#giant murals painted along the walls

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 2016 nautical themed mansion in Boca Raton, FL is off the chain. I have never seen anything like this. 12bds, 11ba, 12,709 sq ft, $25m. Even if it doesn't come with all the furnishings, it's still gonna be insane.

As soon as you enter the front, you can tell something "special" is going on here. Look at the floor.

Impressive stairs in the main hall. So, even without the furniture, you'd still be left w/the floors, stairs, murals, walls, and plenty of decor.

I don't even know where we are. I think it's still the hall.

Have you ever seen a dining room like this? Where do you even look first?

The huge kitchen has a Viking ship table. The murals on the ceiling and walls, the tiles, this place is crazy.

It has 3 different seating options. Look at the color of the marble counters, the floor, and cabinetry.

Look at the turquoise stove. It's gigantic and must've been custom made.

A pantry with painted cabinets leads to the family room.

Giant family/game room has a bar and a kitchenette.

Look at the tiles and sinks, not to mention the cabinets.

Behind that TV wall there's a sun room.

Found the living room.

Check out the half bath.

Clearly, the owner is an artist and made a lot of the stuff for the house- here's only one part of the craft room, with the kiln and ovens.

Another sitting room.

The stairs in the rear of the house are like a tree.

Okay, I gotta have this house.

You can get lost in this place. Look at this bedroom.

There are so many halls.

Looks like another craft room.

One of the baths.

This actually looks like the dog's room.

Bedroom and bath. Wow.

Aerial view of the fish-shaped pool. You have to look at the listing, b/c this home is so big, there are over 200 photos, and every room is different. The waterfront lot is .53 acre. Dock the boats along the edge, there's plenty of room.

https://www.zillow.com/homes/1201-Marble-Way-Boca-Raton,-FL-33432_rb/87660584_zpid/

[yaut-jaknowit]

I really love "The Wrong Secret to Hold". Can I request the yautja in that fic ? He and reader are just enjoying their day and reader is an artist and Ahtaal(?) is very intrigued of readers creativity.

An Artist's Touch

Character: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Summary: As an artist, a talent not many Yautjas possess, you are seen commodity like no other. There are few humans on Yautja Prime. Let one's that are under the empress's protection. Being different, you strayed away from the palace with her permission to stay in a town far in the world. Ahtaal's town. He's intrigued to see someone make something out of nothing.

Author Note: This is what I wish my life to be. I want to be resting on Yautja Prime, sketch book in hand, and just enjoying the deadly nature. Gods, I wish!

Masterlist

Ao3

Underneath an awning that offered plenty of shade a pencil and sketch were hand. Despite the credits you hold, you’ve found a spot within a tribe that resides in temperate area on Yautja Prime. It’s small. Less than fifty Yautjas are strewn across the territory, But it was perfect for yourself along the clan. They accepted you due to your talent.

Creating art. Murals painted on walls in important Yautjas houses. Including the empress all the way in Kov. She tried to offer you all the riches to stay at her palace. But, your wanted to explore, see the planet from a deep, inside look. Being inside the empress’s palace, practically trapped, offered you none of that. A city filled with Yautjas. What you wanted to see was the outside world. How they hunt, how they think. It made the murals you created come to life.

A morning dew softened the air that would soon turn hot. This area was considered temperate to them. To a human, it was far too hot for you to stand directly in the sunlight. The suns themselves would turn your skin red in less than five minutes. A planet that wasn’t meant your kind. That didn’t stop you from being out in a designated spot that had been crafted just for you.

The thatch on top plenty thick to prevent a single strand of sunlight from slipping through. You were sitting on a plush bean bag like chair. It was soft and body conforming. The furs used to cover it came from a creature you couldn’t even try to say the name. But their fur was so soft, it felt like being on a cloud. You enjoyed the calmness that floated through the air. The sketch book and pencil in your hand is all you needed for the morning.

Nearly silent footfalls had you picking up your head and finding a familiar red figure walking into the shade. A bright smile graced your features. “Ahtaal,” you greeted. The strong male strolled up to the foot of the plush seat you’ve taken and gazed down at you. “What do I owe to be graced with your presence?”

After picking a tribe to live with, Ahtaal had made a blood oath to the empress to ensure your safety. Though humans and Yautjas are an uncommon sight to see, you were one of the very few to be allowed to live freely. There were no ifs, ands, or buts to your presences amongst the Yautjas. Your talented hands ensured you had a place. The empress gracing you sanctum anywhere on the planet. Here you choose to be, of all places. But the face of Ahtaal was one you’d never pass up on.

The lumbering giant squats down in front of you and peers over the edge of the book. “I see you working away on another project,” he explained, eyes curiously running over the sketch you’ve started. Another commission for an ancient somewhere on the planet. Maybe she was up north? You let the book fall flat on your lap. Your artwork wasn’t something you hid, let alone from him.

The sketch book is turned around to face Ahtaal. “Yep, someone up north I think commissioned me. Got some more credits in the pockets.” Even as someone protected by the empress, you still liked to work for your own money. There was plenty you had since you had little to spend it on. No clothes, food, shelter, or supplies. It was just there so when anyone commissioned you, they could pay for your work. Though, gifts were another way for them pay you. There are a few trinkets you enjoyed happily every since you got them.

Carefully, Ahtaal ran just the side of his sharp claw over the pages. He traced over some of the darker, more permanent lines that marked what you truly had in mind. A deep hum rumbled from his throat. The male focused on what you’ve created on paper. A talent he will never possess, no matter how many times you egg him in.

“What do they ask for?” he questioned and brought his bright eyes up to yours. The contrast was stark. Calm, soft verses fierce, predatory. He wished there was a way to capture the beautiful color of your irises and color it somewhere in his dwelling.

The way they brightened at the question. “That snarly beast that reminds me of a carnivore looking horse that lives near the north pole.” The hairs on your arm raised at the thought of the creature. It was beyond ugly and terrifying at the same time. It looked completely unnatural when you try to give it a logical look to it with earth creatures in mind.

Ahtaal snorted, mandibles twitching with a few slow nods. Then, his gaze drops back down to the sketch book. The pages were nearly full. A constant thing for yourself.

For such an advanced species… their entertainment was limited to mainly hunting. As a human that can’t participate in such a thing, you have limited ways of filling the time. You wield pencils, not swords.

“Is this your last sketch book?” Ahtaal was responsible for your wellbeing. That includes taking care of all needs and wants under the order of the empress. But, it wasn’t only just because he was under oath.

The hand on your book lifted off. A sharp, black ended talon tipped your chin back up to meet his intense stare. You licked at your suddenly dry lips and swallowed hard. You felt mushy. “I-uh…” you cleared your throat. “Uh, yeah, it is.” Your heart stuttered in your chest while gazing into his eyes. If only you could look into them all day.

“Then, I shall go get more when time permits. I cannot have my little ooman without paper to draw on,” he grunted. The back of his shiny claw was dragged across your jawline, all the way up to your ear. With a swipe, it left your skin. More goosebumps rose across the skin on your arms. “Will you survive until tomorrow for me to get more?”

Your throat was dry. His words had soared over your head. All you were able to focus on was his gentle, mind consuming touch. You melted.

When you found your voice, you speak in a tiny voice. “Yeah.” How could one person reduce you to a school girl in front of her crush? You gnawed on your bottom lip and pulled on the skin harshly. Blood painted your tastebuds.

Red finger grasped your chin and lightly jerked down on it. “Don’t,” he warned and stopped you from mutilating your lip again. You licked at the new wound, unable to look away from his eyes. Ahtaal swipes over the moisten skin with his thumb. You weren’t able to stop yourself from licking at the deadly, pointed claw that tipped the end of his finger.

All the muscles in his body tensed up in the same manner as your own. You couldn’t believe you had just done that. It had only been a thought. Yet, apparently, your body had a different thought of its own.

At first, your mouth opened and closed. Your brain couldn’t figure out a way to make up an excuse for the stupidity you had just pulled. “Shit, I-I didn’t… Fuck, why did I do that?” you whined to yourself and pulled away.

Except, Ahtaal tightened his grip on your chin and tugged you in closer. Your lips were parted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. Stars sparkling in them. Something changed within his gaze. A darker, heavier tint to the usually light colored irises.

“You… play a dangerous game, little ooman,” he growled out and emphasized his point by tugging you an inch closer to him. The warmth of his breath fanned over your face. “And I don’t know if you know what you’re getting yourself into.” You wettened your lips again. A habit hard to break. His eyes darted down to watch the action then seemed to soften. Like a whine was on the tip of his tongue.

Everything he said… Your heart continued to thunder loudly in its cavern. You swallowed hard and raised a hand to just touch at the column of his throat. The scales soft under your touch. A vulnerable place for any creature. Ahtaal lets you freely run your finger pads from his jaw down the front to where his collarbones meet.

The texture of his scales weren’t like anything you’ve felt before. Tough in a fight. You let your dull nails to trace a pattern through the spaces of the scales. Your hand continuously moving even if the two of your don’t look away.

“And what if… I do know,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. The surrounding space didn’t need to listen in on your conversation. “What if I want to play this game?”

A deep bellow vibrated throughout his chest. The tone so low you felt it more than heard it. You whimpered. Goosebumps covered your forearms. His eyes darkened. “Are you sure? Are you willing to let me have that power?” To hand over your power to him is a huge sign of trust. Let alone to someone who wasn’t event he same species.

“Yes,” is all you needed to say. Ahtaal towered over you, body leaning over your curled up form. His hand had shifted down to your fragile throat. Just enough pressure, just a flick of wrist and you would be nothing but a memory. Your eyes drifted close. Everything you were doing made the Yautja go wild. Every sign of submission to him. You, someone of high talent, was allowing to take that power from you.

Ahtaal growled from the back of his throat. His thumb ran along the pulse point on your throat, feeling the way it rapidly fluttered just under the skin. “Such a delicate thing under my hand. You are letting me have this.” You only gave a subtle nod, not wanting to move too much. The moment was thick with tension yet soft like clouds. You didn’t want to break a thing.

“Oh little ooman,” he cooed in a husky voice. Your eyes gently open to find him still so close to you with a low whine. His hand drifted up to cup your cheek. The large, dark red male leaned in to press his forehead to yours. “Mine?”

More of a question rather than a statement.

A smile graced your features. “Yes.” An artist and their hunter.

He finds himself scooping you off of the lounge chair and up into his arms. A surprised yelp escapes you as you clung to his neck. The sketch book and pencil you once held fell to the ground with a subtle thump. Ahtaal takes your seat and sets you down in his lap. You glared at him with no real heat in your eyes then leaned over his knees to grab at your fallen supplies.

“Well, good sir, I could’ve moved all by myself you asked,” you huffed. One of your hands was able to pick up the items off of the ground. As you go to sit back up, Ahtaal hooks an arm around your midsection and pulls you flush with his chest. The things in your grasp nearly fall back to the ground. You whipped your head to the side and narrowed your eyes on him.

All he did was chuckle from deep within his chest. The tension in the air has passed now. The soft clouds were the only thing left in their wake.  

His arm flexed around your torso and kept your lower back snug to his stomach. You could only wiggle without a chance of escape. “Ahtaal, at least let me get into a more comfortable position then this.” Ahtaal listened to you. You gave him a pointed look before twisting into a position that you were able to still draw in.

Only your butt was planted firmly in his lap. You lounged sideways and used the side of the cushion to keep yourself slightly upright. Just enough to have the book on your lower thighs and draw. You peer up at Ahtaal with a pointed look that turned into a soft smile. The expression on his face was at ease, relaxed, and gentle with the sight of you.

Ahtaal placed a hand on your knee and rubbed his thumb against your skin. “How’s this?” he purred in a tone that made you want to smack him. Somehow, you refrained from fulling such a thought. Instead, you scoffed and started back on the project in hand. Ahtaal watched an artist at work, amazed the way you create something out of nothing.

[himluv]

A Song for Believing

As promised, here is the next chapter of my Rookanis fic, Say My Name (Say it Twice). This is one of my favorites so far, so I hope you love it as much as I do!

Lucanis couldn’t sleep. An interesting feeling, considering he was usually trying to avoid unconsciousness. But tonight he felt restless, and the thought of sitting up all night in the pantry with just his demon and the itch behind his eyes seemed unbearable. So, he took a walk. 

It was never dark at the Lighthouse, which was unsettling at best and irritating at worst. After the Ossuary, he’d appreciated the unwavering daylight, but he did miss nights in Treviso. If the endless daylight bothered anyone else, they didn’t let it show. Dinner had been hours ago, and all the others were asleep. The Lighthouse was quiet, and the walk would be peaceful if not for Spite following along, narrating everything he smelled. 

Pipe smoke. And wisps. Feathers and oak. And… corruption? The demon gagged as the passed Davrin’s quarters. 

Lucanis smirked. It seemed even Spite took issue with the Grey Warden. 

Benevolence, Spite growled as they walked by the Caretaker’s workshop, even though it stood empty. So kind. So caring. So. GOOD! Bah!

They kept walking, Spite bounding ahead to avoid any of the Caretaker’s goodness tainting him. 

Cheese and sunshine. Green leaves, tender as hearts.

Lucanis wasn’t sure if that was poetic or threatening. Perhaps both. 

Old magic. Old. Knowledge! The eighth. The last. Spite looked back at Lucanis. Dangerous.

He already disliked the Archive spirit Bellara kept in her room, but now Lucanis would give it an extra wide berth. And maybe check on Bellara more often. 

Inside the library, Lucanis had one foot on the stairs, intending to do a loop around the top level of the room, when Spite flashed into being beside one of the round doors on the main floor. He hadn’t explored much of the Lighthouse, instead keeping to his space or occasionally Bellara’s or Neve’s. Meaning he had no idea where that door led.

Rook! Spite crowed. Campfire and berries. Can smell. Can. Hear!?

Spite was very good at noticing Rook’s presence – Lucanis would have believed she was behind the door even if he hadn’t heard faint music coming from within. 

Want. To see. Rook! Spite said. Want. To. LISTEN!

They shouldn’t. After what happened the last time they were alone together, Lucanis wasn’t sure he wanted to face her again on his own. 

Embarrassed? Spite inhaled. Afraid. But wants!

Lucanis sighed. The demon was right, he was very intrigued by the sound lilting through the door. The notes were stilted, exploratory, as if the person playing was figuring out the tune as they went.

Rook!

Lucanis took a step closer, and the door rolled away into the wall, revealing a room covered in murals. In the center of the room stood a piano, where Rook sat with her back to the door. She looked over her shoulder with a wince, which quickly turned to surprise as she saw him. And then, a little smile. 

“I thought you might be Emmrich coming to tell me to go to bed,” she said. 

Spite rushed into the room, sniffing at everything. Smells like paint and sadness, he said. Love found. Then denied. The sweetest regret.

