot was never intended to kill the emperor. Though it didn’t sound sincere. Then, he asked for your hand."

"He what?" Acacius’s voice cracked with the intensity of his anger, his posture stiffening in a way that made the air thick with tension.

"He said that the people are enraged," Valerius continued, his voice heavy with the weight of truth, "that the riots will soon bring the fall of Rome. The only way to quell their fury is for you to show your support for the Senate by marrying him."

The notion sickened you to your core. How could this man, the very one responsible for your father’s death, propose such a vile marriage? His treachery knew no bounds.

"He’s a madman, Valerius," Acacius whispered, the coldness of his tone betraying the fury that swirled beneath. "Minutes before the chaos at the castle, he was laughing with Antoninus. He is the greatest traitor of all."

"The problem is, Acacius," Valerius’s voice grew more contemplative, "he’s not entirely wrong. The people of Rome adored Antoninus, and his death has left them grieving. They mourn for him as they would for their own kin. And they adore the princess just as fiercely." His gaze softened as he turned to you, his tone almost comforting. "Where your loyalty lies, the people will follow, Your Grace."

"I cannot accept such an offer, General," you said, the weight of it sinking into your bones. "He is responsible for my father’s death."

"I know," Valerius sighed, his eyes dark with understanding. "But I’m afraid you must make a decision. The people believe you dead. A marriage would give them direction. It would show them who they should stand with."

"What do you have in mind, Valerius?" Acacius’s voice was tight, his usual calm replaced by a flicker of unease. His eyes locked onto his friend’s, searching for any sign, any hint of the true intentions behind the words.

"Well," Valerius hesitated, then his voice grew quiet as he paced the room, "if a marriage must happen to show the people where they stand... then she could also marry one of us."

The words hit you like a storm. Your heart seemed to sink, your blood ran cold, and the room around you blurred into fog. You had known, somewhere deep within, that one day you would be forced into such a union, but not like this. Not now.

You noticed how Acacius, too, seemed struck by the suggestion, his expression one of disbelief, and before either of you could voice your protest, the other General spoke, his tone measured but unyielding.

"By 'us,' I mean Acacius—thank the gods, I am happily married." He stood, placing a hand firmly on Acacius’s shoulder as he faced you, his expression somber as he laid out the harsh truth. "What I’m saying is this: such a marriage would serve as a declaration that the events of that night were an act of treason. It would show that neither you nor your father condoned the attack. However, it would also provoke war with Rome, even if those now in power are not rightfully in command. And we can’t predict if Macrelius would retaliate against the people for it."

The words hung in the air like an iron weight, and you could only blink, overwhelmed by the rush of information. How could you possibly make a decision now?

Lena entered the tent again, her hand resting lightly on her swollen belly. "I have prepared everything for you, Your Highness," she said respectfully, her voice soft.

"I shall leave you to rest, Princess," Valerius said, his tone gentle but filled with gravity. "You can make your decision tomorrow. Goodnight."

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

You walk in silence beside Lena, your thoughts swirling like a storm that refuses to settle. Every step feels heavier than the last, burdened by the decisions looming over you, their shadows stretching far beyond the flickering light of the campfires. Lena's soft voice pulls you from the maze of your mind.

"My brother may seem a little... stern, but he's a good man, I assure you, Princess," she says, her tone gentle, though it does little to quiet the turmoil within you.

"General Valerius seemed very interested in deciding my life," you reply, your voice sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air like a blade unsheathed. Tired, drained, you’re in no mood for small talk, especially not with someone you barely know. Trust feels like a luxury you can’t afford, and as far as you can tell, this woman, with her kind smile and soft tone, could be hiding knives of her own.

"Well," Lena says, a light playfulness threading through her voice despite your tone, "my husband has a habit of deciding my life too." She glances at you with a smirk that feels too knowing, too practiced, before adding, "But I was talking about Acacius. I noticed the way he looks after you—even in that serious manner of his. I’ve told him countless times that his temper will only ever be matched, or tamed, by a woman as fierce as he is."

The words surprise you, slipping into your thoughts like a stone breaking the stillness of water. Your steps falter for just a moment as Lena reaches forward, pulling back the tent flap to reveal the space prepared for you. The realization hits you suddenly, as if the pieces of a puzzle have been snapped into place.

"You're his sister?" you ask, your voice soft and uncertain. A faint heat rises to your cheeks, embarrassment mingling with exhaustion. The doubt you’d clung to earlier now seems cruel.

Lena’s laugh is light, forgiving. "I am. Did you think otherwise?" she asks, though there’s no mockery in her tone—only quiet understanding.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, the words fumbling out before you can stop them. "I thought—"

"It’s all right, Your Highness," she interrupts gently, waving off your concern with a small, graceful motion. "Would you mind if I help you bathe?"

The question takes you by surprise, though the very thought of being clean again nearly undoes you. You swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat and nod, unable to form words. Lena steps into the space with practiced movements, wordlessly preparing the water as you begin to untangle yourself from the layers of dirt-streaked fabric that cling to your skin.

The quiet that follows feels heavier now, but not uncomfortable. Lena works in silence, her motions sure and precise as she tends to the water and brushes out your hair. When the warm water touches your skin, you feel yourself exhale—a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The sweet, calming scent of lavender rises from the water, lingering in the air and weaving itself through your senses like a balm for every raw edge inside you. You close your eyes for just a moment, letting the warmth seep into your bones.

When you open them again, Lena’s hands are steady, her expression gentle as she tends to you. It’s only then that you notice the familiarity in her face—the shape of her eyes, the quiet resolve in them. The same eyes as Acacius.

"How far along are you?" you ask softly, your voice tentative.

Lena pauses, her hand lingering for a brief moment as she works. When she looks up at you, her smile is small, almost wistful. "Not long now," she says, her hand settling lightly over the curve of her belly. The glow in her face speaks of something deeper—hope, perhaps, or the quiet strength of someone who’s lived through storms and learned to steady herself in the aftermath.

You don’t say anything else, and neither does she. The silence between you shifts, no longer heavy but something softer, like a fragile thread of understanding weaving itself between two strangers—two women standing at the edge of worlds far larger than either of them.

Lena’s hand lingered over her belly as her gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the tent, beyond the present moment, as though she were reaching back into the folds of time. A faint smile curved her lips—soft, wistful—as she broke the silence.

"Valerius and Acacius... they’ve always been like brothers, even when they weren’t," she began, her voice carrying the weight of old memories wrapped in fondness. "When we were children, the three of us were inseparable. My father used to call them shadows, always following each other about. Where one went, the other was sure to be close behind."

You watched her as she spoke, the calm rhythm of her voice like the gentle ripple of water over stone. It was the kind of tone that made you feel like you were eavesdropping on something sacred, a glimpse into lives lived long before you became part of their world.

"Acacius was always the quiet one, though," Lena continued, carefully wringing out the cloth and dipping it into the warm lavender-scented water. "Stubborn, serious, even then. He carried more weight than a boy his age should have. I think he was always preparing for this life, even before it came for him." She looked up at you briefly, her gaze searching, as though measuring whether you understood the man whose loyalty had been given to you. "And Valerius... well, he was the storm to Acacius’s stone."

Her words painted a picture as vivid as any tapestry you’d seen in your father’s halls—a boyish Acacius with the same unwavering stare, his shadow matched step-for-step by a younger Valerius, wild and laughing.

"They balanced each other," Lena continued after a pause, her voice softening. "Valerius brought light and laughter where Acacius would have built walls. And Acacius... he steadied Valerius when the world felt too wild for him."

You felt a pang in your chest at her words, as though the truth of them weighed on you. It made sense now, the silent understanding between the two men, the trust so deep it didn’t need to be spoken aloud. It was a bond built in youth, forged through time and tested by the world’s cruelty.

"And you?" you asked, your voice quieter than you intended. "Where did you fit in?"

Lena laughed softly, a sound full of warmth and reminiscence. "Oh, I was the little tyrant, always trailing after them, determined to be part of their adventures. They hated it, of course—Valerius once tried to lose me in the fields, thinking I’d give up and go home. But Acacius, ever the protector, carried me back on his shoulders, scolding Valerius the whole way."

Her smile softened, her gaze drifting as if caught in some far-off memory. "Despite it all, I think Valerius and I were always bound to find each other. We fought like sworn enemies back then, but somewhere between those childhood battles, I think we realized we couldn’t live without one another. He grew into the man who wishes to decide every step of my life—much to my annoyance at times—but also the man who has held my heart ever since."