Lucanis stepped further into the room, allowing the door to close behind him. “It is late,” he said.

“And yet, here you are.” She turned back to the keys, placing her fingers carefully.

“I nev–”

“–Never sleep,” she said. “I know.”

Lucanis didn’t miss the strange mix of fondness and bitterness in her voice. So… that almost-kiss had cost him something after all. 

“What is this place?” He asked. He walked to the nearest chair and sat beneath a mural of wolves flanking a sword topped with a giant eye.

Rook looked around the room, then shrugged. “I’ve been calling it the music room.” Again, she returned to the keys, her fingers searching out certain notes with care. She didn’t look at him. 

Lucanis frowned, but kept his voice soft when he spoke. He didn’t blame her for keeping him at arm’s length. “You’re upset with me.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not upset,” she said.

Spite lifted his head from the crate of cheese he was sniffing. Rook. Lies?

“I’m just…” she frowned down at her hands. “Confused.”

His heart sank at the dejected tone of her voice. It was there because of him. It was his fault, and he had no way to make it better. There was nothing he could say to erase all the near-misses between them. All he could give her was the truth. 

“As am I.”

Her head snapped up to look at him, but she said nothing. It seemed she was done filling in his gaps. 

Lucanis took a deep breath and clenched his fists to keep from fidgeting. “There are… things I need to deal with before I can…” he shook his head. He still couldn’t bring himself to say it. To admit out loud just how much he cared for her. 

She frowned, her brow furrowed over those crystal grace eyes. “You know, Lucanis, you talk a lot about your work.” There was a new frustration in her voice. “About what you need to do. But I still don’t know what you want.”

Want. ROOK! Spite said from across the room.

‘Want’ might be an understatement at this point. And it was still such a foreign concept to him, to want something – someone – for himself. Lucanis had a lifetime of little desires, overshadowed by the demands of his House. His family. These few months in the Lighthouse had opened him up to a new world of desire he’d never once imagined. 

He wanted to stay here, with the people he was slowly coming to think of as a new kind of family. He wanted to cook, to feed these people, and know they were cared for. That they would never know hunger. 

But more than anything, he wanted Rook. In any and every way possible. He wanted to sate her every desire – be it found in a café, or on a dinner table, or in her bed. He wanted to sleep in her arms and wake to her smiles. He wanted that easy rhythm they’d had in the kitchen, a peaceful echo of the way they moved on the battlefield. He wanted to see how that rhythm weaved its way into every day of their lives. 

His pulse thundered and his throat felt tight, but this was a different kind of panic. It wasn’t the frigid cinch of the Ossuary. It was fire and warmth, suffused through every inch of him. He swallowed against the feeling of his heart beating in his throat, and met Rook’s gaze. 

Mierda, she could stare down a dragon. He was pinned by her eyes, and he knew she wouldn’t let him go until he answered her.

“Rook, if I could…” he swallowed again, tried again. “I want…” But how did he say this? How could he, when nothing had changed from the other night? He was still a mess of a man, and she still deserved better. 

He shook his head. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’m not certain what I wish to say.”

Liar, Spite hissed. 

Rook closed her eyes, and though he knew she tried to conceal it, for once he read the disappointment on her face loud and clear. 

“For now,” he said, his voice faltering. He stopped, looked down at his feet and blinked back the emotion that had threatened to overflow. “For now, will you play for me?”

They looked at each other for a long moment. He watched as disappointment turned to sadness in her eyes. He watched them shimmer in the pale light of the Fade that streamed through the windows. And then she rolled them and cleared her throat as she looked back at the piano keys. 

“I’m not actually any good, you know.” There was that teasing tone to her voice again, and he saw a smirk twist the corner of her mouth.

That tone? Her smirk? They told him that, somehow, impossibly, she understood. She understood what he wanted to say, and understood that he couldn’t. Not yet. They told him that it was okay. That she would wait for him to find his way to her. 

Lucanis sat back, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. He didn’t want her to see the fresh wave of emotion gathering there. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, once he knew his voice would be steady.

She snorted at that, but a moment later sound filled the room. The air around him felt warmer with each keystroke, as if the notes carried all the warmth she held for him. The song cradled him, just as he imagined her arms would, and before the song was through Lucanis was asleep.

Warm, sad little notes. Like slices of a heart. Campfire and berries. Salt and coffee. Close. So. CLOSE. But, still so far. 

“He wants. You!” We want Rook. Make Rook. Happy! 

“I know, Spite.”

“Wants to talk. To touch. To taste!” 

“… I know. But you shouldn’t tell me those things.”

“Why not?”

“Because, those are Lucanis’s private thoughts.”

Grrrrrrr. “He won’t say! Too afraid.”

“He will. When he’s ready.”

“How do you know?”

“I guess I don’t, really. But I believe in him. He’ll figure this out.”

“Rook. So good. Kind. Always helps, like Benevolence… but determined, too.”

“More like stubborn.”

“Stubborn! YES! Stubborn is gooooood.”

Rook laughed… Made. Rook. LAUGH?!

“You know, Spite. I asked Lucanis what he wanted–”

“–Wants. YOU.”

“Yeah… I, uh… I got that. But, what do you want?”

“I want. OUT.”

“I know, and we’re trying.”

“No. Lucanis is not. Does not listen.”

“Well, I’m trying. We’ll figure this out.”

“Rook is stubborn. And Rook helps?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmmm.” Want to believe. Rook. Always helps.

“Do you want me to keep playing?”

“… yes.”

“If I do, will you let Lucanis sleep?”

“Ugh. Yes.”

Rook plays, sweet and soft. Notes shimmer. Like eyes when they see each other. A song for believing. 

Lucanis woke with a blanket draped over his torso. The music room was empty, with no hint that anyone had played an instrument there in years. For a sleep-addled moment, he almost convinced himself that his conversation with Rook had been a dream. But he was warm, covered by a blanket he had no memory of, and with no hint of a chill in his spine. Spite hadn’t possessed him while he slept.

Rook asked me. Let you. Sleep.

Lucanis sat up with a groan. “And you listened?”

Spite gave a dignified sniff from where he sat at the piano. Rook listens. So I listen. To Rook.

“How considerate of you.”

Spite snarled at that, but said nothing more. He busied himself trying to press the keys, though the instrument made no sound.

Lucanis rubbed at his face, marveling at how good he felt after a full night’s sleep. He’d have to thank her for whatever she’d said to the demon. And maybe see if she could do it again. He stood and folded the blanket, leaving it on the seat of the chair. He hoped he’d have cause to use it again. That maybe, if he was very lucky, she would play for him again. 

Things were far from perfect between them. In fact, they were more fragile than ever. And yet… Lucanis couldn’t help feeling oddly hopeful as he stepped out into the library. Just as he couldn’t banish the lilting echo of a piano that played over in his mind. 

He would figure this out. He would deal with his family and this demon, and then he would tell Rook exactly how he felt. And then, finally, there would be peace. For the first time, he believed it with his whole heart. 

[second-star-to-motunui]

The Happiest, Non-Magic Boy On Earth! ❤️✨

✨ Feat. Mika Inkwell (oc) ✨

NRC’s newest student is strange boy who is deemed magicless! And yet the oddest things keep happening around him…

note: just a fun thing to properly introduce my special boy ❤️

Mika Inkwell is without a doubt, the strangest boy anyone had ever seen at Night Raven College.

The Dark Mirror dubbed him a magicless oddity from another world, during the Entrance Ceremony. Yet, not even two seconds later, he pulled a giant paint brush out of nowhere, used it to create a giant stack of soufflé pancakes, then erased it just as fast. Where did the paintbrush come from? No body knows.

Mika has a knack for pulling random objects out of nowhere. Stop signs, frying pans, lunchboxes, alarm clocks, comically large objects—literally anything.

During an argument with Sebek, he said that Mika’s goofy behavior was so disgraceful that someone should tell his mother (which he does not have, he has two fathers.) Mika proceeded to pull out an old fashioned telephone and call Sebek’s mother to complain.

“Hello, Mrs. Zigvolt? Your son is being VERY annoying!”

“What the—GIVE ME THAT—!”

Mika is quite the fashionista. Every once in a while he’ll ditch his uniform for his newest designs, from colorful dresses to flashy cardigans to strange decorated mouse ears. He’s usually seen in up to five different outfits per day. How does he change so fast? It’s a mystery.

He’s doesn’t only make clothes! Pillows, stuffed animals and backpacks are his specialty too! All of his friends end up with handmade gifts from him.

Epel has a poison apple backpack. Floyd has a big shrimp plushie. Ace and Deuce have matching card solider scarves. Malleus has a gargoyle teddy bear that he loves very much.

Speaking of Malleus, he is absolutely fascinated by everything Mika does. Boy could spend hours talking about his pin collection and favorite desserts and Malleus will be staring at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“My dad bought me these pins right after I went on a scary ride at a theme park! This one’s cracked because I tripped on a ladybug and fell on my face!”

“Child of man, I say this with absolute seriousness, how soon can I have your hand in marriage?”

Apart from being a master at sewing, Mika is also one hell of artist. Too good of an artist. Some of his pantings have a bad habit of coming to life.

It’s important that he has an empty sketchbook on hand, otherwise he’s gonna find himself another canvas. Like one of NRC’s many boring, blank grey walls! Crowley let it slide the first time because Mika painted a very lovely mural of the Great Seven that everyone loved.

He had to pull the plug when Mika painted 3D sculptures of walking broomsticks to help Ace and Deuce with their chores. Heartslabyul almost drowned.

That doesn’t stop Mika from making paintings all over Ramshackle!

“Mr. Inkwell?”

“Mr. Crowley~?”

“Would you happen to know anything about the blue bunnies rampaging all over campus grounds?”

“What makes ya think I had anythin’ to do with it?”

“Your signature is on their BUTTS!”

Mika also has funny nicknames for some people on campus—Vil is Blueberry Pancake, Epel is Lavender Macaron, Malleus is Mint Cheesecake, etc.

The strangest nicknames however are the ones he’s has for the Great Seven.

Why would he refer to them with names such as Uncle Scar, Auntie Hilda and Mama Mal? Do they remind him of his actual family? Supposedly, he has a huge family.

The Great Seven appear in a lot of Mika’s doodles, along with a few other familiar figures…

“Blueberry Pancake! I designed another dress for you! I based it off of Auntie Hilda’s dress! Do you like it?”

“It’s a cute design, but you need to stop calling the Fairest Queen by such an improper name. I don’t mind your name for me but you shouldn’t refer to a well respected figure like that.”

“Well she didn’t like when I called her Mama.”

“What—?”

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

Ledger!Joker x Artist!Reader

Headcanons and a tiny oneshot

J is in love with your work. As an artist himself, he appreciates your creativity

He steals buys you more supplies when you need them. Which is such a relief because art stuff is expensive.

He is a huge help when you have art block

On days where he’s at home and not out spreading chaos, J sits down and paints with you. He finds it relaxing.

You draw each other often.

J’s favorite mediums are paint and charcoal because he loves the mess

He encourages you to experiment with new mediums and techniques 

You make sure to tell J how much you love his art and how proud it makes you 

Many J originals have made it to the fridge or on the walls

Speaking of walls, you and J turned your art room into a giant mural that you add onto and paint over regularly. It happened like this:

One day, J came home to you sprinkling paint on a canvas in your studio. He peeked through the doorway to watch your progress. You hit your paintbrush a little too hard and a glob of red paint splattered onto the wall. Horrified, you tried to scrape it off the wall but it was no use. J laughed at your attempts to clean it up. You whipped around to see him standing in the doorway.

“S’okay bunny. I like the paint on the wall. Leave it. It gives it some color.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Actually,” J grabbed a paintbrush and scanned the room, “we could paint this whole room.” 

You gasped. “J, I love that idea!”

The rest of the day, after you moved everything out, you and J devoted your time to painting the walls of the art room. J took one wall and you took another. You decided to take it one patch at a time.

For the first patch, you painted skyscrapers and tall buildings dotted along Gotham’s night sky. J had made something similar on his wall, except his buildings were outlined in fiery red, orange, and yellow, signifying their fate.

You looked up to see what J had painted after that and smiled to yourself. The man had an obsession with clowns and clown related themes so that’s exactly what he painted. Clowns of different sizes, shapes, and styles with many different colors and exaggerated expressions.

For the next patch on your wall, you decided to paint a circus theme. You painted elephants, tigers, acrobats and of course clowns. J loved this painting the most.

In the few remaining hours of the day, you filled up your wall with other unique things and J finished his. As soon as the next morning came, you both got started on the other two walls, filling them up with miscellaneous themes and objects. J’s walls seemed to reflect his personality and your walls reflected yours. His paintings were chaotic and messy. Yours were more refined and elegant.

When the mural was finally finished, you and J looked around the room in awe of how much prettier the room had become. You moved the furniture and supplies back in and plopped down on the beanbag in the corner with J.

You were both smiling and covered in paint. J leaned forward to kiss you.

“Let’s paint the ceiling next.”

[imtryingmybeskar]

Come Home Chapter Twelve

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Word count: 5755

Fluff, fluff and more fluff. With a little angst on the side. We finally get a small insight into what has been tormenting reader, along with Ellie behaving very strangely. And of course, it's the morning after the night before...

Spoiler for what Joel does for Ellie for her sixteenth birthday (as shown in TLOU 2). Its my favourite scene of either game and I can't wait to see Pedro and Bella bring it to life!

Come Home

Chapter Twelve - Dull The Pain

Music pounds so hard you can feel the vibrations in your chest. The neon-painted corridor you’re standing in is so tiny that condensation is running down the walls from the bodies packed tight together. There’s a queue. Why is there always a goddamn queue? You’d think by this point they’d design these places with twice as many stalls as urinals. You shuffle, tensing the muscles in your leg to distract from your bladder and then stand on tip toe, trying to see over the heads of the people ahead of you.

People…no, not people. Not anymore. No laughing. No chattering. No hopes or dreams. Just swaying, drunk on the chemicals of infection that the fungus is pushing. You walk among them and they do not attack, their skulls with their fungal-infested sockets merely turn to look at you impassively as you go, as if you're as dead as they are. You have to get out. But there is only one way through, one chance at salvation. The black doorway looms large. The door to the bathroom.

But then...it isn't. It's a different door. One that you keep your back to every second of every day. You try to stop your feet from moving forward but it's as if the fungus really is driving your motor functions and you have no control anymore. The music is gone, relegated to a time long dead, but your heart still jars with its pulse. The walls are blank now, a mysterious slate grey at the edges of the halo of your torchlight. You are alone, no infected to watch your progression and you feel a gaping loss for the poor company they provided.