The tent fell into a moment of peaceful silence as Lena finished her work, carefully laying the damp cloth aside. The lavender still lingered in the air, a quiet comfort against the unknown weight pressing at the edges of your thoughts.

Lena smiled then, a small, knowing smile, before rising to her feet. "Rest, Your Highness," she said softly, smoothing her dress over her rounded belly. "Tomorrow will come soon enough, and you’ll need your strength."

She left you alone then, the flap of the tent swaying gently as it settled back into place. For a long moment, you remained still, staring at the basin of water where lavender petals floated in soft spirals, their scent lingering like a promise.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

The tent now was dimly lit, the shadows flickering against the fabric walls as the oil lamp sputtered. You sat at the edge of the small cot, fingers twisting the hem of your tunic, lost in thought. Outside, the camp was quiet, save for the distant hum of soldiers settling into the night.

Acacius hesitated before pulling back the flap to Aemilia’s tent. It was unlike him to linger, to question himself, but tonight he did. He told himself he was only checking on her, ensuring she was well after such a long and trying day. That’s all.

Steeling his resolve, he stepped inside. Aemilia sat at a small wooden table, her hands resting on an open scroll she hadn’t been reading. Her posture was slumped, and though her face was turned away, Acacius could see the weight of exhaustion in the curve of her shoulders.

"Your Grace," he said softly, breaking the silence.

Aemilia startled slightly, her head snapping up to meet his gaze. For a moment, she just stared at him, her expression unreadable, before masking it with cool detachment. "General Acacius," she said, her voice polite but distant. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Her words were measured, but he noticed the fatigue beneath them—an exhaustion not of body, but of spirit. She looked like someone who longed for the oblivion of sleep, yet her mind refused her rest.

I know the feeling.

“I came to see if you were comfortable. If...” He hesitated, the unusual uncertainty making him shift his weight. “Perhaps you need anything?”

He hated how the words faltered as they left him, stripped of the firm authority he was so used to. The days spent together had chipped away at his armor, leaving a vulnerability he hadn’t felt in years. She trusted him now—he believed it. And more importantly, he hoped she understood he wasn’t just a soldier in her service, but perhaps something more. A friend. Maybe the most loyal one she would ever know.

“Oh.” She gasped, genuinely surprised by his concern. “Thank you, General. Not just for this but... for everything you have done. For me, for my father, and for the empire.” She paused, looking down, her fingers nervously tracing the seam of her tunic. “Unfortunately, I can’t possibly repay you now, but I promise you, as soon as I—”

“Stop.” His voice was quiet, yet firm as he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor. “There’s nothing to repay. I did it gladly, and I would do it a thousand times again if necessary. Not out of duty.” He hesitated, the next words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. “But because I...”

He faltered, his eyes searching for hers, trying to measure how much of his heart he could expose without shattering completely. “We can be considered friends, can we not?”

Her gaze softened, the hardness in her expression melting ever so slightly. “Yes...” A small, almost timid smile touched her lips, though she quickly averted her eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his. “I suppose we can.”

Acacius remained still, restless in a way that felt unfamiliar. He wanted more from her—more words, more understanding, something—as if her voice alone could unravel the tension within him.

Finally, she broke the silence, her shoulders slumping as her mask crumbled. “I’m sorry, it’s just... I’m so confused.”

She rested her face in her hands, elbows propped on her knees, and he felt a pang deep in his chest at the sight of her. The proud, unshakable woman now seemed small, fragile. Mortal.

“I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this,” she said quietly, her voice muffled against her palms. “Learning, studying the best possibilities. And now that the time has come... everything feels out of place. No matter what I choose, I fell like I'll be doing something wrong.”

His brow furrowed, her words gnawing at him. What does she mean?

She lifted her head then, and he realized his thoughts had slipped aloud. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, she looked like she might weep. “Marrying Macrelius would bring peace to the Roman people,” she whispered. “There would be no retaliation. Perhaps things could go back to normal.” She swallowed, as if the words physically hurt her. “But marrying you...”

Acacius stiffened, feeling a cold weight settle in his chest.

“Marrying you would mean war,” she continued. “And I can’t do that to them. It wouldn’t be fair.”

She can’t possibly be thinking to marry that man. The thought churned through him like a poison. Am I that repulsive?

His fists clenched at his sides, though he fought to keep his voice steady. “Peace is something the Roman people haven’t seen in a long time.” His tone was colder now, the softness gone, replaced by something harder—something she hadn’t heard from him before.

She nodded faintly, as if she understood. “I miss home,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I miss my father. My friends. Marrying Macrelius would mean going back to everything I know. It feels... safer.”

The words stung him more than he cared to admit.

“I’m not sure I can handle everything here,” she added, glancing at him briefly, her gaze calculated. “Staying here would mean staying alone.”

You speak carefully, your words chosen like pieces on a chessboard, hoping—praying—that the General might reveal his true thoughts about the matter. Your heart is a tangle of confusion, but the weight pressing hardest is your uncertainty over him. Would he truly want this marriage? Would he stand beside you willingly, not out of duty or obligation but because he chooses to?

The very idea unsettles you. For all you know, Acacius may see this as nothing but strategy, a burden to shoulder for the good of the empire. He says he is loyal—fiercely so—but would that loyalty extend to your happiness? To you?

The alternative feels like swallowing stones. Marrying the man responsible for your father’s death—whether by intent or fate—twists your very soul. Yet what choice remains? If Acacius doesn’t want you, doesn’t choose you, then what else can you do but sacrifice yourself for your people’s safety?

If only he would say it—just once. "I’ll never leave you alone."

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

Your words struck him in a way he wasn't expecting. You feel safer with Macrelius than with him. And this time the anger inside can't be tamed or discased.

“Well then,” he said bitterly, his voice carrying an edge sharper than any blade, “perhaps it’s better for you to return to the palace and go back to the easy life you had. Perhaps what happened in the last days can be forgotten with a good wedding feast.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with hurt. “How can you say that?” she whispered, her voice shaking. The sadness in it, however, was quickly swallowed by anger—an anger that blazed as fiercely as his own.

“How dare you say that to me when I’ve lost everything? Everyone I love? Everyone who could care for me?” She stood abruptly, brushing past him toward the tent’s exit, but she stopped short, hesitating. Her back was to him now, her voice low but seething.

“Maybe the truth is you have no idea what real loss is, do you, soldier?” She turned, her gaze burning into his. “How could you know anything about caring? About love?”

She took a step forward, giving him no chance to reply, tone sharp as a dagger, her voice mocking now, “I wonder if that night you kissed me... was it pity? Or did you simply want to send me away so I wouldn’t interrupt your precious lonely time?”

Acacius’s eyes darkened, the fire in them matching hers.

“You’re a brute,” she spat. “The worst kind of man.”

The words landed with precision, but instead of hurting him, they ignited something worse—his pride. He laughed, a low, bitter sound that sent a chill down her spine.

“So that’s your opinion of me? A brute?” He stepped toward her, his gaze unrelenting. “Perhaps I should truly show you my worst. Then the feelings you once said you felt would go away, wouldn’t they?”

“Stay away, soldier,” she warned, though her voice faltered at the end.

“But I can’t, can I?” His voice broke then, the frustration spilling out of him like water through cracked stone. “Because even you, being the most stubborn and spoiled woman I have ever met, I can’t stay away. When I’m not thinking of you, I’m thinking of ways to protect you. And when I’m not doing that...” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m thinking of ways to love you. And that—that—is the worst part.”

His chest rose and fell with the weight of his confession, and for a long moment, silence filled the space between them.

“Because even if I had a thousand ways to show my devotion to you, it wouldn’t be enough. Not in this life or the next.” His voice grew quieter now, the anger fading to something almost sorrowful. “It wouldn’t be enough because you deserve a prince. One on a white horse. Young. Perfect. Not a scarred, brute of a man like me.”

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

You noticed how his eyes flickered from pure anger to something quite diferent, almost a little sad. Your lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no words came.

Does he really think so low of himself?

“Marcus...” your tone soft, reaching out toward him.

He shook his head, his expression hardening again, the walls rebuilding before your very eyes. “You should rest,” he said abruptly, the emotion disappearing from his tone. “You have a decision to make tomorrow. And by the way this conversation has gone... I already know the answer.”