The focused beam reflects off the metal bars of a medical cart on wheels, the grid reflection cast wide upon the wall behind it. Nothing of value remains inside, just scattered dusty records of patients who were lucky enough to live in a world where people cared enough to write down what ailed them.

Shattered windows with twinkling broken shards of glass teeth line one wall and inside...you can't bring yourself to look. The mural that your light sweeps against tells all. Smiling rabbits and squirrels and raccoons dance eternally as giant, gleeful toadstools oversee everything. The cots lie in haphazard rows under their collective gaze.

But worse, far worse awaits and some desperate part of you thinks that maybe if you don't put your gas mask on this time that the outcome will change. That the place, the portal you can now see at the end of the corridor will open out into sunny pastures and true peace. Your fingers betray you, slipping the constriction into place to protect your body even as your soul is screaming.

And in the black doorway at the end of the corridor, the too-large figure begins to emerge…

“Hey!”

You sit up, panting and sweating and breathing so hard you think you’re going to pass out.

“Hey.” The voice is gentler this time and you realise a big hand is resting on your arm, squeezing it slightly, leading you back to reality. Squinting against the morning light that spills around the blinds you follow the path of the hand, up an arm to see Joel sitting beside you with a look of concern on his face.

“You’re okay. Just a dream.”

“Yeah. Yeah…a dream,” you gasp. He sits in silence with you while your breathing returns to normal, then silently hands you a cup of coffee which you take with a wan smile.

“A man of your word I see, Miller. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He picks up his own cup from where it rests on your bedside table and warms his hands around it. “Thought I’d let you sleep in. Maybe that was a mistake.”

“Nah, I appreciate it,” you say and you suddenly realise how husky your voice sounds from both the sleep and the aftereffects of the drink. You clear your throat. “It was just a bathroom dream.”

“Just?”

“There may have been infected also queuing for the bathroom.”

“Ah,” he nods sagely. “A classic.”

You huff a laugh and pull down a sip of the bitter, hot, steaming coffee.

“You okay?” The soft concern in his voice startles you and you blink up at him stupidly, head still feeling a little like cotton wool.

“Yeah…yeah I’m fine. There’s just…a recurring dream I also have which was kind of blending in to the bathroom dream. You woke me up before the best part of that for which I’m very grateful.”

He frowns and nods and the simple gestures tell you he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Guessin’ you don’t wanna talk about it.”

You shrug and open your mouth to say “Not really,” but what comes out instead is “I didn’t used to be like this.”

“None of us did.”

Your own desire to talk takes you by surprise and you don't know if its because you're still half asleep or because you know Joel will understand but you take a deep breath before plunging ahead.

“No I mean, of course the outbreak changed me. But even after that I didn’t used to be like this. I lost someone. He travelled with me to keep me safe on some stupid fucking goddamn mission I cooked up and…I lost him.” You draw your knees up to your chest and hold your coffee cup on top of your knee cap.

“And the worst part is that its not even what happened to him that gives me these fucking nightmares. I carried on. I went alone to do what I thought I had to do and-“ You break off and shake your head, then look up at Joel with a bitter smile.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “This is just the post-alcohol depression talking.” Another swig of scalding coffee helps to stabilise you. Sharing was one thing. Re-living was quite another.

Joel bites his lip as he stares into the black depths of his own coffee.

“I lost someone that way too.” His voice is so quiet you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. “When I first met Ellie. There were three of us at first and…she got bit in the process of protectin’ her.”

His jaw clenches in angry thought and you know that he too can’t forgive himself for his mistakes. For all of it. For any of it. Regardless of if it was his fault, it was his fault. So you don’t try to sympathise, don’t spout any platitudes. Instead you wordlessly slide your hand over his and squeeze it hard. His dark eyes flick to yours and bore into your skull and at that moment you know that you were wrong. He’s not a closed book, not at all. He walks with the weight of what this world has made of him every single moment. He carries it, clutches it to him like something precious because he doesn’t believe he deserves redemption, much less that anyone could redeem him. Something shifts in the air between you. An understanding settles like blossom on river rapids.

“But then there’s Ellie,” you whisper, and the trembling breath he releases tells you all you need to know.

“Then there’s Ellie,” he agrees, and you finish your coffees in comfortable silence, hanging on to one another’s hands for life itself.

After a shower and fresh clothes you feel much better, though your head is a little painful and the sun glaring off the snow outside is much too bright for your liking. Following a smell that makes your stomach rumble, you head downstairs to find Joel cooking.

“Eggs? I didn’t have any eggs.”

“I do. Or did,” he replies. “You look like you need ‘em.”

“Thanks,” you say in a sarcastic tone, though you genuinely are grateful for both the food and the thought. “I’ll have to make you guys dinner soon.”

“You don’t have to,” he corrects you. “This ain’t a transaction.”

“No, but…I want to,” you shrug. “I like having you and Ellie here.”

He gives that coy little smile again as he focuses his efforts on the pan and you feel your chest swell with affection. How can someone so rough around the edges be so…well…so damn cute?

“Take over will ya?” he asks. “I just gotta go to the bathroom.”

He departs and you resume pushing what will be scrambled egg around the pan. When you had first met Joel you would never have thought that you could be alike. He exuded danger and coiled menace, and you had seen that come to the fore when faced with the situation in the store. But every time you had opened up to him, he had reciprocated. Little by little, bit by bit, he was showing you other facets of himself and you found yourself more eager for that than you would necessarily like. He had trauma, everyone did. But his and yours seemed to stem from a similar place, at least in part. He understood the need to push away those things that you simply couldn’t deal with and he made no judgements. He understood that in order to survive you sometimes had to cut pieces away from the person that you had been and solder those wounds shut. He was so kind – to you and Ellie at least - but you didn’t doubt for a moment that he had been truthful when he said he was very different ten years ago. You wonder just what he and Ellie had gone through to bring about such a change.

A knock at the door jolts you from your reverie and you turn the eggs off and move the pan before going to answer it.

“Hey,” Ellie says, a nervous energy permeating her as she absent mindedly rubs her right arm. “Have you seen Joel? I don’t think he came home last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, stepping back and gesturing for her to come in. “He’s-“

“Have you put a bookcase up against that door?” Joel’s voice rings out as the stomp of his boots comes down the stairs. “I mean that’s one way to deal with it I guess-oh! Hey, Ellie.”

Ellie’s eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them, darting between you and Joel and a sly smirk begins to creep over her face.

“Before you say anything, no,” you say firmly.

“No what?” she asks innocently.

“You know what. No.”

“Hey, it’s none of my business what fogeys get up to when they’re alone!”

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Joel huffs as he joins you at the foot of the stairs, and you have your own moment of sneaking amusement at the fact that he looks quite flustered as he shakes his head in disapproval at her.

“Yes Joel, I put a bookcase against that door. Out of sight, out of mind, right?” you say, not taking your eyes off Ellie. “As for what we got up to-“

“Oh fuck! I don’t wanna know!” Ellie exclaims, suddenly horrified.

“-it involved very clothed sleeping. No touching, no kissing, no se-“

Ellie stuffs her fingers into her ears and walks off humming loudly before exclaiming “Can I have some of these eggs?!” as soon as she walks into the kitchen.

Joel and you exchange an amused glance and you notice a creeping redness up his neck before he goes off to portion what he has made on to plates.

What you had told her wasn’t strictly true. You had awoken sometime in the night to find yourself pressed in tight against Joel’s back, your arm thrown loosely around his hip and your cheek against the soft plaid of his shirt. He smelled even better this close – warm sleep musk mixed with an indefinable scent of comfort that was purely him and you had gently removed your arm and turned over before you got too enamoured of it.

He had other ideas, giving a deep, sleepy groan that shot straight to your core and then flipping over so he was on his side with his chest now pressed against your back and his arm thrown around your waist, his movements clumsy in his semi-conscious state. You had held yourself stiffly and hardly dared to breathe, wondering if it was intentional, if he wanted more. The gentle snores that came almost immediately told you no, and you relaxed back into his embrace, smiling drowsily as you fell back to sleep yourself. The next time you had awoken it had been to his hand on your arm and the relief that you wouldn’t have to relive yet another nightmare. You have no idea if he knew what had occurred, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

The morning passes in a haze of pleasant domesticity. While Joel goes back to his house to shower and change, you take Ellie into town to do some shopping and pick up eggs for both you and Joel, as well as some fruit, vegetables, rice and chicken. Next stop is the armoury. The bows and arrows that you had retrieved from the town had made you realise that it had been a while since you had practiced with that particular weapon, and you wanted to make sure your skills were up to par for the next planned sweep by a scouting party. Ellie sets up the targets in the yard outside, and you spend an hour being completely outmatched by her abilities, though you do get better under her tutelage as time goes on.

As you make your way back towards your respective houses, you get the impression she wants to talk to you. She’s dragging her feet a little through the stony slush on the ground, pensively looking down at them. You allow her time, and eventually your patience wins.

“So…you and Joel huh?” she says. Her voice is more timid than you’ve heard in a while, as though she’s scared of your answer.

“No," you laugh. "I meant what I said. Nothing happened between us. You know sometimes I’ve had…difficulties adjusting to life here. He helped me through one of them last night. Not like that,” you hasten to add, feeling heat rising in your face. “He just…he was kind to me.”

She nods, her face a little less anxious and a little more Ellie, a small smile creeping over her lips. “But at the dance…you guys were kinda close.”

“I was pretty drunk,” you admit. “He looked after me, made sure I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself and then helped me home. That’s all.”

“Do you like him?”

The direct nature of the question catches you off guard and you splutter a little in your reply. “Like him? I’m too old for that high school shit, Ellie.”

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’,” she shoots back in an irritating sing-song voice.

You sigh and try to collect your thoughts. “Of course I like him. He’s a good man. And he’s already helped me through a lot. So have you, come to that.”

“You know what I mean,” she presses.

“Ellie, I can’t think about shit like that,” you say, bluntly. “Much as I’d like to, it’s just not possible. I let myself get close to people and then they die. Chris…Jacob…A-Alex-“ The litany stops and so do you, squeezing your eyes tight against the memories that threaten to invade. You take a deep breath and open your eyes to look at the girl ahead of you. “It’s too hard.”

“And what if they don’t? Die I mean.”

You frown and try to make your next words as gentle as possible. “But everyone does. It’s just a matter of when.” Before she can formulate a reply, you carry on, trying to bring a levity back to the conversation as you continue walking. “I’m not taking your old man away from you, don’t worry.”

“Not what I’m worried about.” The reply is waspish and it takes you by surprise.

“Well then, what’s this all about?”

“Never mind. Just forget it.”

“Hey.” You stop again and gently touch her shoulder. “If there’s something bothering you and you don’t want to go to Joel you can talk to me. You know that.”

“Sure,” she says, nodding, but there is nothing else forthcoming and you walk the remainder of the journey in silence, wondering if you’ve somehow managed to already fuck up your friendship with her.

The afternoon is spent beginning to tackle the garage that came with the house. There’s not too much in there for which you’re grateful – some standard junk that you sort by usefulness. A pile for you, a pile to donate to the supplies in Jackson and stuff that you think should probably be thrown away. Then you clear the cobwebs and dust and sweep up as much as you can. The light is beginning to fade as you stand tall and stretch out your back. Maybe tonight you should use your bath as intended, though you’re not sure of the wisdom of using that much hot water in one go. Deciding to shower instead you open up the garage door to leave, but before you can you hear a flurry of raised voices from next door.

“Jesus, Joel. Can’t you just fucking leave it alone?”

“No, I can’t. Not when you’re bein’ pissy with me for no goddamn reason!”

You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to intrude on anything so personal and you definitely don’t want to think about the possibility that you’re the reason for Ellie’s bad mood that she’s now taking out on Joel. As you exit the garage as quickly and quietly as you can you hear Joel’s voice again.

“Ellie? Where are you goin’? Ellie!” Then the distinct sound of Joel’s side gate slamming hard and his quiet curse of “Goddamnit!”

You creep up your back steps and your hand is on the door handle and about to turn it when –

“Uh. Hey.”

You close your eyes against the thought of the conversation that will follow, but turn and speak to Joel who is standing in his yard looking both angry and a little ashamed.

“Hey.”

“So…guessin’ you heard all that.”

“I wasn’t trying to, I swear,” you protest. “I was just finishing clearing out some of my garage and-"

He’s shaking his head. “Naw. S’ok. We musta been pretty loud. Not used to havin’ neighbours still I guess.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck in an embarrassed sort of way.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. I just…I don’t get that kid sometimes.”

You lean against the wooden railings of your porch and take hold of the top of it, feeling the paint crumble a little under your hands.

“But you do remember what it was like to be fifteen?”

He scoffs and folds his arms. “I guess.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She just needs some time to work out whatever’s bothering her.” Joel nods, but his jaw is still set angrily and his eyes are faraway as he stares toward the place that she stormed away.

“I uh…” You grip the railing more firmly, anxiety swirling in your stomach at your imminent confession. “I think it might be my fault.”

Joel looks taken aback. “What, you guys have a fight or somethin’?”

“No…yes? I don’t know really.”

“Look, why don’t you come over? I don’t really wanna discuss this outside in the dark when I’m not wearin’ a coat.”

“Understandable. I’ll be right there.”

You remember to grab the eggs you had got for him before crossing to his side of the fence and knocking on his front door.

“Come on in,” he calls from inside.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had been expecting in Joel’s house, but the first impression that hits you is that this is a home. The hallway lies in front of you and opens up to his living room, along one entire wall of which is a huge, beautiful bookshelf, packed with ornaments, framed pictures, video cassettes, DVDs, books and magazines. His furniture actually matches – a brushed suede settee in beige with a reclining chair off to one side and a window seat also upholstered in the same, all with plump, welcoming cushions on them. He was correct in saying that it is more modern than your house, but not by much. It does, however, exude a charming middle class quality that is distinctly lacking in yours.

You don’t get a chance to be nosier than that before he’s calling you, and you follow the sound of his voice into the delicious warmth of his kitchen, which is fitted in shades of warm white wood, a large central unit in the middle of it all against which he is leaning, his back toward it and arms outstretched behind.

“Drink?” he offers.

“Tea?” you ask hopefully, and he nods and begins to prepare it.

“So what happened?”

What did happen? You don’t really have a good answer for him, so you start from the beginning.

“We did some shopping – here’s your eggs by the way – and then we practiced some archery. Well, I practiced, she told me where I was going wrong. And then on the way home she seemed to have something on her mind and when I tried to talk to her about it she just shut down.”

“Any idea what it was about?” his voice is full of concern and you realise you can’t keep the details from him, no matter how much it might embarrass you.

“Well she…she asked about us.” He raises a questioning eyebrow at you and you plunge ahead. “ ‘You and Joel huh?’ were her exact words. I told her again that nothing like that had happened last night. And then she asked-well she asked if I liked you. I said of course I did, you’ve been nothing but kind and generous to me. Both of you. But she meant…well, you know. And when I said that I can’t think of that kind of stuff because…well because of the past, she just shut down.”

“Hmm,” Joel says, his back to you as he grabs two cups and places them on the counter. “Anythin’ else?”

“I told her...I told her everyone dies,” you blurt out. “And that’s why I can’t get close to anyone. I thought…I thought that being who she is and living the life she has that she would understand that. But maybe…she’s so young. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so blunt about it. And I said-“ You take a deep breath before continuing. “I said that I wasn’t going to be taking you away from her and she said she wasn’t worried about that and that’s when she stopped talking completely. I’m sorry if I overstepped. Or if I was insensitive.”

He continues to make the tea in silence, his back to you and your anxiety moves even harder through your veins.

“Joel? Did I…did I fuck up?”

He sighs before turning to you and handing you a steaming cup that smells wonderfully of apple and winter spices.

“No, I don’t think you did. Comin’ to Jackson has been an adjustment. Well, you know yourself…Sometimes she confuses the hell outta me and I just wonder if I’m too old to be raisin’ a teenager. Especially now. What the fuck do I know about what she’s goin’ through?”

“Well,” you say slowly, picking your words carefully so as not to betray any of Ellie’s confidences. “I never raised a teenager. Or any kids for that matter.” You stop, take a breath, get a firm grip on yourself. “But you know some of what she’s been through because you lived it too. Its hard…now you’re safe. The stuff you couldn’t allow yourself to feel, it starts to come through anyway no matter how much you might not want it to. And so much stuff is so much more important at her age. Being liked by her peers. Finding out who she is. That’s all still there but we got to do it in high school. I’m not saying high school was great, but there were things you took for granted y’know. There were lots of people to bounce off and figure shit out. She has to find her own way. I guess…all you can do is always be there for her.”

Joel nods slowly, seeming to absorb your words. “I will,” is all he says firmly before taking a sip of tea.

You relocate to the living room, where you carefully put your steaming cup on a coaster on the table while Joel lights the gas fire that sits under an ornamental mantelpiece.

“Ooooh fancy,” you tease.

“I actually prefer yours,” he says, collapsing onto the soft cushions with a slight groan on the other side of the couch from you. “Nothin, like an open fire.”

“Your house is beautiful,” you say, looking around and taking it in again. “Guess this is what you get when your sister-in-law runs the joint.”

He grins softly. “Ellie chose it.” His face suddenly clouds. “You think I should go after her? I’m kinda worried. She has a history of…runnin’ off.”

“If you want to,” you reply gently. “And I’ll help if you want that too. But if you find her before she wants to be found, would it make things worse? I mean…you don’t think she’s gone out out, do you?”

Both of you look outside simultaneously, your eyes drawn to the darkness beyond the windows by the horrific notion.

“I’m goin’ to the stables,” Joel says as he puts his own tea on the table and stands, the firmness of his voice still not enough to quell the faint note of panic you can hear underneath.

“I’ll go look around town,” you say, standing too and grabbing your coat from where it lay on the back of the couch.

Before either of you get any further, you hear a scuffling on the porch and then the sound of the door opening. Joel moves quickly into the hall and his relieved sigh of “Ellie,” is enough to make your stomach untwist itself. Faint murmuring reaches your ears and you debate sneaking out of the back door to give them the time they need together. You don’t get a chance to make a move before Ellie is coming around the corner, looking at the floor slightly shamefaced and twisting her fingers together.

“Hey,” you greet her. “I was just gonna go. Sorry to interrupt-“

“No, no,” she says, “Its…its cool. Stay.” Joel nods his agreement behind her and you take your coat off again. A slightly awkward silence falls between the three of you before Ellie ventures, “So…you guys wanna play cards?”

The peace offering is taken up and the evening ends up as so many of them have recently, with stupid jokes and playful teasing and smiles all around. After Ellie beats you and Joel for the third time in a row, the crowing becomes almost unbearable and to make it stop you offer her something you know she won’t be able to refuse.

“Hey, Ellie?”

She gives a tiny delicate cough. “I think you know that’s not my name right now,” she says somehow managing to sound both prim and full of glee.

“Fine! Supreme Queen of Go Fish and Jackson in general-“

“Yes, peasant loser? What can your Queen do for you?”

“You want your Christmas present a little early?”

All pretence drops from her as she sits forward eagerly. “You got me a present?”

“Sure did. And Joel said he’d be more than willing to help you use them.”

Ellie says “Them?” as Joel says “What now?” and you laugh as you rush out of the house to collect the skates. You place them into one of the many boxes that you had emptied out of the garage this afternoon and inwardly curse your impulsivity and bemoan the fact that you hadn’t made it look nicer for her before heading back to Joel’s.

“Thank you,” she breathes as you hand her the box, her eyes bright with excitement. When she opens them, her face falls just for a second. “Oh! Thank you. But I-uh-I don’t know how to skate.”

“Well I thought I could teach you,” you smile. “Or Joel can. He’s not half bad when he’s not falling on his ass.”

Joel covers his eyes with his hand as Ellie giggles. “I ask you to keep one goddamn secret,” he jokes.

“Yeah, I’d like to learn,” Ellie says happily. “Is this where you went earlier in the week when you were “scouting”?”

“I got these from when we actually did go on patrol through that town. But earlier in the week we were scouting, just not for supplies. There’s a good lake not far from here. It’s safe, the ice is thick enough. Tested and approved by Joel’s ass and my knees.”

“One time! I fell one time!” Joel protests. “Pretty good considerin’ I haven’t skated in almost thirty years!”

“This is so cool! Thanks,” Ellie smiles happily. She stands, clutching the box to her chest. “Well, I’m gonna leave as the undefeated Queen and turn in.”

“Chicken,” teases Joel.

“I am making a tactical retreat,” she replies haughtily. “G'night, fogies!”

Joel grins fondly after her as she departs. “Night, Ellie.”

You wait until you hear the door close softly behind her before asking what you want to.

“She okay?”

“She’s fine,” Joel reassures you. “Just needed some time. And while we’re still on the subject of gift givin’ I have a favour to ask you.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“It’s Ellie’s sixteenth in April. Now I got an idea of what I wanna do for her, but I’m gonna need your help. I’m plannin’ to take her to a museum. Its a few days ride out."

“What museum?”

The Wyoming Museum of Science and History. She loves space, thought I’d take her to see the exhibits if there are any left. But it won’t be much of a birthday if we’re fightin’ off infected every step of the way. I need your help to check it out, clear a path to it. You up for it?”

“Damn straight,” you say with a smile. “I love a museum. And no one can tell me not to touch anything now!”

Joel relaxes back into the couch, a relieved smile on his face. “Thanks. I was gonna ask Tommy originally, but he’s got so much shit to do with the dam that I woulda felt bad takin’ him away from it.”

“Not a problem. Might be fun. Apart from the possible infected. When do we go?”

“Not for a while. Not till the weather gets a little better. We’d need to go partway anyway, sweep those areas once the snow clears and make sure it’s all okay.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You drain the remnants of your tea and then stand. “I better get going too. Otherwise she’s gonna think there really is something going on between us.”

“Before you do, just…hold on a sec, okay?”

Joel springs up from the couch and retrieves a small parcel wrapped in brown paper from one of the shelves on the bookcase. He hands it to you with a smile.

“Since you’ve decided we’re doin’ Christmas presents early.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Oh shit, Joel no. I didn’t get you anything. I mean, you’re more than welcome to pick through the stuff I found in the garage, but unless you REALLY like old copies of classic car magazines you might be shit outta luck.”

“Its okay. Honestly, sharin’ your coffee has been more than enough. Well go on. Open it.”

A rush of warmth and excitement trills through you. The presents you and Chris had managed to exchange each year had been tokens at best. This felt like...well it felt like-

You gasp as you unwrap the book to find a beautifully embossed book of John Keats poetry in your hands. Your eyes rove over the cover, not quite comprehending that you actually had a copy in your hands and more, that Joel had given you something so precious and meaningful.

“Ellie said he was your favourite.” His gravelly voice breaks into your shock and you manage to nod at him, your eyes suddenly watery.

“Thank you. So much. This is…this is incredible.” You skim through the pages, to find them barely touched by the ravages of time. Even the cover is only mildly battered. “Where did you even get this?”

“I might’ve been on a sweep with Tommy and we may have come across a bookstore. I got me some more Game of Thrones books too, don’t you worry.”

You laugh, but it sounds like half a sob and half a hiccup when you do.

“Thank you,” you whisper again, managing to tear your eyes away from the book to look at him instead.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly.

He walks you down the hall to the door and when he opens it, instead of stepping through immediately you move forward to hug him, your arms barely able to circle the breadth of his shoulders. You feel him tense at the contact, but before you can pull away and apologise you feel his arms come tentatively around your back, holding you a little closer. His beard is prickly against your upper cheek, his muscles hard under your hands, his scent once again filling your nose and before you allow yourself to get dragged too deeply into that undertow you pull back.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight,” he smiles softly, dimple winking in his cheek.

The short walk back to your house feels like you’re walking on air. The thoughtfulness and beauty of the gift is unparalleled, the emotions spiralling uncontrollably from you are all blissfully good. Tonight, the tub is just that and you barely even contemplate getting in before heading toward the soft welcome of your bed. You lie there for a moment, thinking about the warmth of Joel's hands on your back and the soft light in his eyes when he saw your joy at his gift. You turn over to hug the pillow that his head had laid on, wrapped in his comforting scent and smiling into the darkness.

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities @deadhumourist @pedrostories @abbyhaslongshorts @celebrtyskinz @majahu @sanscas @myloveistoolittle @ohthemisssery

Next chapter

[ruiniel]

Fandom: Castlevania Series (2017-2021)

Rating: M

Characters: Alucard, Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades

Relationships: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Additional Tags: Post-Castlevania Season 2, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Trephacard, Grief/Mourning, Mental Anguish, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Monsters, Canon typical violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Developing relationship, Polyamory, Eventual smut

Chapter I

Also on AO3.

X.

A lazy wind breathes through the trees as they near the structure, stopping before the building. 

“It seems… quiet,” Sypha comments, gazing at the walls covered in dark green ivy. Chipped murals depicting biblical episodes are visible here and there, painted faces of saints staring at them with aged eyes. 

“I hear no heartbeats,” Alucard adds, and Trevor hums as he follows along the side to the main entrance.

The wooden gates of intricately carved wood are ajar, and worn with time. 

“Dustier than I remember it,” murmurs Trevor as they enter, watching sparse rays of light filter in through the stained glass windows.

“And empty,” Sypha says, lighting a swift flame with a flick of her fingers. 

The giant cross of a teary, dying savior does nothing to alleviate the sense of barrenness the place invokes within the hunter, something that doesn’t slot at all with memories of what used to be. 

“Whoever dwelled here has long since departed,” Alucard surmises, paging through a dusty Bible set on the pulpit. “This place is abandoned.”

“Thank you, lord Obvious,” Trevor mutters. “That was that, then, let’s go.”

It’s funny, sometimes, how the very worst of luck catches you by the throat. It’s a useless thought coming to mind as the doors creak behind them. “Huh, strange.” 

“What is?” asks Sypha, her voice echoing in the vast enclosure. 

“There’s no wind now,” Trevor says, gazing long at the broken tiles. “There used to be a cellar here though, and—”

He doesn’t finish, caught off guard while his body strikes the broken floor. “What the hell’s wrong with y—” his words die there, gazing from Alucard’s strained expression towards the wall.

What looks like thick slime slides down the washed out silhouette of one mural painting, burning its way through the wall. 

“Behind you!” Sypha.

He and Alucard both roll over together grasping at each other, fast enough to miss another projectile of the same stuff, at which point all Trevor’s reflexes get a good grip. 

They’re both on their feet in a second. “What the fuck are those?”

They stare at the giant dark mass slithering towards them from every which way—some crawl above them, over the ceiling, curved talons leaving cracks in the stone. 

“I don’t recognize their ilk,” Alucard helpfully adds, his sword slashing the air at his side. 

“Whatever they are, hoping they die,” Trevor says, his whip at the ready, watching Sypha already forced into dispensing with ones having made their move. Too far, she’s too far. He doesn’t like it, not one bit, but now the two of them have their own batch to deal with as two bodies fall to pieces before him.

“Belmont!” 

Trevor avoids the burning projectile, jumping as high as his muscles allow, landing right atop one of those things and he can’t see faster than his own movement, instinct taking over as he knifes it in the head—or what he thinks is its head?— then curls his whip around his arm, unleashing it against a larger one.

And ‘creature’ is the right word here—they look as bad as they reek, and somehow he ends up back to back against Alucard, downing as many as they can while trying not to get burned alive by whatever they’re spewing with relish. 

Multiple, hairy legs. There seem to be no eyes, his mind reels as he tries to find weak points, gaze briefly on Sypha at the front of the long chamber, freezing and burning them in turn as fast as her magic can hold. 

“Go to her!” Alucard cries, and Trevor doesn’t need a second urging. Not that she couldn’t handle this, but they don’t know the nature of these damn hellcritters, nor can they risk impairment—either of them—if they want to stay alive. 

The whip cracks as he makes a swing through her fire, rolling behind her and up in the next moment. 

“How are we doing here?” The space feels so much smaller now, crammed as they are.

“So... damn... many!” Sypha retorts, flushed from the effort.Trevor senses the anger in her voice as she does a fell sweep, icing a quarter of their surroundings but more just.keep.coming.

“Swarm!” 

They’ve been through worse, after all. They coordinate like one when the need calls for it, but when he sees Alucard facing more and more on his own, by comparison he and Sypha aren’t doing so badly.

“If only we could get the fuck out of here!” he cries, but likely she cannot hear him, focused as she is. Trevor lashes at two more spiderhags or whatever the hell they are, avoids a sputter of burning excretion at his face as he makes his way in a painstaking churn at Alucard’s side.

Their eyes meet—and Alucard wants to speak but doesn’t get to, and all Trevor sees is his horrified expression, and then the reason why.

“What are you doing? You were supposed to—”

The scream feels like a blow, and with a desperation he’s never felt Trevor glances to where Sypha was—was, because the very floor is sinking, crumbling before their eyes, taking her and a slew of those things with it. 

“Sypha!” he yells above the mayhem, rushing forward, pure relief when he reaches the chasm and sees her down there, in one piece. He lands before her inert body, just in time to clash with the mass of two creatures. 

At the end of his tether, he trips—but instead of being beheaded by a set of talons, a red flash blinds him once, and again and again, and soon there is dust settling and a horrible, endless ringing in his ears. 

Trevor tries to breathe, and somewhere along the way he’s taken Sypha into his arms, hugging her to him with the instinctual intent of a human shield. 