Before you could say another word, he turned and disappeared into the night, the tent flap swaying behind him.

You sat back down, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you like a stone. The silence he left behind was deafening, and though you knew you should rest, all you could do was replay his words—I’m thinking of ways to love you.

And yet he was gone, believing you felt nothing. Believing he was nothing to you at all.

#marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x reader #pedro pascal #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #general acacius #marcus acacius fic

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conkers-thecosy · 7 months ago

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Hullo! 💛 I know it was a few weeks ago since I posted my fic rec list, but here's the promised compilation of unfinished WIPs that I'd like to recommend, at last! Do give them a look, they're all wonderful! ~ "The Veiled King" by MiraHerondale Bilbo has lost his memory after getting knocked out in Ravenhill, and is found by Thranduil. He’s taken to Mirkwood, unconscious still, to be treated. Upon waking, he discovers he has no memories of the previous year.

Unaware of this development, Thorin and his heirs lie recovering from their wounds and confined to bed rest. Free of the gold madness, the King orders them to search for Bilbo, as the brave burglar is still counted among the many who have disappeared during the fight. Despite this, they find no trace of Bilbo before a terrible snowstorm forces them to abandon their task and accept what they believe to be the hobbit's fate.

The King Under the Mountain mourns and, in the meantime, Bilbo sleeps.

"Ambassador To Madness" by @sunnyrosewritesstuff All Bilbo wanted was to be an ambassador to one of the richest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Upon meeting its prince, his opinion is greatly lessened. However, Bilbo still finds himself agreeing to play the part of his consort to help free Erebor from the gold mad Thror. Turns out, Thror may not be as blind as his grandson thinks, and intends to use Bilbo to get rid of Thorin once and for all. ~ "Sleep Alone; Start All Over" by vicious_summer Bilbo had a sudden, cheerful realization. “Oh, my, this must mean you’ve already dealt with the problem of the dragon without me!”

Bofur frowned. “Bilbo, no–”

“Sorry, you haven’t dealt with the dragon?”

Or: the Consort of Erebor loses about seven years of memory. ~ "Golden Hearts Bleed Faster" by @lordoftherazzles Bilbo Baggins, Prince of the Shire, has been left with a kingdom on his back and a ring in his hand after the unexpected death of his parents. Bodyguard Thorin Oakenshield has been brought in to see to the prince’s safety, and do a little investigating of his own on the matter in hopes of coming face to face with the one who turned his mountain, and his life, upside down some years prior. ~ "The Great Ereborian Doily Conspiracy" by @lauramkaye Thorin has always been happy to see Bilbo adopt dwarfish ways, until it is pointed out to him that Bilbo, not actually being a dwarf, might be happier in their marriage if Thorin were to make a bit of effort to adopt some hobbitish ways in turn.

Naturally, Thorin goes about this in a sensible and moderate manner. ~ "Dragonfly" by @edwardallenpoe Snippets of Thorin and Bilbo's life, learning to Heal, learning to Grow, Learning to Trust, and learning to Love, from when they survive, to the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Or; They both love each other and are afraid to tell the other, their plans? To tell everyone else they're together while the other has no idea. ~ "Sparks & Gardens" by @fantasyinallforms Bilbo grew up well-to-do in the peaceful countryside of the shire. Three years after his mother's passing, his father decides to move to London to take up an affluent teaching job at the British museum. Bilbo tries to make the best of his new surroundings and crosses paths with a surly blacksmith named Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo finds Thorin to be an enigma, and Thorin finds Bilbo to be naive. Soon they will learn that Thorin's mistrust of the elite is based on experiences that lead to his dark past, and Bilbo is not as naive to the evils of the world as he may seem. ~ "Of Cold Hearts" by @domesticgoddesswriter Thorin was at a loss. He was a monster slayer. A killer of all evil creatures who prey on humanity. Including vampires. Especially vampires. He hated vampires. He wouldn't be content until he eradicated every last one of the foul beings.