Now, panting, he can see her better. “Hey…” he tries, but her eyes are closed, and her form lacks that tense strength he knows. 

“Give her to me.” Alucard. 

Trevor obeys, not least because what-the-fuck-just happened, but he doesn’t have the strength to get her back up there.

Alucard does so, gentle in laying her on a bench before bringing Trevor up so fast he turns and vomits on the broken tiling. 

The festering odour, the darkness, the silence are all too much, but the thought of—

“Sypha,” he calls, feeling both lost and dumb, looking to Alucard who’s bundling her in his now ragged coat. “I… Alucard…”

Alucard doesn’t answer, quick about his task.  “I watch myself,” Trevor hears, words spoken in a chilling calm. “You watch each other’s backs, that was always our agreement.” He lifts Sypha in his arms again.

Well, crap. “You were fucking swamped—” 

Alucard rounds on him, freezing at a pained hiss from Sypha. He gazes at her briefly, in anger and remorse and the worry twisting Trevor’s own heart. His voice is low when he looks up, a bright red flame burning in the depths of his eyes. “You wanted to stay? What for? For this? So I can see you maimed, so I can watch you die?”

“Hey!” Whatever’s turning Alucard inside out reaches him too, now, and he can’t shut up. As usual. “Nothing works by the fucking book, but at least we're all still here, alive—”

Alucard turns away, Sypha held tightly in his arms, pacing out of the building as fast as he can without jarring her. 

Trevor follows, staring up at the skies tinted in a deceptively peaceful blue. Shit. It all makes him dizzy. He breathes through his nose, begging the battle tension to drain from his body faster, wishing for the words he so wants to spew to lie under his tongue where they belong. We wanted to stay so that you wouldn’t be in that fucking carcass of a place all by yourself. Because we care. Because I—

Doesn’t matter. His fists are clenched as he follows, fast on Alucard’s heels.

~

“Will she be all right?” 

“Of course.”

Trevor watches Alucard, rushing to and fro. He’s inspected Sypha for injuries as soon as they reached the castle, finding a sprained ankle, but luckily not much else. “I’m not certain about the extent of injury to her head, though.” He speaks through gritted teeth, but lost that flare of anger which so made Trevor want to smack him over the jaw in their frenzy. 

Now, there is only relief. Trevor lifts his chin, watching Alucard carefully clean the scrapes on Sypha’s face, then bares her leg to be splinted and bandaged. She lies there on a working table-turned-bed, in the laboratory. Not once does he raise his gaze to Trevor’s.

“Do you need help?”

Alucard shakes his head.

“Look,” Trevor begins. His throat aches. Sypha opens her eyes, gazes at him for a moment before her features return to stillness. “I’m—”

“I have this, Trevor,” Alucard murmurs, bent over her. “Go clean yourself up.”

His tone is dry, his hands meticulous in wrapping a gauze around the splint.

Trevor sighs, guilt and worry warring within like serpents coiling to bite. He clenches and unclenches his fists, winces in pain, figures it’s best he makes himself scarce before he says something he might truly regret. There’s been enough of that going around lately. 

As such, he turns on his heel and slowly departs, aiming for a change of clothes and, considering the burning sensation he’s begun to feel in his arm, some doctoring of his own.

It feels wrong like this; he should be back there, holding her hand, doing something—but Alucard’s stone-cold demeanor, the set line of his jaw and the cast of blame on his features… he couldn’t bear it. Part of him is grateful to Alucard for sending him away.

Is he a coward, too, afterall?

‘What are you running to? Do you have a destination in mind?’ Sypha’s grandfather had once asked in the early days of their meeting; in another life, it feels, before he knew that what his heart needed was right there, before him.

Trevor reaches his chamber, an old chamber with a tall ceiling where the breeze of evening sends long sheer draperies fluttering. He goes over to a washing basin, fills it and stares at the water, feeling for all the world like an outcast more than ever before in his life.

~

The walls are chipped here, he now notices. This place is silent as a grave when it wants to be, especially, it seems, when he most needs it to be anything but. Alucard stares down at his burden, held in his arms. The lack of timber left the fireplace cold, and he hopes what he can offer will be enough. 

They were careless. They were ambushed, they were—how had he not sensed anything amiss? He’s been here for hours, thinking the same thoughts, buried in the same guilt. 

And Belmont… 

A meld of concern and pure vitriol rises through him. How the hell did the hunter not see it coming either? If nothing else, they always trusted in each other’s abilities, and this time it was… nearly not enough. And he’ll be damned but he lost all composure the moment he rushed down there and saw them, and if anything happens to her, to either of them, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

That’s probably what frightens him the most. 

And it's not until Sypha stirs, body tensing as she seeks a more convenient place to rest her head against his shoulder that Alucard remembers how the weight of her makes him dizzy, like before, all those times when a fleeting stare or touch sent her static right through him.

She brings a hand to his chest, staring up at him with long-lashed eyes, bleary and slow to focus. Her cheek is pressed to his collarbone. 

“I... fell asleep…”

“Don't worry about that,” Alucard smiles, boot propped against one leg of the couch opposite them, gently rocking them back and forth in the chair. “Sleep will aid the healing process.” 

“Mm…”

She's still out of it, then. “How does your leg feel?”

The swelling on its own gives a rather good indication. Sypha moves, winces in pain. “Hurts less than earlier, doesn't make me want to scream … as well as can be?”

“Good,” his fingers skim the curve of her scalp, over a hidden scar he discovered there one night, the shape of a ragged sickle moon. He never did ask her how she came by it, but now words clog his throat like trapped fledglings eager to soar. 

She inhales, sighs, an arm snaking lazily around his neck. “Adrian…”

“Yes,” Alucard frowns, unused to hearing those letters in that order from her mouth.

“... too warm.” Her skin is slightly damp against his.

“I know. But the pain relief will help, you'll see. Forgive me, Sypha.” It sounds vacuous to his own ears, his regret. Sypha curls up more into him, and all he wants to do is die.

“Silly. There is nothing to forgive,” she shakes her head, voice raspy and cracking. 

Of course she’d say this. And things could have gone so much worse today. His arm tightens around her. “This could have been avoided, if only we—”

Sypha lifts her head; his breath catches with the brief press of lips to his jaw. “Don’t stay upset with Trevor,” she says, then sleepily hides against his neck. Her messy hair tickles his chin, and he can still smell the soap on her hot skin from her bath this morning.

“I’m…” Alucard presses his eyes shut. “I’m not.” Another mistake, his own doing. His hand alights on her hip, settles there. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

He sighs, the creaking motion of the rocking chair filling the silence for a moment. “I confess that I… don't yet know how to handle this.”

Sypha looks back at him, her eyes soft, lips slightly parted. “…this?”

Alucard's leg stops its languid motion of swaying them back and forth in the chair. He can't seem to bring the right order of words to this particular weave of feeling, the despair and the longing and relief; the blood. The truth of what they both are to him. "The two of you, close. Being here, living here.”

Sypha smiles. “Tell him that, too, will you?” 

“... I thought you were out cold at the time.” 

“I have a special sense…” she slurs, head falling heavier against him, “... for when you two argue…”

“Do you, now?” He needs no answer, and expects none will come anyway. She’s softened against him again, unconscious. 

~

Trevor fumbles with the roll, winces from the pure agony erupting in his arm and his abused fingers cramp so suddenly the bandage dressing drops from his hands. 

“Stupid idiot,” he grumbles, watching as it unrolls over the floor all the way to Zori the cat, who saunters through the space and sets to inspect it by way of paw, before raising his head to meow at Trevor.

“I'm glad someone agrees,” Trevor says, rubbing at his forehead. He's tired; more tired than he's been in a while.

“What… are you doing?”

He looks ahead and sees Alucard, leaning with his shoulder against the entrance to the laboratory.

“Oh, just talking to my friend here,” Trevor says. “What does it look like I'm doing, Alucard?” He’s avoided coming down here for as long as he could, but now it had become imperative he does something about this damn burn. “Apparently, one of those fuckers nicked me and since I'm rather attached to my limb, came here to do something about it.”

Alucard's face becomes alert. “Let me see.”

“It's, uh, fine,” Trevor says while the other nears him. “No need to fuss over this too, all right? You've got enough to worry about now with Sypha and I've mended myself before—”

“Let me see,” Alucard insists, now facing Trevor, who's still seated atop the long table. 

Trevor rolls his eyes but the pain has spread to his entire left arm, and it throbs, it pulses; he wipes the sweat beading on his forehead, gazing at Alucard, who patiently regards him in turn.

“Is this a staring contest?” Alucard deadpans. After another moment, he adds, “Sypha is resting. Will be, for some time yet.”

“Fine,” Trevor reaches for the fastenings of his shirt with his right hand, setting to undo them with moderate to no success.

The brush of fingers against his, warm and firm, stay his movement. The hunter stares up. His own hand drops in his lap, allowing Alucard to undo the first clasp at the base of his neck, then the next, following lower, and despite the pain something tightens inside him with each brief, clipped touch. Fucking ridiculous.

Finally done, Alucard helps him out of the fairly ruined shirt, careful with Trevor's arm and slowly taking hold of his wrist. His eyes dart to Trevor’s face when the hunter grits his teeth. He frowns, inspecting the raw wound carved into flesh.

“...What is it?”

"This needs cleaning and treatment.”

“Thought as much.”

“Come with me," Alucard instructs, releasing his wrist and turning away. He leads them to another corner of the laboratory.

“Sit.”

Trevor does so without complaint, exhausted, and does what he’s told. For all his growling and griping, Alucard is careful with these things, almost endearingly so. Soon his wound is cleaned and bandaged much better than he could ever do himself.  “Is this to be your life, now?” he asks late, worried by the deepening shades on Alucard’s drawn face.  

He receives a side-stare as the other returns utensils to their rightful place. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Making pancakes, patching us up after the heavier fights,” Trevor says. The burn has dulled significantly owed to the salve Alucard used on him. He feels a little dizzy, like his blood is sludgy and crawling through his veins. “Alucard…?”

“Easy now,” he hears, then realizes his forehead is pressed against Alucard, whose body seems to be the only thing between him and the floor. “You nearly fainted.”

“Umm… fuck's sake, sorry…” Maybe that’s why he can’t keep a coherent thought going. 

“Don’t be sorry, Trevor.” 

Right now he’s not much of anything, anymore. He wants to tell Alucard that, too, but his mouth will barely open. “Hell, Alucard… what did you give me… Don’t go… not finished…” Is he being carried somewhere? He’s likely never sounded as pitiful, but Trevor finds it nowhere within himself to care. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” comes Alucard’s voice, closer, along with a violent heartbeat thumping against Trevor’s ear. “Of that you can be certain.”

~

TBC

[disneydelights]

Walt's Museum in his hometown of Marceline is a really fun place to visit. Just like with any Disney Theme Park, you enter and exit through a gift shop. Then as you go around the corner you see a giant Mickey Mouse in a train conductor's uniform. This Mickey is one of 75  that were made for the Mickey's 75th Birthday Celebration at Walt Disney World in Kissimmee, Florida. Then the entire collection toured the country. After the tour was completed they were sold at auction and one of the patron's of the museum bought the All Aboard Mickey and gave it to the Museum where it resides to this day.

The Museum resides in an old train Depot and the Ticket counter is left preserved the way it was when it still operated as a depot. You can stand on the spot where Walt "found the Magic" after getting off the train as a young boy in Marceline. He only spent 5 years there as a boy but it was the key to his success. "To tell the truth, more things of importance happened to me in Marceline than have happened since - or are likely to in the future." Walt  wrote in a letter to the local newspaper in 1938.

The museum is two stories of memorabilia, artifacts and history. There is a 2 hour star studded film about Walt Disney's impact on Marceline and the world as told through the voices of his friends and family. There are models and drawings of many of the elements of all the theme parks, early artwork and conceptual designs, photos, letters and so much more. There are multiple video loops playing throughout the museum with interviews and clips from some of the most  historical moments of Walt Disney's career. And so many of them tie back directly to this tiny little town in rural America. Here are a few pictures of the museum.

While you could spend hours in the museum alone there is more to do in Marceline than just the museum. A couple of blocks away is a US Post office that issued a a stamp honoring Walt Disney. Commemorative stamps are generally issued 10 years after a person has died and it has to be passed by an act of Congress. Believe it or not only two years after Walt Disney's death a unanimous vote in Congress made it possible to issue a commemorative stamp honoring this American legend. Mickey Mouse was on hand and they unveiled it at the post office in Marceline. There's another little gem at the post office too but I don't want to give away everything. You really need to go yourself and see this beautiful homage to turn of the century America and Walt Disney.

The radio station, call letters KDWD 99.1, the movie theater and many other buildings in town were Walt Disney's inspiration for the stores and shops along Main Street in both Disneyland in California and Walt Disney World in Florida. One of those places is a corner shop called Zurchers. It is on the corner of Main Street and Ritchie Avenue. Walt said it was the inspiration for Coke Corner at Disneyland and Casey's at Walt Disney World. A lot of people were unsure why as the architecture appeared to be quite a bit different and it just didn't seem to make sense. But after a fire took place in the back of Zurchers and part of the building was destroyed it became apparent where Mr. Disney got his inspiration. The back wall of the building behind Zurchers had a large Coca-Cola mural painted on the side of the building on the back corner of that block. When it was discovered after the fire they restored the original mural and it looks like this today. 

You can also tour the family farm and see the spot where Walt's Dreaming Tree stood. Then there is the barn which now is a place where you can you pay your respects to Walt Disney yourself. After the barn was restored the workers "autographed" their work and pretty soon visitors were doing the same. Now you really have a hard time finding a spot left to autograph!

This little town in the heartland, that still in so many ways is reminiscent of turn of the 20th Century life in rural America has not simply faded into obscurity as a tourist attraction. It is a vibrant town with wonderful people and thriving on local industry. They also keep up with the times in other ways. While exploring the town you can scan a QR code at many locations and get in Paul Harvey's famous words, "the rest of the story" as it pertains to each location. I did not get to see or do everything in the time I had, but I plan to go back again... and I recommend that you do the same! 

Postscript: Before I forget, Walt Disney loved trains. There are a lot of train related things to see in Marceline. They also have 75 trains a day go by just outside the museum. 

[onibeauty]

𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴  𝙾𝙵  𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙾  !

living  area:  mai's  living  quarters  contend  of  their  favorite  red  couch,  which  is  wide,  cozy,  and  a  bit  unconventional.  perfect  for  just  flopping  on  or  whatever.  it  actually  looks  pretty  well  together,  which  shocks  most  people  regarding  mai's  interior  taste.  but  it's  probably  the  room  they  spend  the  least  amount  of  time  in,  so  it's  not  really  their  priority  (  if  it  was,  they  probably  would  have  gotten  rid  of  that  bookshelf  ).

kitchen:  a  room  that  definitely  showcases  more  of  mai's  personality,  the  room  itself  isn't  the  biggest,  as  mai's  not  too  accustomed  to  that  much  space  for  a  kitchen,  but  the  space  itself  is  well  decorated  with  a  red  and  bluish  scheme  and  polished  onyx  cabinets.  this  room  gets  ventured  in  a  bit,  as  mai  does  actually  know  how  to  cook,  or  just  sometimes  to  grab  one  of  their  various  snack  stashes.  the  refrigerator  is  definitely  their  favorite  appliance.

bathroom:  a  tie  for  the  bed  for  the  most  aesthetic  room  with  the  bedroom,  mai's  bathroom  sports  a  painted  mural  of  cherry  blossoms  along  the  walls:  very  pretty  to  look  at  while  they  soak  in  their  tub.  often  times  of  not,  the  lighting  of  their  bathroom  makes  it  appear  as  if  the  trees  are  alive,  and  if  mai  really  wants  to  feel  like  they're  the  bathing  beauty  of  sakura  petals,  they'll  let  a  few  breeze  along  as  they  bathe. 

bedroom:  the  best  way  to  describe  mai's  bedroom  is  cinematic:  it  looks  straight  out  of  a  cutscene  in  kill  bill,  and  they  wouldn't  have  it  any  other  way.  it's  a  bit  dark,  aside  from  the  neon  lighting  in  areas  and  right  in  the  back  wall  along  with  the  trees  that  grow  beside  their  bed.  unseen,  but  there  are  wind  chimes  hidden  to  enhance  the  atmosphere,  and  it  helps  them  fall  asleep. 

details  (  neon  signs  &  decor  ):  mai's  favorite  touch  to  their  abode  is  the  lavish  red  signs  that  are  all  along  the  lodging:  they  give  the  place  a  cyber-ish  aesthetic  that  screams  fun  to  mai.  also  along  the  empty  walls,  you'll  see  a  barrage  of  umbrella  and  open  giant  paper  fans  along  them  as  space  filler. 

[chromee23]

THE VILE RELIQUARY

This dungeon houses a large 5 foot wide golden chalice that magically consumes blood to power the resurrection of the devil that created it. A cult of worshipers created the hidden sanctuary to house the chalice and fuel it. It was found by crusaders and all the cultists were slain, but some of their spirits still live on. A few bandits discovered the abandoned hidden temple and attempted to set up a base inside, and the ghosts took their opportunity to possess them and go out to once again capture sacrifices to their grim master.

After starting the Dungeon23 challenge out with a large dungeon, I want to take the next month easy with a new dungeon each week. I’m still planning to Upload VTT-compliant files for Garessa, as well as update the posts, but first I'm going to finish running it for my campaign.

1. ENTRANCE The door is down a small tunnel hidden by stones and foliage and is crafted to look like part of the tunnel wall (there are a few marks along the wall where the bandits pried the door open, however). It requires one to speak the name of the devil, at which point the door opens on its own, but it can also be pried open like the bandits did. just past the door is a tripwire set up by the bandits that will trigger a mass of razor wire to explode out and lacerate whoever trips it.

2, CHAPEL The cultists would gather in this central room for worship. At one wall is a podium with an engraved and painted mural. The mural depicts a person in a black robe with deep red trim in the foreground with the devil behind him in the background. The cultist has his arms raised in veneration towards the devil. If someone wearing the cultist’s robes stands facing the mural and raises their arms to imitate the cultist’s pose, the wall will lower into the floor and reveal the sacrifice room. If someone in the robes poses that way again, the wall will magically raise as they raise their arms. The bandits had set up their camp in this area and where attacked and possessed in their sleep. Their belongings are still in the cave; they had a small lockbox they hadn't opened that contains gold.

3. CULTIST QUARTERS When the heroes came to kill the cultists, they ambushed many of them while they were sleeping. Many of the beds are stained in blood. There are 3 cultist ghosts that haunt this area and will attack if the area is entered. 3a. Armory At the center of the quarters is a locked room that housed their weapons and holy vestments. If the lock is picked or the room is entered without the black and red robes being worn, the room and the area in front of the door is flooded with damaging necrotic energy; it activates once a day. When the cultists were attacked, a head cultist ran into this room to hit their enemies with the trap. when it triggered, the head cultist was killed and the heroes left his body here. He has a protective robe, a wand that shoots fire and a key that opens the chest in room 7. There are also a number of swords and non-magical robes hung up in here, but there are empty racks that held enchanted swords that are now empty.

4..CENTIPEDE CAVES The sacrifices are thrown down into these caves for giant cave centipedes to feed on. The centipedes have taken on hellish qualities from feeding on a devil’s sacrifices for multiple of their generations. For every minute spent in the caves 1d6-2 giant hellish centipede will crawl through cracks in the cave walls and attack. The ramps that drop corpses into these caves are steep, dark, and 10 feet off the ground. Because of this, they could be missed unless the party is perceptive. the ramps are only 2 feet high and are difficult to climb up normally. In the north cave one of the Head Cultists was tossed into the pit after he was slain. He still has the key on his corpse, as well as a protective robe and a flaming sword.

5. PREPARATION CHAMBER This room has manacles to hold prisoners, oils to anoint them, and boxes for their belongings and clothing to be thrown into when they are stripped to be brought to the sacrifice room. currently there are 5 prisoners, and the 3 possessed bandits. The bandits have regular gear, and if the possession on them ends before they are killed they will flee. The ghosts of the head cultists have vestiges of their enchanted gear on them, but if their bodies were looted they lose them. If the battle turns against the ghosts, they will flee to the sacrifice room and summon hellish centipede swarms. The

6. SACRIFICE ROOM This room has a large altar at the top of a platform for bodies to be drained of blood on. the blood flows down a tube to the east to flow into the devil’s chalice and the bodies are thrown to the north or south for the centipedes. If the ghosts fight in this room they can activate a rune on the altar that engulfs the west walls in fire, and will summon hellish centipede swarms from the caves below. If they can, the ghosts will retreat into the walls and attack when their enemies are exposed or hurt by a trap.

7. FERETORY The large chest at the center of the room houses the devil’s chalice  It is surrounded by 3 charred corpses. These are the paladins that attacked the cultists and were killed by the trap when they investigated the chest. The cultists also would store valuables and enchanted gear for the devil when it was finally summoned.The only way to open it is to use two large keys; each of the head cultists had one. There is a trap on the chest that will incinerate the room with hellfire whenever the chest is touched; It resets every minute. To open the chest without activating it one must use the two large keys to unlock then lift the lid. The trap does not trigger when the inside of the chest is touched. Inside the chest is a powerful sentient enchanted sword that can blaze with hellfire, but will press the wielder to turn evil, as well as a ring that offers potent magical protection. The chalice itself is 5 feet wide and solid gold- it is difficult to move or destroy.

[nessieart]

Teeth pt. 9

|| Before the Fall part 2 ||

WC: 4.3k

AN: Listen here, CA:TWS is my favorite mcu movie ok? And we’re in it now. I wasnt really sure i wanted to go this route, but now i am. Dont worry, therell be more tony soon! Promise! Thanks for following along with me and my writing journey! It means a lot to me! Enjoy!

Eventual Tony x Reader. But first, best friend!Steve!

Summary: Museum date (its not a date, Tony!) with Steve, you learn more about him and his past.

Masterlist

Previous || First || Next>>

-*-

It was a warm and sunny spring afternoon when you exited your brother's apartment. You wore dark colored jeans and a t-shirt with flowers littered on the front. Artie’s old flannel tied tight around your waist, and old boots from the back of Leon’s closet were on your feet that fit pretty well.

When you looked up, Steve sat atop a motorcycle, legs crossed at the ankle as he wrote something in his little notebook. He wears jeans and a jacket over a white t-shirt. He must have heard the apartment door close, because he looked up at you and smiled, he placed his notebook in his pocket and stood.

Steve greeted you with a hello and a hug, he straddled his bike and waited for you to get comfortable behind him before the motorcycle roared to life and he made his way through traffic towards the Smithsonian. After Steve found parking and you two made your way to the museum, he pulled a ball cap from his pocket and placed it low on his head, ducking his head down to avoid eye contact with passersby.

As you entered the exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, you were a giddy, bouncing ball of fluff. Or you would be if you could Shift. Along the walls as you entered were giant murals. A big “Welcome Back, Cap,” with a description of Steve in his days before he got the serum and enlisted in the military.

Over the speakers, as you entered, a narrator spoke, “A symbol to the nation, a hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice. Denied enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American Warfare. One that would transform him into the world's first Super Soldier.”

You noticed there were pictures on the wall of Steve pre and post serum. The pre-serum Steve was only an inch or so taller than you are now. Steve had stopped and looked over to a little boy - who you could see - who clearly recognized who he was. Steve brought a finger to his lips with a quiet shh, and the little boy only stared in awe and nodded. You smiled to yourself.

Steve grabbed your hand and tugged you along further into the exhibit. There were a few dozen people milling around, pointing at old memorabilia and taking photos of old uniforms and the like. Steve stopped in front of the Howling Commandos display. All his old war buddies uniforms and faces up for show.

Steve had a solemn look on his face and he sighed deeply. This must be very surreal for him. His whole life is on display for other people. You’re not sure how he feels, but you can take a guess. He’s trying not to appear sad, but you can smell it on him, his scent tart instead of the soothing cedar he usually smells of.

“What were they like?” You asked, making your way closer to the display. You could see the names of each Commando near their feet, but you wanted to know what Steve would say.

“A bunch of rowdy men,” he smiles softly, “with a drinking problem and itchy trigger fingers for Nazis,” Steve shook his head. As he looked up, his eyes lingered on the figure to the right.

The man was handsome, it may be a blown up painting, but his features were well captured. Sharp cheekbones and jawline with a dimpled chin. You couldn't tell if his eyes were blue or brown from the painting. “Who’s that?”

“Bucky,” he said quietly. Steve pulled you over to the display across the floor. A giant glass mural of a man named James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers, were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his Country.” The narrator spoke as you read about James on the mural. At the bottom was a birth and death date. 1917-1945.

“He was the one that fell, wasn’t he?” You squeeze Steve’s hand and he looks down at you, “I don’t think he’d blame you, Steve. I can see it in your eyes - the guilt,” he goes to speak but you squeeze his hand again. “I know the look of guilt all too well, it’s ok to forgive yourself.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he inhales sharply. His shoulders sag a little like a small weight was lifted from your words.

The two of you made your way around the exhibit slowly. Steve never strayed too far from you. You let him take his time reading and reminiscing. Before you left you followed Steve into a viewing room, he sat on the bench and you sat next to him. The room was quiet, not many people made their way in here.

"Thank you for coming with me today," Steve says. He's leaning his arms on his knees, looking down at his hands.

You place your hand on his arm, "you're welcome. Anytime you need me, I'm here for you," you smile at him when he looks over at you.

It looks like he's about to say something when a film starts on the screen at the front of the room.

There was a woman on the screen.

Agent Peggy Carter. SSR. 1953.

You knew her. Your breath hitched and you stood. Steve called your name, but it sounded like static. She was talking about Steve, and when you looked at him he seemed worried.

You left in a hurry, not bothering to wait for Steve as you weaved through people in the museum.

Steve found you outside under a tree, you were hugging yourself. As he got closer, he could hear you sniffle. He stood in front of you as your shoulder shook.

"What just happened? Are you ok?"

When you looked up at him he was surprised he didn't see tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes were glowing blue and the tears had yet to fall.

"I knew her," you say, your face set in determination. Steve's eyebrows lowered as he stared at you. "A few years after my family was killed, she found me. Leon and I had split up, to keep whoever was hunting us away from the other."

You wipe at your eyes and heave a sigh, "I was homeless, for the better part of a decade. She, Peggy, offered to help me out. In exchange, she wanted me to work for her and a friend. Strategic, something or another," you waved your hand around.

Steve grabbed your arm, and pulled you into him for a hug. He held you tightly, and spoke into your hair, "what happened then?"

You wrapped your arms around his waist and sighed, "I worked for Peggy for a few years before I left. She knew what I was and never looked at me differently. Told her I wanted out. I was in it for revenge, I thought I could use their resources. Maybe find the men that killed my family," you heave a sigh into his chest. “She never held it against me, my bloodlust - my sadness.”

Pulling back you looked up at Steve, "I haven't been back here since the 70s. That's the last time I saw her."

"Come with me," was all he said as he led you back to his motorcycle. He drove you both to the other side of the city, and parked. It was an elderly home.

-*-

You stood at the doorway to Peggy’s room, Steve was talking quietly to her, blocking you from view. After a few minutes, Steve stands to the side and Peggy looks over at you from her bed. Her eyes widen slightly on her wrinkled face.

There was a reason you never tried to stay in one place for too long, people grew old. And you’ve looked the same since you were 25.

Peggy calls your name, and reaches a wrinkled hand out to you, you come closer and take her outstretched hand.

“Oh my, dear, look at you,” she squeezed your hand lightly. There’s a smile on her face and that same fire in her eyes since you last saw her. “You haven’t aged a day!” She looks over at Steve who’s sitting on the other side of the bed in a chair. “Not quite fair, is it? You both look so young, and I-“ she waves her other hand in the air, “no matter, come, sit.”

You sit on the edge of Peggy’s bed, she puts her hand in your lap and you clasp your hand over hers. When you look at Steve he’s taking in the pictures of Peggy and her children on her bedside table. There’s a far off look in his eyes.

“You should be proud of yourself, Peg,” he says quietly.

She hums, “Yes, I have lived a life,” she looks to Steve, “my only regret is that you didn’t get to live yours.” You keep forgetting Steve isn’t like you. He hasn’t lived through the decades like you have. He was frozen in time for over 70 years, and it breaks your heart a little bit.

Steve looks to you, a solemn look on his handsome face, then looks to Peggy and then down at his hands in his lap.

“What is it?” Peggy asks after a moment.

“For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to do what was right,” his brows lower, and he looks up at you both. “I guess I’m not quite sure what that is anymore. And I thought I could throw myself back in. Follow orders - serve. It’s just not the same,” he smiles slightly at Peggy.

Peggy chuckles lightly, “Always so dramatic,” she looks at you with a sparkle in her eyes, and you smile at her. She looks back to Steve, grabbing his hand with her other one, “You saved the world, we rather, mucked it up.”

“You didn’t. Knowing that you helped found S.H.I.E.L.D. is half the reason I stay,” he says.

You inhale sharply and stand up. S.H.I.E.L.D. That was it. It had such a long name the last time you heard it. It never clicked in your head until now. Peggy doesn’t seem to notice your movement, but Steve catches your eye, and you shake your head. You pace away from the bed a little, worrying your bottom lip.