So what in Mahal's name was he doing sitting here in a dusty armchair next to a cold hearth drinking tea (of all things!) with a (admittedly rather cute) vampire. The same vampire that he came to this old castle to kill. ~ Next time I'll do "canon-verse; all time favourites" Feel free to add your recommendations too, I'm always on the look out for new fic to read! 💛

#bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thilbo #fic recs #conkers corner #conker's fic recs #conkers fic recs

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rebouks · 1 year ago

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Brodie Sampson was a foreboding man, but he somewhat reminded Robin of his father; tough and weathered on the outside, with a soft, gooey centre reserved for those who knew him closely. His voice was gruff when he finally decided to speak.

“I thought I told you not to wander off-.. and who is this?”

Alex rolled her eyes, resenting the way her father constantly scolded her for leaving the watchtower, despite the fact that he left for hours and hours every day.

“I was bored, and this is Robin-.. but he can’t talk.”

Brodie scoffed, “That’s convenient.”

“He’s fun and nice, don’t stress over it-.. please?” Alex asked, or rather, demanded, throwing a dusty notepad and a pencil in front of Robin. He’d promised to write his address down for her so she could write to him, they were going to be pen-pals!

Brodie grumbled, immediately dropping any misgivings, just as Alex had asked. “What do you want from the store?”

“Gummy worms!” Alex shouted.

“You’ll have no teeth left…” Brodie tutted, grabbing his coat.

“They’ll grow back.” Alex shoved a finger in her mouth, prodding the exposed gum where her front teeth used to be.

“Hm-.. you better get yourself gone soon, son. I’m sure your parents are wondering where you are.” Brodie squinted at Alex as he headed out, as if to warn her against convincing Robin to stay any longer; she stuck her tongue out at him.

Robin nodded as Brodie left, hastily scrawling down the rest of his address. He wondered if he ought to write anything else, an apology perhaps? He felt bad that he hadn’t managed to speak to Alex yet, but he was going home soon, so the opportunity had already passed. Maybe he didn’t have anything interesting to say, anyway.

“He’s nice really, he’s just-.. moody, or whatever.”

Robin forced a smile as she continued.

“It’s so not fair, having to stay cooped up in here all day-.. what does he expect?”

Robin supposed he expected his daughter to listen to him, though he also supposed it wasn’t fair that she had to stay here alone every day either. Did she go to school? Were they on some kind of permanent vacation? He’d have to remember to ask her when they wrote to one another, they’d have more chance of getting to know each other that way-.. especially since he still seemed unable to talk like a normal human being.

Alex hovered at the top of the staircase, blocking Robin’s path.

“I don’t want you to go-.. home, I mean.” She clarified.

For some reason, Robin found it hard to read Alex, but he could sense enough to know that she was lonely. She seemed much more present than anyone else he knew; often avoiding thinking about the past or the future, or ruminating on her thoughts for too long, instead acting on contagious, frivolous impulsiveness.

He couldn’t decide whether it was refreshing or frustrating. He’d gotten used to knowing what went on in people’s minds, and whether he liked it or not, Alex was an enigma. Robin would’ve done anything to avoid going home-.. and back to school, but since he couldn’t say so out loud, he did the next best thing.

“Ough!” Alex squeaked with surprise as Robin yanked her off her feet, wrapping his arms around her in a vice like bear hug.

Since he was so awkward with his words-.. or lack thereof, she’d wrongly assumed he’d be weirded out by physical affection too. Giggling slightly, she decided it was quite nice to be wrong. Her father wasn’t exactly a hugger, and it wasn’t as though she had anyone else she could randomly accost with her need for affection, people would think she was odd or clingy.

“I guess you don’t want to go either?” She asked, almost rhetorically.

Robin shook his head vigorously, tilting backwards precariously until Alex squealed again.

“Okay, okay, you can put me down now.. I promise I’ll write!”

Previous // Next

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #robin finch #alexandra sampson #brodie sampson #helppppppp they're too cute #i need to go lay down #let's just stay here forever #😭#forever in between is now forever camping fkjdkfj

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cyberneticfallout · 8 months ago

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Chapter Nine: Wouldn't It Be Nice

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: Tensions run high after the previous night's kiss and The Ghoul reveals a small part of his past. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventually more smut, language, canon-typical violence, chem/alcohol use, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.7k

The journey to the old associate is a lengthy one, likely spanning a few days at the very least. The landscape is mostly desolate, with sand dunes engulfing the remnants of old-world buildings. The memory of the previous night's kiss lingers heavily in your mind, leaving you curious about The Ghoul's thoughts on the matter. You resist the urge to ask. Instead you decide to keep your distance from him and look at your pip-boy to distract yourself. Focusing on the device, you navigate through its functions until you locate the radio feature, tuning in to some classic tunes from the past that fill the air.

As the familiar lyrics of “Orange Colored Sky” by Nat King Cole fill the air, you find yourself lost in the nostalgic melody. The rhythmic beat of the song creates a sense of comfort amidst the desolation. The radio crackles and the signal fades momentarily, but you manage to catch the few lines of the song before it returns to full clarity.

Slowing his stride, The Ghoul positions himself next to you. You sneak a glance in his direction, but his expression remains an enigma, offering no insight into his thoughts. However, he begins to hum along with the tune, his voice blending with yours in a harmonious duet. You can't help but wonder what would it be like to sway to the music in his arms. A faint smile tugs at your lips at the thought.

The two of you continue like this for some time, singing softly to the old tunes that fill the air. After a while, he extends a piece of jerky from his bag to you. Gratefully, you accept and savor a big bite. The flavor is unfamiliar, yet surprisingly delicious.

"What type of jerky is this?" you ask.

"Ass jerky.”

"Alright," you giggle, "The ass of what? I don't think I've had this kind before."

"Ghoul," he states plainly.

You burst out laughing at what you assume is a joke, only to realize it's not when he stares back at you blankly, munching on his own piece of jerky.

"...What."

Staring at The Ghoul in disbelief, the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. His stoic expression adds to the surreal nature of the moment, and as the truth sinks in, a wave of nausea washes over you. You start gagging uncontrollably, unable to contain your revulsion at the thought of consuming human flesh. His reaction surprises you as he bursts into laughter at your discomfort, his amusement contrasting sharply with your horror.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" you shout, your voice filled with disgust as you dry heave. "Oh my god. It was that dead ghoul I came across, wasn't it?"

"Soundin' like that vaultie," The Ghoul chuckles.

"Not all us vault dwellers come out that naive," you mutter quietly, the words barely audible to him.

"What'd you say?" he questions, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Hm? Nothing," you quickly reply, trying to brush off the tension. The Ghoul's skeptical gaze lingers on you, and without a second thought, you fling the remaining jerky at his face. The dried meat slaps against his cheek with a thud, slowly sliding down his face and plopping onto the dusty ground. The silence that follows is heavy as “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by The Beach Boys suddenly starts blaring from your pip-boy.

♪ Wouldn't it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong? ♪

"Pick it up," he finally breaks the silence.

You raise an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Smoothie," he says, taking a step closer to you. "We ain't wastin’ good jerky just because you're too dainty. Pick… it… up."

Your eyes meet his in a fierce stare, both of you mirroring the intensity. Closing the distance between you, you stand almost nose to nose. As you gaze up at him, you notice the anger in his eyes, but you also catch a glimpse of Cooper Howard peeking through.

♪ After having spent the day together, hold each other close the whole night through ♪

"If you want to watch me bend over that badly, all you have to do is ask," you quip, a playful glint in your eye.

"Two choices, sweetheart,” The Ghoul's voice takes on a dark and gravelly tone. "Either you pick it up like a good girl, or I make you pick it up - and I won't be gentle."

Good girl. You muster all your strength to resist cracking under those words, a smug grin spreading across his face. In that moment, you can't help but wonder if he's being playful or if this is just his usual, asshole self shining through. After all, he has no shame when it comes to this shit.

♪ I wish that every kiss was never-ending ♪

Your mind races for a witty response, the lyrics of the song only adding to the awkward tension between you. His eyes bore into yours, a mix of challenge and arrogance that makes your skin crawl. With a defiant tilt of your chin, you sarcastically remark, "You better be prepared to catch me when I swoon from your overwhelming charm."

The Ghoul's smirk widens, a flash of malice glinting in his eyes as he replies, "Oh sweetie, I don't catch… I watch you fall.“

♪ You know it seems the more we talk about it, it only makes it worse to live without it ♪

As you crouch down to retrieve the jerky, a mix of resentment and anger swirls inside you. The act of picking up the tainted piece of meat feels like a bitter concession, a silent acknowledgment of the power play he has initiated. Standing back up, you hold out the jerky towards him, your gaze hardened with a mix of defiance and humiliation.