Steve works for S.H.I.E.L.D.? You guess it would make sense after seeing all the SSR memorabilia from the museum earlier in the day. To hear him say it aloud was jarring. You haven't thought of Peggy, her friends, or the SSR in almost 40 years.

You’re brought out of your thoughts to a coughing fit. You turn and notice Peggy can’t seem to catch her breath. You go to her side and take her hand as Steve moves across the room for a glass of water. You smooth her hair back as Steve brings the cup over.

When Peggy opens her eyes, she glances over to Steve, taking him in, there’s surprise on her features. “Steve?” She says quietly.

He tilts his head, “Yeah?”

She starts to cry, “Y-you’re alive? You came back?” Steve’s face falls for a second, and you stand back and away from them. He smiles a little. There’s sadness on him, you can smell across the room. “It-it’s been so long. So long.”

“Well I couldn’t leave my best girl, not when she owes me a dance,” he speaks softly to her.

Steve speaks quietly to Peggy while you leave the room. You don’t want to intrude on their privacy. Peggy hadn’t seemed to notice you after her coughing fit, so you silently slipped from the room.

Down the hall, you find yourself alone, so you tap the wristband. The blue light blinks a few times before you hear his voice.

“Can’t seem to stay away, can you?” There’s no holo-image this time when Tony answers. You can hear the faint sound of his repulsors over the call. “How was your date with Spangles?”

You chuckle at him, “It wasn’t a date, but it was nice. I’ve always enjoyed D.C. and the Smithsonian’s.”

Tony hums, then there’s a grunt over the line.

“Tony… what are you up to?”

“Oh, uh, nothing!” There's a distinct sound of a repulsor charging up and firing. "Just dealing with a few things, you know. I'm keeping busy until I can se-

Sir, I feel I should warn you-

"I can see it now, JARVIS! Poppy, sweetheart, let me call you later, yeah?”

You can’t seem to get more than a few minutes on the line with him until something comes up, “Sure, Tony, I’ll be here.”

“Great,” and then the line gets cut out and the light turns off. You sigh.

“Flowers?” Steve’s down the hall when you turn around to him, his shoulders are slumped and his hands are in his jacket pockets. His eyebrows are pulled together in worry, and you make your way over to him.

“Everything ok now?” You ask, and he nods. Steve sticks his elbow out a little and you place your hand in the crook of it. He leads you back through the building and outside to his motorcycle.

“One more stop ok with you? I can take you home after.” You get the sense he just doesn’t want to be alone, so you agree.

-*-

You follow Steve inside the VA, and stand next to him while he listens to a few veterans speak in a room. At the front of the room you notice Sam behind a podium, listening intently. After a few more minutes of people taking turns to speak, the meeting ends. You and Steve wait down the hall while Sam says his farewells to the vets leaving.

Sam turns towards you both with a grin on his face, “Well, look who it is, the Running Man,” he looks over at you and winks.

“Caught the last few minutes of that, it was pretty intense,” Steve says.

"Yeah brother, we all got the same problems,” Same shuffles a few pamphlets, then brings his hands into his pockets, “Guilt. Regret.”

You look down at your feet, unable to look at either of the men.

“You lose someone?” Steve asks, his arm touches yours as he shifts on his feet. He’s trying to comfort you, you notice and you lean into him a little more.

Sam sighs and nods, “my wingman. Riley. Flying a night mission. Standard PJ rescue op. Nothing we haven’t done before, until an RPG knocked Riley’s dumbass out the sky,” Sam folds his arms over his chest and his scent is pure sadness and guilt. “Nothing I could do. It’s like I was up there just to watch.”

“I’m sorry,” you say as you look up at Sam.

“After that, I had a really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?”

“But you’re happy now, back in the world?” Steve asks.

Sam smiles, looking around, “The number of people giving me orders is down to about zero. So, hell yeah. You thinking about getting out?”

Steve shrugs, “No. I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I would do with myself if I did.” You give Steve’s arm a squeeze.

“Ultimate fighting?” Sam says, and you and Steve laugh a little. “It’s just a great idea off the top of my head. But seriously, you could do whatever you want to do. What makes you happy?”

Steve thinks for a moment, he looks down at you and sighs. Then looks back over at Sam, “I don’t know.”

“I haven’t had many friends,” you say as you look down at your feet. “I’ve lived a really long, melancholy life until last fall,” you look up at Steve and give him a small smile. “And then I met Tony, and you, and everyone else at the Tower. And I’m really glad I did. I’ve been lonely for decades and now I can say I have friends for the first time in a long time.”

Sam makes a noise and you look at him, “decades? You’re like 23!” You give him a sheepish smile while Steve chuckles next to you.

“Don’t take appearances for what they seem to be,” you tell him with a wink. Steve begins to pull you along to leave, clapping Sam on the shoulder a little too strongly you think.

“What does that mean?” Sam calls after you, his arms out wide waiting for an answer. “Are you like him? Hey!” You turn and walk backwards giving him a wave.

“It was good to see you, Sammy!” You call as you and Steve exit the building, laughing together.

-*-

Steve drops you off at your brother's apartment early in the evening, the sun was beginning to set and the street lamps were turning on. You step up to the stairs that lead to the apartment building entrance and turn back towards Steve. He’s at the bottom of the steps, and you’re just about at his eye level.

“I had a really nice time today, Steve. Thank you,” you lean over and peck his cheek. You notice a light dust of pink cross his cheeks and he ducks his head down with a smile.

“Thank you for spending the day with me, Flowers,” he says softly when he looks up at you through his lashes. You like your childhood nickname coming from him. It reminds you of simpler times and it makes you smile.

Suddenly the hair on your arms and the back of your neck stand on end, and you look around. You sniff the air, and come down the stairs to look down the sidewalk. It’s relatively empty - nothing out of place. Steve calls your name, and you look back at him with wide eyes. He’s suddenly on alert when he crowds into you.

“What, what is it?” He’s looking around just as you had done.

“Something, I don't know. I feel like we’re being watched,” you tell him quietly. You grip his jacket in your palms and look across the street. Nothing there either. “I can feel it - like someone’s eyes are staring into my soul.” Steve puts a hand on your lower back as he looks around once more.

“Get inside, lock the doors. Call your brother,” he orders. It’s his Captain voice and you can do little to argue when he guides you up the stairs and you unlock the door.

Once you’re inside the door, you turn to him, “what about you?”

He gives you a small smile, “I’ll be fine.” And then he leaves. You do as he said and go up to your brother’s apartment on the second floor, locking and turning the deadbolt.

“Leon?” You call out into the space, there’s no answer so you pull your phone out and send him a message. There’s no response after 5 minutes of waiting so you call him. It rings and goes to voicemail. You leave him a message saying you felt something off when you got home and you locked the door.

-*-

It’s around 12am when your phone starts ringing, you grumble and turn to grab it off the nightstand next to the bed. Squinting at the brightness, you answer the phone.

“Hel-“

“Flowers, get out of the apartment,” it’s Leon and you pull the phone away for a second. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you groan as you sit up right.

“Wha, what are you talking about Lee,” you rub the sleep from your eyes as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You pull on your shorts that were on the floor and make your way out to the hallway. “Where are you, are you home?”

“For god’s sake, Flo, get the fuck out of the apartment. Get your pack and run. I don’t have much time, something’s happening here and I’ll text you where to meet me later,” he pauses his frantic sentence and sighs, “I love you.” And he hangs up.

What the fuck was that? As Leon was telling you to leave, you grabbed your pack, the old flannel and slipped your boots on. You send Leon a message saying you left as you run down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Now where?

After a few minutes of walking your phone chimes and its a message from Leon.

Sunny: Meet me at the hospital. Will explain soon. XO

Hospital? Seriously, what is going on? You stuck your hand out for a cab and you made it to the hospital in no time with lack of traffic.

You ring Leon and he answers after the first ring, “Where are you, Lee?”

"4th floor, I'll meet you at the elevator." He hangs up on you and you take the lift up. As you go to exit, there's a bunch of men in tact suits standing in the hallway.

One of them notices you and comes up to stop you, his hand out to physically stop you if you keep walking. "Sorry, Miss, this floor is off limits. Get back in the elevator and try a different floor.”

You go to speak but he pushes you back towards the elevator roughly. A low growl is almost let out as he crowds you against the doors.

“Rumlow, stand down,” Leon comes into view then, he places a hand on the man's shoulder. “She’s with me,” he extends his hand to you and you take it.

The man - Rumlow - narrows his eyes at you, and nods to your brother. “Just make it fast, we need to be back at HQ soon. Find out what’s happening from Agent Hill.” He walks away then and goes back towards the other men in tactical outfits.

Leon leads you down the hall a ways away, “Sorry about him,” he puts his hand on the small of your back and steers you away from the group of men, “Something happened at work, someone was shot. My boss,” he sighs, and you notice how exhausted he looks. And then you notice what he’s wearing.

You put a hand on his chest and push him back, “S.H.I.E.L.D….? Leon?” Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, “ho-how long have you been working for S.H.I.E.L.D. ? Is this what you do?” He goes to hush you as your voice gets louder and you bat his hand away. “Don’t shush me, Leon! What the hell is going on!”

He brings his hands up again to placate you, “please let me explain,” and when you don’t say anything he continues, “I’ve been with S.H.I.E.L.D. since ‘93. I-I thought maybe with new people in charge I could get some answers. Find answers.”

“About what happened,” you say quietly. You understood. Hell, you were with S.H.I.E.L.D. for almost 10 years before you left. “Is Fury okay?”

Your brother’s eyes narrow, shit did he not say his name? “We aren’t sure yet, no one’s come out. He’s still in surgery.” As he finishes his sentence, there’s a mumble in his ear piece you can barely make out. Leon turns his head slightly and closes his eyes. A heavy sigh leaves his lips, “They called it,” he looks down at you, eyes full of sadness.

You hug him for a few moments, the chatter down the hall is quiet as the men in tact suits converse lowly.

“Agent Jones,” the man from earlier calls down the hall towards you and Leon. You both look over to him. Leon gives you one final squeeze as he lets you go.

“Stay by your phone, I’ll text you if anything else happens,” Leon turns to head towards the rest of the men, the lettering on the sleeve of his jacket catches your eye, S.T.R.I.K.E.

As he walks away, a red headed woman stalks into the hallway from one of the hospital rooms, and a tall blond man behind her. You do a double take. Of course he’d be here.

“Natasha!” Steve calls to the woman.

She rounds on him and narrows her eyes, “Why was Fury in your apartment?” Steve stops in his tracks, eyes wide, and shrugs.

“I uh, I don’t know,” He says.

“Cap, they want you back at SHIELD,” Rumlow interrupts.

Steve turns around to speak and he sees you at the end of the hall, eyebrows furrow for a second before he responds, “Yeah, give me a second.”

“They want you now,” Rumlow says again.

Steve glances at you and back towards Rumlow, he nods slightly, “Ok…”

The red headed woman, Natasha, is smirking when Steve turns back towards her, “You’re a terrible liar,” and she walks off in the opposite direction.

You’re about to go over to Steve when a hand on your elbow stops you, you look and it’s Leon, there’s a sympathetic look on his face, his lips turned down in a frown.

“They want me to bring you into SHIELD. In case you saw something."

You turn to him, “What? Bring me in? Am I a suspect, Leon?” You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him.

“No, but you were with Captain Rogers all afternoon. And Fury was shot in his apartment,” Leon puts his hands on his hips as he looks at you. “Please don’t make a fuss, it’s coming from higher up,” he pleads. You heave a sigh and nod.

“Let’s go,” Steve says as he goes to leave, not sparring you a glance.

“STRIKE, move out!” Rumlow calls through the hallway. Leon takes your elbow in hand and leads you out of the building. You want to get a message to Steve, or Tony, but you don’t want to alert the other people around you. You don’t know these people in STRIKE. And Leon’s been lying to you for 20 years about his work.

Steve gets in the passenger seat of the SUV in front of 3 others, and you and Leon get in the backseat of the first SUV. Rumlow is driving your vehicle and as soon as he buckles, he peels out of the drive and towards SHIELD HQ.

-*-

AN: Thanks for reading!! Like comment rb<3 !

[withahappyrefrain]

Abby my friend I can't help myself, that thought about Bob x wifey!reader having a preemie baby is something that's been living in my head rent free ever since I got into this fandom (lol).

But like Bob and the baby is just making me super soft!!!!

I'd imagine Bob learned how to knit from his Meemaw so when Baby Auggie was born he needed a tiny little pair of socks and a little cap to keep him warm. Bob made a pair of tiny little blue and green socks and a little cap that matched. He and wifey!reader also probably made all sorts of little blankies, loveys and little toys that were super soft and cuddly (Bob's personal favorites are a little elephant and bumblebee lovey). Bob's mom and dad were in the process of sending some of Bob's old baby clothes up from Oklahoma and they ended up finding Bob's old Peter Rabbit blankie, the lovey and the book that matched (the lovey was with Auggie the entire time he was in his incubator too).

When Auggie finally gets to come home, he's attached at all times to the Peter Rabbit lovey. He's still very tiny and still has some of the little wrinkles in his face and when he's nested in his little blankie at night it looks like it's swallowing him up (lol). The squad finished his nursery two weeks before he came home and Bob's jaw practically dropped when he saw the giant Thomas Kinkade style mural of Pinocchio (the Disney version) painted along one side of the wall. At night when Auggie is being tucked into bed, Bob will play the little music box that plays "When You Wish Upon A Star" because his mom and dad used to sing that to him and his older siblings when they were all babies.

And like, the thought of Bob's dad, Joe Floyd, holding Baby Auggie is making me melt even more!!! I can't really go into detail with that one because it's a whole other story for a different day (lol).

Abby my dear, do with this what you will. These thoughts are my gift to you. I apologize in advance if I ever spam the inbox, I just have alot that I wanna share with people and love hearing their takes on it (lol).

🥹🥹🥹🥹

I love the idea of Bob knowing how to sew! I bet he knits scarves for folks. I think with all the craziness that comes having to prepare for a baby, he would find knitting very calming and relaxing! It becomes his way of feeling like he's helping to prepare for Augie. And whenever he's stressed, he just knits!!!

The squad helping with the nursery 😭😭

BOB SINGS TO HIS CHILDREN. His voice is so soothing, it lulls them to sleep. Sometimes you'll find him in the nursery, singing to Augie and Augie is just cooing away, so happy 🥹🥹

[the-dreams-i-dream]

The Canary

There is this place in my dreams where Hogwarts and an escape room are fused together. Instead of houses, you are sorted into different groups depending on the nature of your magic within your bloodline. It didn't matter if you were, "pureblood", "Squib", "Muggle-born", or anything in between. you were judged based on the blood that dripped into the fire of a golden skull's open head and the animal that came out. Mine happened to be a canary but I couldn't tell you what the others were as the sorting is a private affair.

My magic apparently dealt with the manifestations of beasts and the understanding of magic beasts. I had enough sense to summon a familiar that mostly took the form of a dog that helped channel my magic into different elements I needed (Terrestrial beast magic for ground-based attacks, dark beast magic to fight within shadows, etc.) And since this place had some aspect of Hogwarts, everything is trying to kill you within each challenge and room.

A test was given to us and -in my opinion- was the toughest the creator of the place could dish out. A group of other magic users and I had to channel our powers into some canons to battle what the game called an "Infinity painting". Essentially, the floor had some type of monster on its tiles that could attack us within the second dimension it resides in or, in the third dimension where we exist.

(Ever played The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds? Basically, the monsters had Linnks ability.)

Two members of our team had to charge up canons not just for the monsters on the floor, but the last three people of our team had to fight minor foes that emerged from a giant mural across the room, against the wall. Our objective was to shoot the tiles on the floor to kill the more dangerous monsters there as our next room to continue onto was below the floor and down a pit. Sounding tough, we braced ourselves for the monsters and nearly choked on the ones we got.

The Mural morphed and mixed as paint till it showed off a very detailed Eastern dragon with long whiskers, a long blue and gold body, and an army of samurai in armor mid-run and ready to be released to attack us. The floor morphed and showed a single body of blue on one end and an ombre of gold on the other. On each side of the body, was the same head as the dragon on the mural. Both heads on each end of the floor rose up and roared a gross mixture of screaming and the wringing of a gong. That was the signal to begin.

I touched my familiar's fur and tried to imagine a dragon as well for him to morph into and give us coverage for the army popping off the wall and yelling war cries thankfully, I was given a red and black scaled dragon to send a wave of fire towards the attackers. One of my teammates's familiar morphed its body into a flow made completely out of water. It sprang onto the canon and allowed its form to dissolve into the canon and glow a bright light as the canon began firing at the two-headed serpent on the floor. The canon's marks were powerful but the serpent head retaliated by blocking the makr's with their faces and absorbing the water element to shoot at my poor familiar and teammates.

The three teammates on the frontlines of the army were great fighters but lacked any cohesion between them as they started to bicker about how the test was bullshit and the others were engaging in friendly fire. One girl with a sort of plant element connected to her hair actually got so fed up with her teammates, that she used her hair tendrils to toss them at the army and accidentally chipped the mural in the process. The thrown teammate was out cold and was technically eliminated along with the girl who threw him with her hair; so they disappeared in a flash of light, back to the beginning to be placed in a new team.

We were down on ground control which left one teammate to fight the oncoming army but he was already badly beaten. My partner at the second canon jumped to help but made the mistake of actually stepping on the tile, allowing one of the serpent heads to each them alive in the 2-D plane, it was horrifying. It looked like they were spilled paint with muffled snapping. What made things worse is that there was a "referee" who had been silent this whole time and decided to make themselves known now with an insult to the horror.

"Oh My. It seems only two members remain and one body destroyed a priceless magic mural . . . Too bad. and to make things worse, a Canary is still standing."

The heckler of a referee had a thing against Canaries apparently and openly insulted me any chance she got and treated disqualifications and deaths like someone spit in their drink.

Unfortunately, I had to use the tragedy as a distraction and told my familiar to get my last remaining teammate away from the front. He obeyed and snatched them up to man the second canon while I told him to use his own magic to push back the army into the wall mural while my familiar morphed into a shadow creature to sneak attack any stragglers that got through. The twin serpent was too preoccupied with its meal to defend the tiles it lived in and we used that as our chance.

Tile after tile had come apart and occasionally a serpent head would try to peak through but my companion and I would shoot off the tile before it had a chance. The area was filled with nothing but screams of anguish from both the army and myself as the magic with each blast of my canon continued to rip from me. My teammate was getting paler as he not only surged his magic through the canon but had to maintain a mall of fire to keep the soldiers from venturing forth, frying in the process. I look up and see my familiar is also waving in his shadow form as he hand preoccupied himself with fighting the serpent heads that threatened to snap at us as well as the samurai that attempted to impale me. We were exhausted and only able to use what spells and invitations we knew to continue but the referee was relentless and pushed me further into my frustration until I couldn't take it any longer.

My familiar disappeared and was absorbed into my body briefly. My fingers and nails grew long and inky and I could feel my teeth and hair being engulfed by shadow magic. Curses were not forbidden but I knew, mine were extremely potent as they were linked to my beastial soul. I had a horrible but great idea to use the referee's magic reservoir for our cause to move on to the next test. I look directly at the referee and say,

"I summon the darkness within. To destroy your light with your sins. with the watchful eyes of hellspawn, I do my part, and cast the spell of Anabelle upon your heart."

The curse was cast and everything from my point of view went silent as I watched the referee appear in front of me with glassy dull eyes and a sweet smile on their face. I move my hands like a puppet master and hail magical blow after magical blow from the ref's fingertips to destroy suit of armor after suit of armor while my teammate blasted the tiles away. My fingers were beginning to burn and I could feel my eyes burning as I held the Referee's soul within my hands and skillfully controlled them but time gave in and I had to separate myself from the shadow magic or I could have been lost to hell's darkest trench forever.

When the last tile fell, the army stopped mid-step -frozen again- but a new and much larger problem came to light. The dragon on the mural mourned its serpent brethren and began to circle us from the walls. We knew we needed to leave but I couldn't until I released the Referee and my familiar.

the sensation was the equivalent of unsticking glue or gum from your for with a weird soft feeling in between. Thankfully my familiar was safe although drained of energy and shivering from fear like myself but the referee's fate was sealed after I had finished my curse.

She lay on the ground with the same doll eyes and a plastered smile. She was now wearing a clown costume and was only three to five inches tall. Her hair resembled yarn-like ribbons and her skin was a soft velvety material. I knew this would happen as the Annabelle curse seals its victim into the body of a possessed doll; forced to live the punishment of their sins in life until someone exercises them with holy magic of some sort. I assumed she was a Heretic her entire life and was considered a clown in Hell's eyes for her sin of Heresy. I saw a single ink tear fall from her face before my teammate and I jumped down the now-open floor.

We landed gracefully and thankfully with some glowing fungi to light our path once we were ready. The light also showed my teammate's fearful face as we both sat in heavy silence over what I did. The Annabelle curse is a very taboo one and those who cast it, usually never fully recover from it.

"Did you have to do it?" My teammate asked, who I now can see is a blonde-haired and blue-eyed boy with pyromagic symbols littering his body.

"We would have died if I didn't," I answered tonelessly.

"She didn't deserve that."

"We don't deserve this." I said angrily and gestured to the walls around us that kept us in this stupid life-or-death game. He said nothing for that, I think he was afraid to look at me after that and I didn't blame him. My familiar walked up to me and whined as he put his head in my lap, begging for pets and comfort to know I was still me again. I gave in and pet him mindlessly to show that I was still here and I still loved him.

"What do you call him?" The boy's question caught both my attention and my familiar's.

" . . . I . . . don't think I named him."

"You should, you care for him alot." The boy shakily rises from his sitting position and moves closer to pet my familiar. My familiar immediately greets him with friendliness and happy panting.

"I thought you were scared." I said but the boy only shook his head and said,

"If you were a dangerous Canary, you familiar would take a dangerous shape. You're just full of wild magic." He began to scratch under my familiar's chin which the dog spirit enjoyed.

" . . . I think I will call him . . . Mika." I said gesturing to my familiar.

~~~~~~~~Then I woke up~~~~~~~~

[pigs-in-art]

Flying Pig in Shell Corporate Colours by Vinayak Hegde Via Flickr: Shell Drilling Protest Graffiti , Palermo, Buenos Aires, Argentina This wall along a main road in Palermo is an example of protest graffiti. A group of graffiti artists came together and painted a series of mural to protest the drilling in Vaca Muerte ("Dead Cow" in Spanish). Environmental damage from mining and fossil fuel drilling in particular is a crucial issue for activists in Argentina. They worry about fracking for resources in the gigantic oil and shale gas formation discovered in 2010 in the southern Patagonia region. This deposit called Vaca Muerta (Dead Cow in English) is estimated to hold the world’s fourth largest shale oil reserves. The murals’ stark warnings especially target Shell, the Dutch energy giant, which won rights to exploit two Vaca Muerta oil areas for the next 35 years.

[dragonsfell]

yassarra lore.

PORT NYANZARU / While we generally reject Yuan-ti lore (for obvious Yassarra reasons), most of Chult races actually, and how evil races are treated in Faerun lore; the way that Port Nyanzaru of Chult is described is wonderful, here's the little pre-written opening speech for DMs to read from Tomb of Annihilation

You appear in a tropical city under the blazing sun. The familiar sounds of a harbor — creaking ropes, slapping waves, heavy barrels rolling across cobblestones — mingle with voices shouting and cursing in an unfamiliar language filled with clicks, inhalations, and singsongy words that make it sound almost musical. The aroma of unfamiliar spices and tropical fruit mixes with the wharfside smells of fish, tar, and canvas. Beyond all that, Port Nyanzaru is an explosion of color. Buildings are painted in bright shades of blue, green, orange, and salmon pink, or their walls are adorned with murals portraying giant reptiles and mythical heroes. Every building sports baskets and clay urns of colorful flowers or is draped in leafy, flowering vines. Minstrels in bright clothing adorned with feathers and shells perform on street corners. Multicolored pennants and sun awnings flutter atop the city walls. A crowd of children dressed in feathered hats and capes races past you, squealing in delighted terror as a street performer costumed as a big-toothed lizard stomps and roars behind them. The whole city seems to be bustling, sweating, laughing, swearing, and singing.

the rest of Port Nyanzaru's descriptions are under the cut.

Port Nyanzaru hugs the coastline at the south end of the Bay of Chult. No other city exists in Chult, along the coast or anywhere else, except in ruins or overrun by monstrous creatures. Until recently, Port Nyanzaru was under the firm control of Amn, a foreign nation. Amn was forced to relinquish the city to a wealthy and powerful consortium of Chultan traders backed by the Ytepka Society (pronounced yeh-TEP-kah), or risk a bloody conflict that probably would have ended with the city winning its independence anyway. Seven Chultan traders have since grown into influential merchant princes, enticing folk from up and down the Sword Coast with their wares.

Port Nyanzaru is a bastion of civilization and commerce in a terrifying land. The amount of business that unfolds here and the cash that moves through its counting houses would make any merchant of Baldur’s Gate or Waterdeep jealous. It’s also a colorful, musical, aroma-filled, vibrant city in its own right. Other than trade, the biggest attractions are the weekly dinosaur races through the streets. Locals and visitors alike wager princely sums on the races’ outcomes. The city also boasts grand bazaars, glorious mansions and temples, circuses, and gladiatorial contests.

Enemies surround Port Nyanzaru on all sides. The jungle teems with ferocious reptiles and murderous undead, pirates prowl the surrounding sea, and the mouth of the bay is home to a greedy dragon turtle.

When describing the sights and sounds of Port Nyanzaru, emphasize the heat, the humidity, the exotic sounds and smells, and other unique aspects of Port Nyanzaru. Some of its notable features are described hereafter:

Medium and Large dinosaurs are used as beasts of burden to haul two-wheeled carts, to hoist heavy loads on cranes, and to tow boats along the canals.

Dinosaurs compete in weekly races through the streets. These brightly painted racing dinosaurs are fast, vicious, and barely under their riders’ control.

Flowers, green plants, and vines grow everywhere, seeming to spring out of the building stones themselves. The profusion of greenery needs constant tending to prevent roots and shoots from damaging buildings or tile roofs.

The city’s defensive walls and towers are topped with colorful awnings to shield guards from the sun and rain.

All streets within the city walls are paved with cobblestones or flagstones, and they have deep rain gutters as much as 2 feet wide. Residents of Port Nyanzaru pay little attention to any but the heaviest deluge.

Tabaxi minstrels wander the streets, performing for anyone who tosses them a few coins.

Walls divide the city into districts, and the open archways above the streets are painted with murals of dinosaurs, mountains, and mythic heroes.

Crumbling ancient buildings covered with vines and lichens indicate the city’s great age.

The ground floors of most buildings are made of stucco-covered stone and have tiny windows to keep out the heat at street level. The upper floors have bamboo or thatch walls with enormous windows to let in the breeze, under broad thatched or tiled eaves. All buildings are richly decorated with paint, ivy, and vivid flowers. Some are painted in symmetrical, geometric patterns of straight lines and sharp angles, while others portray animals, monsters, landscapes, and heroes in a stylized manner unique to Chult. Where space permits, buildings traditionally include a walled yard or garden.

All the city’s water comes from rain, so every building has a cistern or wooden barrels to catch water running off the roof. Every public square is built around a fountain or rain basin. With so much water running downhill, Chultans also make excellent use of water-driven mechanical gadgets. Many buildings have water wheels built into their cisterns. Rainwater running through spouts or channels turns the wheel, which pumps water into pools, turns millstones, powers bellows or lathes or saws, or accomplishes any other labor-saving or amusing task Chultan engineers can dream up.

[wickedsrest-rp]

NAME: Wicked Wheels

LOCATION: Downtown

This local haunt is hard to miss with its brightly colored lights and loud pop music slipping out through the doors. Wicked Wheels is especially popular with the college students in town and it’s easy to see why. The student discount on entry to the roller rink definitely doesn’t hurt, but Wicked Wheels also has cheap beer and concession stand food available all close to campus. The inside walls are painted with murals using UV activated paints making them especially vibrant under all the flashing black lights around the rink. These are only further illuminated by the giant disco ball that hangs in the dead center of the rink. Local cryptid enthusiasts like to tell everyone you shouldn’t skate directly under the mirrorball, but the owner, Esther, insists these tall tales are completely unfounded. She’s probably right about that. 

The rink does make a great backdrop for TikToks and as such, it’s not uncommon to see college students filming their skating escapades doing strange dances on their skates along to the music. 

Through the many speakers in Wicked Wheels, there is always pop music from various decades blasting. Except for on Mondays. Mondays are Metal Mondays. Local metalheads really go all out for this night in both dress and skating. 

On Tuesday Nights, different local roller derby groups reserve the rink to host competitions. Many students who have friends competing come to spectate and enjoy some cheap snacks while they root for their friends. 

Within Wicked Wheels, there’s a small milkshake cart called Bessie’s Treats. The milkshakes are some of the best and are a must-have for most people skating in the rink. 

Some patrons have reported seeing the reflection of a large lizard in the disco ball. Esther usually just laughs this off and chalks it up into looking straight into a bright light.