The Ghoul plucks the jerky from your hand with a satisfied smirk, relishing the control he holds over the situation. The tension between you crackles with unspoken words and unspoken desires, each gesture and exchange charged with a potent mix of attraction and power dynamics.

The tension between you lingers like a heavy fog as you trudge forward in uncomfortable silence, the music from your pip-boy serving as a strange soundtrack to the awkwardness that envelops you. With the sun sinking towards the horizon, long shadows stretching across the landscape, a sense of unease settles in your chest like a heavy weight.

As darkness descends, a canopy of stars twinkling overhead, The Ghoul's voice breaks the silence, his tone devoid of the earlier hostility. "We'll set camp here for the night. Keep watch while I get a fire going," he instructs, his words cutting through like a knife. You nod stiffly, grateful for the chance to have some space between you.

Sitting by the crackling fire, you wrap your arms around your knees, staring into the flames. The Ghoul settles across from you, his eyes fixed on the fire as well. After a moment of comfortable silence, you finally speak, your voice soft in the night air. "What did you mean the other day when you said you remembered Moldaver differently?"

His gaze shifts from the fire to meet yours, taking a moment to consider your question before answering, “I knew her as Miss Williams.”

“Miss Williams?” Curiosity fills you.

“I met her. Before the war,” he continues, “Which makes me curious as to how she’s still around.”

You ponder for a moment, lost in thought. "Seems like prewar folks are more common than I thought..."

"Oh yeah?" The Ghoul laughs. "You know a lot of 'em or somethin’?"

You chuckle softly at his question. "No, no," you reply, shaking your head slightly. "I just didn't think many people made it this far - ghoul or otherwise. Say... What's something you miss from before the Great War?"

“My daughter.” He answers immediately. His voice is soft, almost a whisper, filled with sadness and longing. The firelight dances across his face, casting shadows that seem to echo the weight of his words. You’re surprised he’s shared something so personal - he had a daughter?

"What is her name?" You ask gently, making sure to refer to her in the present tense, not wanting to add to the sting of her possible death.

He hesitates, his demeanor softening slightly as he considers your question. After a moment, he quietly responds, "Janey."

You rise from your spot and walk over to him, settling down next to him by the crackling fire. "Is that who Sorrel was referring to? Who you've been looking for?" you ask, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

"Yes," he sighs, his voice heavy with weariness. Despite his usual guarded nature, there is a sense of trust that begins to form between you. "I've been lookin' for over 200 years and ain't found shit. No leads. Until now.”

"Moldaver," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Do you think she knows something? Being prewar and all?"

He locks eyes with you, a subtle look of uncertainty in his eyes. "Thats what I aim to find out, Smoothie.”

"Well shit," you say, taking a deep breath before gently placing your hand on top of his. "We'll find your daughter. We'll find Janey, no matter what it takes."

He looks at you with soft eyes, as if no one ever truly wants to help him. Maybe it makes him question your intentions, wondering if you might be deceitful. After all, he knows nothing about you or your past. Will you ever tell him who you really are? Why do you even care so much about him? He flinches slightly at your touch and swats your hand away, a reflex you assume is born of decades upon decades of betrayal and disappointment.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you head back to your spot across from him. “I’m serious though. I will help you find her.”

The Ghoul grimaces and turns his back to you, his posture defensive and closed off. You sense a deep well of pain and longing within him, a father's desperate hope to be reunited with his daughter. Sitting in silence, you give him the space he seems to need to process your offer of help. After a few moments, he finally speaks, his voice rough with emotion.

"I appreciate the offer," he begins. "But this is somethin' I must do alone."

"We'll see about that," you respond, a steely determination in your voice. He gives you a look of annoyance, but you refuse to let him face this alone. This is no longer just a bounty to collect; it is so much more.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation @coolrobloxkid28 @cheshirecat484 @capan-deveraux2 @rebelmarylou

#work has been so chaotic that I'm struggling to upload chapters when I want AHHH #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #Smoothie and The Ghoul

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